Author's notes:Holy f- cow! This chapter just reeks of awesomeness! Enjoy! :D (I just hope that I got the 'Thorin-part' right.)

[1]I once had huge cramp in my foot and it made my big toe move on it's own! This is something similair!
[2] Gimli quote! Couldn't help myself, ha!
[3] Face it gals: we all love the mysteriously brooding type! For they seem way out of our league and are deliciously desirable because of that fact.

Chapter 21: Inner Demons

You had never been so glad to be sitting around a fire with only your smallclothes and a blanket tightly wrapped around you. Tauriel and Legolas had brought everyone's armour, clothes and some food, including something that looked like a strange 'cookie'. It was lembas bread. A grown man could nibble of it and immediately feel that his hunger was satiated.

You had three, before your stomach finally stopped growling.

A shiver ran over your spine and you huddled closer to the fire, your scraped knuckles clutching the blanket as if you were afraid that it would fly off and away in the distance. Legolas had also treated your head trauma –you were made to swallow something- and it felt better already! The wound had been cleaned properly and it didn't feel like someone was stabbing a knife through it.

A silent "Thank you," to the Avvar had left your lips and watched how Dori managed to force the fire to burn hotter and brighter by poking the wood on which it fed. Bofur sat opposite of you, his hands once again fumbling with his wooden block (of where you could some part of it as a wing) and his whittling knife. The way he slowly worked on the wood though, betrayed that his mind was occupied with other things than just whittling.

"You are lucky to be alive, lassie. Why has you barrel sprung leak?" Balin muttered, nibbling on some dried meat and his white beard furrowed for a moment. You shrugged your sore shoulder muscles –almost wincing, but not quite- and took a deep and shivering breath, remembering that moment vividly.

"I don't know, probably because it hit the sharp ends of a rock or something. Anyway, I knew I had to get out otherwise I would have surely drowned," you muttered softly. Your blue-grey eyes sliding from the old dwarf and back to the fire, not allowing your body to shiver anymore and forced it to relax. Someone sat down beside you and large calloused hand was placed on yours, which awfully gripped the blanket like it was some kind of life buoy.

"There were lots of sharp rocks points of the underground passage from where we floated to the river. I.. I'm sorry to say, but we are lucky that only yours appeared to be the weaker one," Bilbo clumsily sat, his hands holding nibbled lembas and his large hobbit feet stretched out.

The hands pried your fingers open, tenderly and careful, causing you to wince as cramp caused the appendages to turn almost into unwilling claws. [1] Steel met your own eyes when you looked up, sucking any thought of struggling –you were seriously considering tearing your hands from his own- out of your mind. Thorin's calloused hands cupped your own and started to massage them slowly. His large fingers oddly tender as he took time to warm the tendon in your hand and made them supple again.

The cramp in your hands disappeared slowly, but steady and somehow your entire body came along; relaxing, but not as forced as before. You watched how his black manes, with streaks of silver here and there, hung down as he was bent over your hands; giving them his full attention. You barely noticed someone standing up and walking away when he looked up, his face warmly lit by the light of the fire and causing his piercing grey eyes to twinkle.

"I am supposed to tell you not to do that anymore –putting yourself in life-threatening danger-, but somehow I think it will hardly matter." Thorin's deep baritone voice drifted in your ears and pleasantly played with your eardrums. You slid your hands out of his soft grip, flexing them and noticing that they felt a lot better now. A grin flashed across your face, whilst you did so.

"What can I say? I love a certainty of death, small chance of success and wonder what heck I am waiting for?[2] I know that everyone is thinking the same!"

-

Bilbo noticed that the mirth returned back to Ayne's eyes and the life oozed back into her voice. The pale complexion of her face was slowly dissipating as the sun slowly sunk to the horizon. His eyes had followed Bofur standing up and walking away the moment Thorin had grasped Ayne's hands. The dwarf had plumped himself down with his back against a tree, his face displaying nothing of the inner turmoil that surged in the poor dwarf's head.

The night came swiftly, for clouds were brewing above and stealing away the remaining light with such a skill of stealth that was unparalleled by everything walking on the earth below. Bofur was still seated on his spot over-looking the camp, despite the looks his concerned brother Bombur occasionally shot at him whilst he was preparing dinner.

Who was he to treasure the hope of him and.. 'No, don't think like that, Bofur,' the toymaker scolded himself and refused to think that way. His chocolate eyes slid from his little 'project' to the most amazing woman he had ever met, only to be smitten once more. The light of the fire gently flickered on this mysterious being that had captured the poor Bofur's heart. Each time the corner of her perfect mouth tucked upwards, he felt his stomach lurch with a thousand butterflies that were soaring within him.

Bifur had approached him the moment Ayne had gone to bed, a few weeks back at Beorn's house. Even though his brother was silent and only grumbling incoherent noises, Bofur knew what he meant after the dwarf cocked his head to their king. Apparently Bofur wasn't the only to be captured by this perfect specimen of the opposite sex.

Bofur's eyes traced the figure of Ayne to Thorin, who was seated next to her in a manner that their shoulders sometimes brushes against each other the moment one of them moved. The dwarf couldn't help but to feel a little pang of jealousy in his corrupted heart. Bofur had to be realistic; he was quite in the disadvantage. For starters, he wasn't of royal blood nor from an exceptional lineage, second; he didn't hold the deep, dark and mysterious persona that Thorin obviously had (and apparently that character trait attracted quite a lot of the female folk[3]). Then again he didn't think that Ayne was the type that would blindly followed a man for just being attractive; she was the type of woman that looked passed a man's physique and bring out the worst and best of them and that was his final and third disadvantage; he couldn't help but to feel afraid of the emotions that she extracted from him.

Bofur's past was a dark one filled with deep mines, hard labour, death and crime before he turned in the positively charged man that he is now. A past that the poor toymaker weaved inside his stories and covered up with his humour and self-mockery. Every time Ayne talked to poor Bofur, he felt completely turned inside out by those incredible grey-blue eyes of hers and that made him feel unbearably naked and uncomfortable. Yet it was so strangely addictive to be accepted like he really was.

The dwarf was abruptly pulled from his day dreams when his eyes followed Ayne standing up, the blanket around her just hanging around her bare shoulders, showing a delicate neckline and the beginning of scars that covered the poor woman's back in great number. Bofur's mouth grew dry when he watched a long, bare and athletic leg appear from underneath the long blanket, only to step over some backpacks of the other dwarves with perfectly shaped bare feet. A lump formed in the dwarf's throat when the sound of her delicious laughter rang in his ears.

His chocolate eyes followed the beautiful dwarf- 'No, she has to be one of the Ainur,' Bofur corrected himself- to the branch of where her clothes hang to dry. Bofur's observant eyes also noticed Fili and Kili overstretching their necks to the female specimen of their own kind. He watched her hands touch the fabric of her clothing and pulled them off the branch.

"Strip! Strip!- Ouch!" Kili yelled, earning a slap of his brother Fili –who was more modest. Ayne stuck out her tongue at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"Yeah, you would like that right? Alas boys, no show tonight!" Kili's face over-dramatically fell at her words, but Bofur could see mirth and a curiosity flicker in the youngster's eyes. She disappeared momentarily, only to appear dressed with her sleeves rolled up and the blanket in her hands (that she gave to a half-asleep Ori, whom welcomed it greatly and snuggled in it).

"Have you ever been married, Ayne?" Kili then boldly asked, making Bofur's eyes brows to rise for a moment and in the corner of his eyes he could see Thorin straighten for a moment and also lay his eyes on the woman; who merely shrugged her shoulders and halted her stride, placing her hands on her hips after she stroked some bangs behind her ears.

"I never had opportunity, nor find the right person if you must know," she told Kili with a matter-of-fact voice. It was lie. Bofur could tell by the way her mirth eyes had darkened for just a tiny whiny second when she thought back of times that were long lost, forgotten and probably buried. Suddenly a smile managed to creep its way on Ayne's face and she apologized, her voice soft.

"I am sorry, that was a lie. He died about fifty years ago," she muttered and sat back down next to Thorin, gratefully taking the bowl of warm stew in her hands that Bombur offered and started to eat slowly, careful not to burn her mouth.
Kili's face instantly turned from curiosity into shame, for he suddenly realized that he had asked about quite a private thing. Fili stammered, trying to cover his brother; "W-we're.. We're sorry. We had no idea- " Ayne just smiled and waved the arguments away with her hand.

"Don't feel bad about asking. He died the noble death of protecting me from Wargs that had sucked themselves on my caravan –I was travelling to the Iron Hills to trade with the dwarrow there-. He was one of the few that actually had some fighting experience, aside from me. He was mortally wounded and perished; it was sad, yes. But I have moved on and live the life that he had saved."

Ayne spoke with truth colouring her voice. The young brothers instantly felt relieved that they weren't being scolded or made a beautiful woman cry. In fact, she seemed to speak fondly of her deceased husband to Bilbo who was interested in the dwarf that he was. Bofur had to admit, he was too, and he could see that Thorin was also listening by the way his grey eyes burned holes in the flames of the bonfire.

His name appeared to be Loiruf, a simple tradesman that she had met on a market at Bree that had a warrior background, like her. The two instantly fell in love and started to court a week later. She apparently had travelled with him with his caravan from market to market in different cities throughout Middle-Earth. He had taught her how to swim and several handy survival instincts during their travels and married after a year they had met.

"Loiruf was the one that taught me to enjoy life to the fullest because it's such a precious thing, despite its dark sides. He was a bit like Bofur, actually; always laughing, always joking and always able to make you appreciate everything and turn a smile on your lips."

Bofur couldn't help but to feel his heart grow at her kind words. He smiled and looked down at the little wooden figure that was slowly shaping itself in his crafty hands. So she thought of him like that? His chocolate eyes looked up at the woman once more, meeting her own for just a short moment and the smile that made her face illuminate made him grateful that he was seated on the ground. He refused to blush but tipped his hat instead with a grin gracing his features. A happy, giddy feeling coursed through his body –originating from his butterfly filled belly- and warmed him all over.

Maybe. Just maybe.

-

The night was growing darker and darker by the hour and your voice had grown a bit hoarse from talking to Bilbo until the hobbit could barely prevent his eyelids to shut down. The dwarves that weren't asleep yet, were ready to get to bed, when you stood up and walked to the edge of camp; to the gravel river banks that held your barely alive body for less than twelve hours ago.

The moon was out and shone its enchantingly silver light on world below, making flecks of silver appear on the ground around you through holes of the canopy of the trees. You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself as a particular cold breeze graced your being and made the leaves above your head rustle softly like thousand whispers.
Then, something warm and heavy was draped across your shoulders, instantly shielding you from the cold and granting you a great deal of warmth at the same time. It smelled faintly of sweat, fire but strongly of oak and pine trees; causing your nose to tickle pleasantly. Your hand reached up, latching into fur when you saw someone appear in the corner of your eyes.

"You were cold," Thorin answered the unspoken question that was no doubt burning within your eyes. A smile tucked at your lips as you snuggled in his coat.

"Aren't you cold now?" You questioned.

"I can bear the cold for just a few moments longer," was his answer. The prince folded his arms behind his back as he silently watched the beautiful scenery displayed in front of the two of you; namely the gorgeous shimmering of the moon light on the rushing water and the solitary peak way in the distance; Erebor.

"I haven't thought of the journey to be this.. problematic," you slowly began, breaking the silence between the two of you. Thorin remained silent, urging you to go on by just a glance of his eyes.

"I am sorry, for being the burden that I am. I did not mean to-"

"You are never a burden," Thorin cut you off, taking a step closer to you and placing one of his large hands on your shoulders. Making you look up briefly in his eyes, only to quickly avert them because of the intensity that was held within those grey depths. "You are simply good at finding trouble," his deep baritone voice whispered.

"Yeah, if it weren't for Bilbo we would have all died back there with the trolls, remember?" You chuckled half-heartedly, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere that was suddenly settling between you and Thorin. You felt your cheeks slowly heat up when you suddenly noticed Thorin's actual proximity to you and how his right hand gently squeezed your left shoulder.

"We would have also died if it wasn't for your courage, Ayne. Remember Azog?"

You suddenly found the scales of his armour very interesting. They shone very faintly in the dimmed lighting of the moon that managed to come and shine on the ground between the trees that covered your heads. Thorin's hand on your shoulder moved a bit and felt his fingers play with the strands of your hair that were close to the digits. A pang of regret, for your long golden locks, shot through your heart.

"I wasn't courageous.. I was afraid-"

"And you stuffed it away and refused to curl up and die."

The tips of Thorin's fingers grazed your flustered left cheek. They were pleasantly cold, yet warm at the same time. Slowly his whole palm cupped your face, causing you reached up to take a gently hold on his wrist but allowing this simple, yet moving gesture. Your eyes gazed up into his own that were much closer than you had expected as you leaned in his touch. A heavy silence settled between the two you, an opportunity that your heart took to ram so hard against your ribcage, that you were confident that Thorin could hear it.

"Thorin-" you began, but was immediately silenced when his lips pressed against your own.

Your mind was blown at the held back passion that made Thorin's lips to tremble as he tried to be gentle and tender. Although the feeling was foreign for just a moment, you adjusted pretty quickly to it and moved your lips with his own whilst your one of your hands curled around the hem of his scale cuirass and the other slide up his neck, your thumb grazing his short, but soft beard.

The prince moved to stand in front of you, his other hand resting in the junction of your throat and collar bone, whilst the other weaved through your hair and made it possible to deepen the kiss; which he of course did as he threw away every thought of being cautious. And god, he was so good at it.

With renewed passion, Thorin pressed his lips harder against your own and moved in such a delicious way –with a hint of tongue sweeping over your lower lip- that made your stomach soar, your mind to be blown and your libido sky rocket into the heavens. When you felt the desire to press yourself tightly against the prince, you decided to do the opposite and slowly pulled back and out of his grasp when you mind overruled the delicious sensations that coursed in your body with reason and wit. Just in time because someone scraped his throat, making the both of you jump and step away from each other until there was surely three feet between the two of you.

Bofur was leaning against a tree, but there was something off about him when he smiled at you and Thorin. "I am sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to say that maybe it's wise for the two of you to return to camp. I heard that wolves roamed these lands." His voice was like a hard smack in your face; a venomous, regret and scorching smack that left the nasty taste of worry and regret on your tongue.

Without waiting for a response the toymaker turned around, his shoulders slumped and his arms hanging beside his body. With each step the dwarf took, he could feel tiny fractures appear throughout his heart, only to shatter it in a million pieces.