A/N: This is your glory moment, my darling dearreader, you have propelled the plot ahead! :D
A/N#2: Dear TwistIt, that's pretty much what you meant, right? :D
That time when time Wren went with Bard to the Mountain after the fire to negotiate with Thorin, meanwhile Thorin received from her the best treatment for gold sickness.
The cursed hussy! The dishonourable wench! The whore, the witch, the jade! Thorin had been smashing and shattering everything around him for the last three hours, and still he didn't seem to feel any better! Balin came to him once but quickly left the hall, where Thorin had by then armed himself with a mace and with vindictive pleasure realised he was producing more damage this way.
With each blow he was dropping on columns and walls he was recalling every time she had outplayed him, fooled him, turned him into a brainless buffoon! Because this time she had exceeded herself ten hundred times! The hustler had taken the Arkenstone!
While he was whimpering and whining like an enamoured dimwit he was and her blade was pressed to his throat, her deft little hands pulled the gem of Durin's folk out of his clothing. And, which somehow he found most infuriating, she concealed her loot in his own coat!
He hollered and crushed the mace into the nearest wall. A wide crack ran along it, and he fell on his knees breathing loudly and labouriously. If only he could get his hands on her… He clearly imagined his fingers locked around her pale neck. The harlot, the strumpet, the good-for-nothing, double-faced, canneving tramp! On the other hand he felt almost relieved. It was easier to hate the thief than to crave the woman. He could now concentrate on imagining choking her throat, rather than pressing his lips to it.
He rose on his feet, swaying heavily, and joined his companions. Terror was written all over the hobbit's face, and Thorin snarled at him. It was time to explore Erebor and devise a plan of returning the Arkenstone.
A few days later a company of spearmen appeared under his gate, bearing the green banners of the Elvenking and blue ones of Laketown. He addressed them from the wall, wearing his grandfather's crown he felt endlessly uncomfortable in but felt it was required by the circumstances.
"Who are that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?"
Bard the Bargeman stepped ahead and answered, "Hail, Thorin! Why do you fence yourself like a robber in his hold?"
And then the whining started. The Men, who dared to drag the cursed wood wimps into this story, were demanding a share of his gold! Why would he be surprised though? They were always greedy and lusting after the treasures of Erebor!
And then it even turned out that the despicable pale wimp of Elvenking was aiding the Laketown people in their need! Thorin had to agree, dragon fire had brought ruin and desolation to their dwellings, but somehow he couldn't recall having received the same treatment from the Elves when his home was devastated by the same calamity! Thorin felt the best answer to them was to repeat what he previously stated, that they should ishkh khakfe andu null, and prepared waiting for Dain Ironfoot's army to join him.
Days passed slowly and wearily. They searched Erebor, cleared passages, evaluated the damage Smaug had left behind him. More and more often Thorin found himself in the treasury, the even golden glow seemingly calming his nerves. Only surrounded by the gold and gems of his ancestors he managed to forget the treachery of the cursed redhead for a few blissful hours. He would wander the dunes of gold, and for once the cold clasping at his heart would seemingly melt in the warm golden glimmer.
And then they came to bargain again, and he was ready to dismiss them again, when they claimed they had the Arkenstone. He felt sharp pain in his chest and only grasping to the wall, his knuckles white, allowed him to hide his moment of weakness. He should have known she'd betray him for the sake of the bargeman. Surely she was his doxie. And the Elvenking's as well, she did say her trip to Mirkwood had been successful! How could he had been so blind! She was in a conspiracy with them from the start! Kamnul uhfar! Dirty traitor. Narg kurdu rukuhz! Black hearted demon! Kalfel!
"How came you by it?" shouted Thorin in gathering rage.
And then the cursed halfling squealed from his left, "I gave it to them. Well, she gave it to me, and I gave it to them."
His rage was blind and devastating but the shreds of his mind held on to the memories of the halfling jumping in front of Azog's warg to protect him, and he threw the cursed hobbit out of Erebor, sparing his life.
He gritted his teeth and agreed on the conditions of his enemies, but remembered that Dain was on his way. With his help Thorin would recapture the Arkenstone and withhold the share of the reward the halfling was demanding shaking some dirty piece of paper in front of Thorin's nose. Thorin could hardly remember signing some ludicrous contract in the halfling's burrow, all he could think of at the moment was how they all, all of them wanted some of his gold, the gold that didn't belong to them, his, his gold.
He rushed into the treasury, gasping for air, his dark blue attire suffocating him, he jerked the collar of the fur adorned outergarment, and fell on his knees on the golden coins. It was his, only his, he didn't need anything else, they all had betrayed him, the woman, the friend, the wizard who suddenly turned up in the enemy camp…
And that's when excruciating pain bloomed in the back of his head, and the world grew black. He swam in the disgusting haze for Mahal only knows how long, and then he stirred and heard the voice even before he managed to open his eyes.
"According to Elves it is called cognitive recalibration and should work on your anger management problems, but I am starting to worry for your wits, sweetpea. Not that you had much to start with, but from all this clobbering you might really lose some balls in the upper department."
She was sitting on a heap of gold, playing with a golden coronet that belonged to his grandmother. She was dangling it on her finger, and he growled and lunged at her. At least he tried, he was apparently tightly and securely tied to a column, sitting near it, nothing but a thin tunic and trousers left on him, barefoot, and she tilted her head and tut-tutted.
"I am rather cross with you, sweetpea. I was on my way East, happy as a lark, when I heard of all the mess you'd brewed in here." She gave him a measuring look and put the coronet on her head.
"Take it off, uthrab! You gave up any right to touch my gold!" The crown sat slightly askew on her curls, and she laughed loudly.
"I never had any right to touch it to start with. Never stopped me before," she was dangling one foot and picked up a gem. She twirled it between her fingers and wrinkled her nose. "Besides the obvious coocoo going on in that big head of yours," she vaguely gestured all over him, "I would assume you've been breathing dragon fumes for way too long. And again all the malnutrition..." She tut-tutted again. "What do you have left of provision, probably just cram, the Elven crackers, am I right? How about some wine and cheese, love?" He glared at her and kept silent.
He discreetly pulled at the ropes. There was no way to escape them, she knew knots well. He watched her pour wine in a goblet and pull out a block of cheese from a sack at her feet. She theatrically dangled it in front of his face, and he growled.
"What do you want, shaikmushz?" She feigned shock and pressed a hand to her chest.
"Rude, so rude! First you call me 'a thief,' now 'a rat', sweetpea! The next thing you will say you are not happy to see me!"
"You betrayed me!" He couldn't keep it inside anymore, and he thrashed as much as the ropes allowed, in a desperate, helpless rage, snarling and grinding his teeth. She seemed completely unaffected, cut a neat little slice of cheese and stretched her hand with it to him.
"Cheese, sweetpea? The best Esgaroth can offer. Well, could, since there isn't much left of Esgaroth," she twirled the treat in front of his face, and he gave her a hateful stare.
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for them? Their ruin is none of my concern!" She hummed and popped the cheese into her mouth. She was chewing thoughtfully and then got up and stepped to him. She lifted the goblet with wine to his lips and grinned lopsidedly.
"It is just wine, no addings this time, sweetpea." She pressed the cup to his lips, and he jerked his head, the goblet flew, dark red wine spilling on his clothes and on the gold around him.
She sighed, stepped back and returned to the heap she was sitting on before.
"I knew you'd be hard to reason with but I didn't expect you to be that far gone."
"Untie me right now!" He hated her, hated her so much at that moment, that given a chance he'd break her like a twig! He hated how calm she was, just sitting a few feet away, looking at his attentively, as if nothing happened, as if she hadn't broken his heart, twice, all of her familiar and so dear before!
"I think we have agreed, sweetpea, that you are not to order me anymore." She rose and walked closer to him. She knelt in front of him and stretched her hand to his face. He considered biting her hand, and then to his own endless shock he leaned into her palm, familiar cool skin brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes. "I'll tell you a story, sweetpea. When I was thirteen I was an apprentice of a healer in Bree." His eyes flew open, and he stared at her. A healer's apprentice?! "I was very driven, I considered healing my calling, but more so, I had the best mentor a healer could hope for. And among other things he used to help those who couldn't help themselves around wine, or gambling, or women. He had a mad idea that some people have an inborn tendency to get attached to certain habits, substances and behaviours." She stroked his beard and then her little fingers found his ear. "My mentor thought that he could find the right treatment for each of his patients. Some needed service to take their mind off their habits, some needed company, others distraction. And then one of his patients ran him through with a dull knife for the few coins my mentor had in his pockets, and since young girls were his guilty pleasure my mentor was treating him from, he came after me." Thorin suddenly wondered how old she was, this story hardly could have happened more than a decade ago.
"And what happened?" He didn't recognise his own raspy voice.
"I gutted him with my new surgical instruments and decided healing was not quite my cup of tea." She let go off him and stood up. "But I remember what my mentor kept on telling those people." Her eyes grew distant, lost in her memories, and she spoke softly, "Somewhere deep inside yourself, you can find that very little key to your own salvation, the little thread that keeps you afloat, not letting you slide into complete madness. There is always the way out, and you yourself would be keeping it hidden close to your heart."
Thorin watched her glowing face, her mesmerizing eyes shiny, her chest rising in shallow emotional breaths, and he whispered, "Wren..." She looked at him, her eyes warm and slightly mischievous, and a small smile played on her lips.
"And you know what I found hidden close to your heart, under all these layers of the regal garments that you are so pompously wearing these days, Thorin Oakenshield?"
She stretched her hand ahead, and hanging on her little index finger he saw her peach coloured garter, that he had with him at all times, since the day he picked it up from the floor of his cell in Mirkwood. It lost its lilacs fragrance long ago but he grew into habit of lightly stroking the silky lace with his thumb, clasping it in his hand, when sleep would elude his through endless and endless nights.
"I don't know where it came from..." His voice was coarse and disobedient, and she knelt in front of him again, her eyes right in front of his.
"Liar..." Her breath hit his lips, and he jerked in his ropes, seeking her mouth. She allowed him, but stayed still, she let his lips press to hers and then she pulled away, leaving him hungry and livid. He hollered at her, and she got up in front of him. He had no words left, just a scream of pain and despair, and he thought the column shifted from the strain he was putting on it.
"No need to be angry, sweetpea. I will give you what you want in just an instant," her tone was calm, and he stilled listening to the strange authoritativeness in her voice. "But you have to decide what it is that you actually want." Her hands lay on the buttons of her doublet. He saw it was the same one he almost destroyed in the vent room, it had been mended. She shook it off, and then her hands lay on the waist of her trousers. She pushed them down and stepped out of them leaving her boots on the ground behind her as well. She was left in a thin tunic, all lace, delicate, ivory coloured, and bloomers hardly reaching the middle of her thigh. She bent down to pick up something from the sack on the ground, and he groaned from the view of her slender body flex and move under the gauzy undergarments. And then he saw the Arkenstone on her palm.
"So what is it that you want, sweetpea?"