Wren was feeling very uncomfortable under the gaze of the King Under the Mountain. The glacial blue eyes were sparkling, soft curved lips twitched from time to time in the black beard, and one black eyebrow was perpetually slightly raised, and Wren's cheeks just would not stop flaming, since they had sat in front of each other. The candles charmingly flickered, the fire in the hearth crackled cozily, the food was delicious, and Wren's back was starting to hurt from how straight and tense her spine was. She was eating in silence, cutting off small pieces of her food, making sure there were no pauses between the bites, so she was not expected to talk.

Wren almost regretted not being able to drink any brew. Ale and wine made her muddled immediately, and then she would grow sick in a course of three minutes. Perhaps, she had developed more tolerance towards the beverages in her current age, but risking vomiting and then fainting would have to remain the last resort - if a desperate attempt to avoid her Dwarven husband of twenty years was required.

"Once your first hunger is satisfied, my treasure, we should talk," the King said lightly, placing a cube of roasted rutabaga into his mouth and chewing decorously. Wren hummed noncommittally, her mind thrashing in panic. She internally scolded herself for failing to have prepared some safe conversation topic. "I propose you to ask me questions of the past, and I answer them earnestly."

Wren gave him an incredulous look over her goblet of water.

"I would expect a man to hate such maudlin conversation," she muttered, and he gave her a wide gleaming smile.

"I would not mind recollecting our happy moments." He placed another mutton chop on his plate. "And this small effort will be worth the reward that I will reap… Repeatedly."

Wren choked on her roasted carrot and started coughing frantically. The King asked, with an almost sincere concern in his velvet voice, "More water, my heart?" Wren nodded spasmodically, and the King picked up the pitcher.

Wren drank, the King watched her with a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips. After she regained her composure, Wren exhaled and decided postponing the verbal match he was clearly planning was not possible anymore.

"I am still confounded by how it happened that you chose yourself a wife of Men, my lord," Wren mumbled, her eyes down to the slice of potato she was shifting on her plate.

"I thought we had discussed it, my heart. I fell victim to your allure." The King chuckled.

"You did not have to marry me. I suppose, if we could not resist the temptation, it could not have been helped." Wren chewed at her bottom lip. "But bringing the only… Long One to Erebor, and as your Queen no less, seems like such an unconventional act." Wren peeked, and saw the King frowning.

"No one argued with me," he answered, and put the fork aside. "I am the King of Longbeards, Wren. I reclaimed the Kingdom and brought back the wealth of my people. I reunited the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms. When I finally wanted something for myself, my people were only happy to oblige."

"And that something for yourself was… me?" Wren asked astonished and somewhat taken aback. Somehow the tone and phrasing reminded her of the excuses men of certain age used to justify buying an overpriced horse that they did not need.

"I demanded you to be accepted and treated with respect." His tone was grave, and Wren drew her brows together. His eyes roamed her face, and then he shook his head as if clearing his mind. "That was not the conversation I was aiming to have, Wren. Perhaps, you would like to hear something more… mawkish. We can talk of the trip to Hobbiton we took before our wedding, or that time when the two of us were stranded in a cave in a flood and..."

"No, thank you, my lord," Wren interrupted, and took a napkin off her lap. "I think this is time I repose." She got up, and he jumped on his feet.

"Wren, I did not wish to upset you. Perhaps, we could go back to this discussion. I feel I have not worded it the right way..."

"I believe you have worded it as precisely as possible. I am just overtaxed, and probably take everything too close to my heart…" Wren mumbled, and then her voice died out.

They stood for a few seconds in silence, and then he sighed. The sound was more irritated than upset.

"I will call a servant then," he grumbled, and Wren nodded, without looking at him. She could feel he was glaring at her. "Have a good night, Wren. I will see you tomorrow. I have emissaries from Iron Hills coming in the morning, but after that we could have midday meal together." Wren nodded again, her hands folded on her middle.

He made a quiet frustrated noise, like a pony displeased with the content of its morral.

"Good night," he as much as sneered, and left the room. Wren shortly wondered where he slept these nights. Judging by the smell of his soap on the sheets and by his undertunics scattered in her wardrobe, they had not been complying with the customs of nobility of Men, and had been sharing the canopy bed that Wren occupied presently.

Wren wandered back into her bedchamber, and with the help of the worried looking Til she undressed - industriously ignoring the girl's seeking looks - and climbed under the covers. The head hurt again, and Wren sighed and tossed and turned.


A knock came to the door, shaking Wren out of half slumber she was floating in. Til who was sleeping on a truckle bed in Wren's bedroom made a loud snorting noise and went back to her soft snoring.

Wren's first impulse was to grab some heavy object for protection and then to hastily wake up the girl, and then she remembered she was a Queen, in her halls, in a safe prosperous Kingdom with egalitarian social system. Wren climbed off the bed and padded barefoot to the door. Another knock followed, and she understood that the person wasn't behind the bedroom door, but one room removed, in her parlour.

Wren minced further, her soles nippy on the cold stone floor. She tried to ignore the now empty table in the parlour - the location of her unfortunate first tryst with the King - and finally she opened the door.

The King stood in the passage, and when Wren opened her mouth to greet him, he gently put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her backwards, into the chamber, and closed the door behind him. Wren felt anger rise. That was certainly inconsiderate!

"Forgive me, Wren. I will leave as soon as you ask, but I should not be seen wandering the halls, not allowed to my own bedchamber," he whispered, and Wren closed her mouth.

Unfortunately, through his explanation the King stepped very close to her, and his whispering gained Wren time to see what he looked like - the white night shirt was open down to his sternum, showing the firm pectoral muscles covered in black and silver chest hair. Wren swallowed a sudden knot in her throat. What was it with her and his chest?! Wren could not remember having been that affected by male physique, to say nothing about being almost obsessed with one specific part of a man's anatomy! And more so, Wren's previous undeveloped taste in men involved tall, lean, and blonde men of intellectual pursuit! Not excessively masculine, furry Dwarves, with a built of a bear, and hot hands that could encircle her waist if his index fingers and thumbs were locked. Wren shortly wondered if the hammer had inflicted injuries more serious upon her than she initially had assumed.

"I came to… apologise," the King whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" Wren hissed out.

"Not to wake up your maid. Although she is known to stay in the deepest slumber even when furniture is toppled over." Wren opened her mouth to ask in what circumstances exactly this gift of Til's had been confirmed, but the realisation dawn, and heady blush spilled on Wren's cheeks.

"I do not see what you would feel the need to apologise for, my lord. But if there is indeed something you would like to repent, I am certain the apology could have waited till morning," Wren muttered, haughtily, but keeping her voice down.

"Wren, I have already spent two sleepless nights on a very uncomfortable cot in my study," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I do not want to add to the worries that swirl in my mind the thought that my wife thinks herself my caper, a whim of an aging man, who gave the crown of his whole Kingdom to an unworthy woman in exchange for carnal pleasures."

Wren bit her tongue not to thank him venomously for summarising exactly the impression she now had of her current life. He met her eyes and smiled to her softly.

"Wren, I admit I lost my head over you then, and aye, you are not a Dwarf, but your mind enthralled me no less than your… ankles." He chuckled, but then his face grew serious and earnest again. "You won over my people just as fast as firmly as you conquered the heart of a man who never intended to marry. You are every bit the Queen Erebor could hope for. Never doubt it."

Wren listened, looking under her feet. With all honesty, she knew not what to answer. And besides, if she spoke now, she would start sobbing from relief, gratitude, and most likely would rush and hang on him. Wren took a few calming breaths in and peeked. The Dwarven King was peering, waiting for her response.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Wren repeated, and then quietly sniffled. "But surely this wonderful declaration would go better when accompanied by roasted mutton." The King chuckled again, and stepped a bit closer. He picked up her hands.

"I admit, I could have done better during the dinner," he murmured, a smile heard in his voice. "But, my treasure, I was distracted by..." He paused, and Wren threw him a look from under her lashes.

"By my ankles?"

The King looked down, and a corner of his lips curled up. Wren could not tear her eyes of the black whiskers above the soft pink lip.

"You do not remember it, my Queen, but I do indeed have quite a fondness for your tiny feet." The rasp and the low rumble made Wren shiver, but at the same time she felt a pang of alarm.

And she immediately asked herself whether the white shirt, opened almost down to his stomach, the dark hair scattered on his shoulders, and the fresh aroma of soap coming off the King's heavy body were the signs of danger she needed to be mindful of. Was the King's present look an equivalent of some lacy lingerie a temptress would wear to lure a male into her web?

"Apology accepted," Wren answered in a quiet but firm tone, and pulled her hands back. There was a moment when the hot strong fingers would not let go of hers, but then her digits slid out of his loosened grasp.

And then his hot palm lay on her waist, and he pulled her into him. Wren gasped and jerked in his embrace.

"Wren..." he muttered. "I almost lost you... And I will sleep on that cursed cot, and I will endure the dreams, and will charm you, and will walk around you like an enamoured boy, but I need something… I miss my wife… I need to hope she is still there, underneath this cold exterior… You are looking at me like at a stranger..." His voice broke, and Wren saw his lips twist. Acute sympathy clenched Wren's heart.

She stopped trying to step away from him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her temple to his.

"I am so sorry… I am..." she whispered. "I am so very sorry..."

"Do I frighten you so much?" he asked, and Wren felt shocked by the lost tone, and even more pity flooded her heart.

"You do not frighten me. I just… I just do not know you. But..." She searched her mind for the right words. "I trust you. I have never trusted a man before." She moved away and met his eyes. She allowed him to see every emotion storming in her heart. "I feel safe with you, despite not remembering anything. Thorin, everything I see in you… All of it is wonderful, and everything I would like to see in a husband… It is just that I..."

"You have only seen a little so far," he finished her thought, and Wren nodded shyly. "As kind and flattering as your words are, Wren… What if you see something you will not enjoy?" he asked, and some sort of old pain ran his features.

"I have stayed with you for twenty years," Wren offered a tentative consolation. "And I highly doubt I could have missed some horrid flaw in you, Thorin. My ladies-in-waiting were hinting on scandalously passionate and loving marriage..." Wren was pleased to see the King's face to light up with a smile, and she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

When she shifted to kiss the other one, he twisted his head and caught her mouth. Wren decided such frivolity should be forgiven in the circumstances. She allowed him squeeze her even tighter, and relaxed into his enthusiastic caresses. His hand flew up, and the fingers threaded into the hair at the back of her head. Goosebumps ran down her neck and nape, and something oddly buzzed in her lower back. Her whole body felt feverish, and she shifted between her feet on the floor, without noticing its coldness.

And then the King grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away.

"Enough!" he as much as barked, and Wren instantly sobered up and winced away from him. He took a step away backwards and closed his eyes. "I will not be able to stop… I will go... Now..."

And then he twirled on his heels, jerked the door, clumsily let go of the handle, the door slammed into the wall, Wren jumped up, and then the King was gone. The door slowly closed after him with a long mournful screech.

Wren stared at the spot he had been occupying a second ago, and then she decided that was quite enough for the second day of her new life. She shook her head and went back to bed.

To be continued (of course :D)...


Author's note:

Please, give a chance to my independent fantasy webserial Ani on my blog rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca. You can read the story (updated every two weeks) and see my art.

If you're looking for some silly modern adventure, try my story on JukePop: the name is Katya Kolmakov, and the story is Better Than One (both protagonists - a grump with a black beard, and a chatty redhead) might seen familiar ;)

And if you are feeling exceptionally generous, I have writer's Facebook (katyakolmakov) and I also draw (Kolmakov Pictorials Facebook page), and a blog: kolmakov dot ca.

Happy 4th of July to my readers in USA, and belated Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians!

Cheers,

Katya Kolmakov