It takes another moon for her to come for the first time. The door into his bedchambers opens, his eyes fly open, in the old habit of always being vigilant, his fingers close around the dagger under his pillow, and he realises who that is as soon as he can hear the quiet steps of bare feet. A narrow blade of moonlight streaming in between the curtains falls on the white of her nightdress for an instant, he feels the bed slightly dip under her weight tentatively placed on the edge, and he lifts the covers inviting her in. She stretches along him, her body is more slender than he remembers, she has cold feet, and there is a moment of hesitation, and then she moves into him. A narrow cool hand lies on his bare chest, and she pushes her nose into his neck. The tip is cold, and he inhales the lilacs fragrance. He wakes up alone and buries his nose into the pillow still carrying her smell.
She doesn't come the night after that, he feels her studying cautious eyes on him when he comes to visit Thror in the evening, he feigns nonchalance. Thorin is teaching the boy chess figures, he is too young to remember the rules of the game but they both enjoy talking about the moves of each figure. At some point Thorin sharply lifts his face and just as he expected he catches her frowned examining stare. Her eyes widen, and he smirks to her lopsidedly. He is teasing her, as if telling her she takes it all too seriously, and she presses her lips defiantly.
She comes that night again, he is not sleeping, waiting, and she takes the same position. Her fingers and toes are cold, and he covers her hand with his. She jerks, and her body goes rigid. He waits for her to fall asleep, she then relaxes into him, a slender leg goes around him, and she presses her cheek to his pectoral muscle. He picks up the delicate fingers and rubs the knuckles with his thumb.
There is no way to predict whether she will come each night. Sometimes he doesn't see her through the day, and then she spends a night in his arms, sometimes they run into each other in the halls and she gives him a wide merry smile, he is lying waiting for her, and falls asleep alone. Nights with her are easier, he sleeps better, feels better in the morning. But he knows he is already asking a lot from her. In her sleep she is trusting, her arms wrap around him, sometimes he lies awake and shifts, only to feel her press into him tighter, nuzzling him. When awake she is always on guard, her body is rigid, breaths measured.
Frerin's first and only child is born after three days of agony for the mother and apprehension and concern for Erebor. Healers do not give any surmises all through these hours, the girl, and the child is female, which means she is more anticipated and cherished already, is born before the term, she is small and weak, the mother is bleeding out, the healers do not promise either of them to survive the first night, but at dawn the child is crying loudly, and Freda opens her eyes. She is too weak to talk but she feebly stretches her arms to Frerin who is holding the princess in his arms.
Frerin stayed in the chambers all through the terrifying time of uncertainty, and for days to come the Princess only sleeps in his arms. She seems to feel calmer near him, even her mother who is slowly healing seems less comforting to her. A wet nurse is brought into the halls, Fredna's milk never comes, and Frerin insists on being present at the feedings. It is already obvious that the Princess has his features, rather quickly the eyes change into his green colour, and there is none other father in Erebor that would be more attentive and devoted.
Fredna is never expected to bear another child, she sustained severe damage to her insides from the turbulent birth, as well as her nerves seem to be more ramshackle than ever before. Dis cautiously expresses concern whether Fredna might be a danger to herself, she suffers from acute maternal melancholy, for a moon and a half a nurse is put in the same chambers with her to watch over her. Frerin comes rarely, he spends his days and nights in the child's room, he is neglecting his responsibilities at court.
Thorin wants to interfere, but Dis stops him. She promises him the matters will settle soon, and she is right. With time Fredna returns to her usual affairs, Dis purposefully shows her more respect and reverence now, and Frerin returns to his service. Inna, daughter of Frerin is a fussy loud infant, colicky and moody. She is constantly surrounded by maids, nurses and her kin. She obviously prefers the company of her father to any other.
Thorin is absentmindedly running his fingers through Wren's curls, she has fallen asleep hours ago, but he cannot seem to find peace of mind.
"What worries you, my lord?" Her voice is clear, and he jumps up.
"Mahal, Wren, I am an old Dwarf! You will give me an apoplexy!" He turns and meets the attentive eyes. She moves on her side, hand pushed under her cheek, supporting herself on the elbow, and he sighs. Her other hand is on his shoulder, and she strokes lightly. He picks up the hand and presses it over his heart. He does not want to share his unease with her, there will be a discussion, and although she never pushes, this way he won't be able to pretend he is not concerned. She is patiently waiting, and he is staring at the canopy above his head.
"After me Fili will take the throne, and then if he has no son, it is Frerin. I'd prefer to see a man raised by Fili on it, and not my brother… But with Fili's wife absent, and little hope for him to remarry successfully… Kili has no interest in ruling, Frerin seems to be stuck in perpetual adolescence." He trails away, she is still silent, and he looks at her from the corner of his eye. There is a soft small smile in the corners of her lips, and he huffs air out.
"So, it is the vague far away future and the prospect not actually rooted in reality that is keeping you awake, my lord?" There is teasing in her voice, and he gives her a glare. He is concerned with the future of his Kingdom, and she is drolling! "So, my lord," she pokes him with her index finger into the shoulder, his eyebrows jump up from such unexpected childish gesture, "Would you like me to lament with you or reassure you?" She gives him an innocent look, but he was not born yesterday, she is japing.
"Go to sleep, Wren," he grumbles, and she snorts.
"You are thinking so loudly that you are waking me up." He decides that if he ignores her she will give up and go back to sleep. He apparently has forgotten whom he is dealing with. "Frerin will not take the throne, the Mountain has always seemed like a prison to him. That is why he loves his daughter so much, she is an escape. He can think of her, and everything else matters little," her voice is calm, and he turns his head and looks into her slightly melancholic face. "Kili indeed cares for power little, Mahal will not gift him with sons, his line will not rule."
"You cannot know it," Thorin shakes his head in disbelief.
"He has been married for longer than Frerin and Fili, and he has married for love, and she still has not conceived. They will not have children." Wren's voice is sad, "She is older too, remember? Her family is very small, from Iron Hills, very few sons. She will not bear." Thorin watches her face. "Fili on the other hand… He is strong, noble, fair, he was unlucky. He married out of duty, as it was expected of him, but he has learnt his lesson. He will look for love, and he will find it. But he will be careful this time. Someone younger, full of life and passion, to bear his sons and to rule with him. And there are many willing, he is enticing."
"Oh is he now?" Thorin is not sure himself how much of the jealousy in his voice is an act. She laughs quietly. There is no other light in the room except from the moon, but he can see her features well.
"Perhaps. I cannot judge, I could never see any charm in golden hair," her eyes are mischievous, and he rolls his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Wren." She settles on his chest again, and he closes his eyes.
"Have I elevated some of your disquiet, my lord?"
"Oh yes, I feel so much better," his tone is sarcastic, "You have enlightened me that one of my sister-sons is married to a barren woman, while the second one is apparently a maiden's dream come true..." She snorts, her warm breath brushes at his skin.
"You place words in my mouth, my lord, I would not know, I have not been a maiden for quite a while," there is laughter bubbling in her voice, and he strokes the back of her head. They lie in silence for a bit, and he sighs again. She is right, there is no use in worrying about it now. He already starts nodding off when he realises it is now her turn to think loudly. There is some nervous restlessness in her, and she is drawing patterns on his skin mindlessly.
"Wren?" She does not move, and her body grows tense. "Wren, what is it?" She shifts again, their heads are now on the same pillow, and she is studying his face. He feels worried and is trying to guess the reason of her distress in her features. Suddenly a narrow palm lies on the back of his head, she decisively moves to him, and her lips cover his. Hers are firm, there is a certain edge to her action, and he gently puts his hand on her waist. He cannot push her away of course, but he needs to see if she jolts from his touch. She does, but then she only kisses him deeper. She opens his mouth with her tongue, but he still feels stiff and strained. That is the woman he has desired for years, and yet he softly moves away from her and cups her jaw with one hand.
"Wren, what is it?"
"I want this..." Her voice is tense, and he is not convinced. He also doesn't understand how far she wants to go. He gave her his word these nights are to be chaste. He remembers her passion from before, the fire is not here. He is afraid to scare or hurt her. Not understanding the reason for the strange change, he cannot know when to stop. He did not care enough then, he cares too much now.
"Why?" He is stroking her jaw with his thumb. The lashes flutter in the usual gesture.
"It will happen sooner or later. I do not wish to waste any more time..." They are still lying facing each other, and the cool tips of her fingers run down his chest, then stomach, and lie on the waste on his night breeched.
"It does not have to happen..."
"I am terrified..." They speak at the same time, and suddenly she moves into him, hiding her face into his neck, her hands clasped and pressed between their bodies, the gesture is vulnerable and trusting, she has never touched him this way, and he wraps his arm around her, pushing the other one under her, enveloping her in embrace. It is their first one.
"I desire you..." She whispers. "I have for years... I used to hide on the stairs to the training yard to watch you train... I thought my body would never feel anything, but it does... With you..." He is pressing his cheek into the crown of her head, he heard little after she said she desired him. He is taking slow breaths in, not to start moving, grabbing, kissing, tasting. He is even squeezing his eyes. "But I am terrified..." He starts stroking her back, in long controlled brushes of his shaking hand, it is an awkward caress, he is not used to such chaste gestures. He also has never bedded a woman he loves.
She shifts and is pulling on his shoulders asking him to roll over her. He presses one hand into the sheets, not placing all his weight onto her, and then he remembers it is her. And years have passed, and he thinks of all those times in the past years when he wanted to kiss and did not, wanted to touch and did not allow himself. He is not coupling with her hastily and greedily.
"Wren..." He breathes out her name and gently kisses the corner of her lips. They are trembling under his, and he is supporting himself on one elbow, not covering her body, instinctively avoiding restraining her. He is kissing the cheek and the jaw now, keeping demanding tone out of his caresses. "Wren... Wren..." He places his hand on her shoulder, rubs the skin through the dress, brushes down her side, to the miniscule waist. She turns her face, their mouths meet, she is tasting and exploring, he is inhaling and exhaling her hot breath. Her hands start moving, first timid, then curious, then demanding. She is arching into him now, he is not sure what she wants now, but then she grabs the hem of her nightdress, pulls it up and presses her hips into him. He exhales sharply, her fingers untangle the strings on his breeches, she is distracted by it, and her kisses are bungling. Her hand wraps around his length, and he gulps air with open mouth. "Wren..."
"Do not talk, do not talk, I will doubt... I will change my mind..." She is grasping his member in the hand, firmly, and her smooth thigh goes on his hip, he realizes she pushed his breeches down, her skin brushes on his, the smooth silk on him, he feels the warmth, she is pressing her centre closer, and he shakes off the daze, he picks her up under her arms, rolls on his back and seats her on him.
She rushes ahead, she is kissing him greedily, he is bucking up his hips, his tip presses into her, she sinks on him, and there is a hiss and a suppressed moan from her. He feels resistance and friction, she is too dry, and he grabs her hips halting her. She jerks in his hands, her nails sink into his shoulders.
"Please, Thorin, please..." It is in Khuzdul. He pushes his hand under her buttocks, lifting her slightly, his fingers slide under her, and he starts stroking the soft folds. A raspy groan falls from her lips, he pulls the hand out, licks his fingertips, and returns to his caresses. She is making the soft mewling sounds he has forgotten, they used to drive him into lustful aggressive frenzy, but he is still controlling himself. Moisture coats his fingers, he quickly replaces them with his member, and she drops down on him, her cheek on his shoulder. He is clenching his teeth, she is tight, and she was not aroused enough.
"I cannot move… Please..." Violent shiver runs through her body, he understands what she is asking for, his palms are under her hipbones now, he lifts her and moves up into her. The first thrust is met with a shrieky cry, he halts, but she asks for more.
He cannot, he has learnt his lesson. He lowers her down, cups her face and makes her look into his eyes.
"Wren, if there is pain, we need to stop..." Her eyes are widened, black pupils flooding the amber irises, and she shakes her head. He does not understand the gesture.
"I do not know... Yes, there is... pain..."
He removes her off his body, she sobs when his member slides out of her, and he rolls on his side and pulls her into himself, her back pressed to his chest. He squeezed her tightly, and then he moves her hair off her face, he is whispering some comforting nonsense. She starts crying silently, slender shoulders shake, and he is stroking her upper arm awkwardly. She falls asleep quickly, and when he moves away from her she does not even twitch. He walks into the bath chambers and quickly relieves himself of the arousal. He does not require much, he is used to pleasuring himself thinking of her, this time his body still remembers the firm grasp of her strong hand and then her tight quim. He returns into the bed, pulls her into tight embrace and falls into slumber.