I took one last long look at my mother's red silken dress. It was the same dress I had chosen to wear during the great feast almost one year ago, for we had not had the time to sew a new one. And yet, it felt fitting to look at myself in front of Sigrid's long mirror that was backed with silver, a betrothal gift from Fili, for in a way it meant that my mother was with me, holding my arm and guiding me towards the door. Every waking hour since our decision to marry so soon had brought with it nerves and excitement, intertwined so closely that there was no telling what it was that my heart was thudding in response to. Slowly, for I would never have this moment again, I stared at the braids in my hair, woven with fresh spring flowers. A thin circlet of silver rested on my head, shining in the candlelight. I was trying not to look at it, but it stood out like silver amongst gold. I wore no other adornment, save the comb of pomegranate flowers that sat at the nape of my neck, gathering the woven strands of hair.

Again there was a round of cheering from the hall where the men and women of Dale were already gathered, Bard among them. He would be standing on the raised stone platform at the top of the hall, Percy the Master of Laketown beside him. He would be wearing a deep blue velvet tunic, and his eyes would be scanning the crowd, his lips curved into my favourite smile. He was waiting for me. At the thought, my hands shook and my heart raced and I knew at once that it was not from nerves, it was excitement. It was unbearable, unrelenting excitement.

My uncle Iohan stood at the door, one polished boot tapping on the floor. Wordlessly, he held an arm out to me, his black eyes shining with silent amusement.

"You are beautiful," he whispered into my ear when he tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. "Your mother would think you so very beautiful."

"If I am beautiful, then you are handsome," I replied, taking in his rich dark brown tunic and freshly combed and braided hair. "A true Dorwinion Prince."

"For my Dorwinion Queen," he said, touching the circlet.

"Dale," Hilda said proudly from the other side of the door, where she stood waiting. "Your Queen of Dale."

My cheeks flushed pink at her correction but my uncle's answering laugh pushed my own nervous chuckle from my mouth.

"Aye," Iohan said gently as we walked down the corridor and paused in front of the carved wooden doors, in time to hear a hush fall over the crowd. "My Queen of Dale."

And then the doors were opened.


The Master of Laketown married King Bard of Dale to his Queen as the sun was setting and the spring flowers cast their heady scent to the air. The hall was quiet as he tied the ribbon of silk around our clasped hands, but when Bard recited the age old vows in a clear, triumphant voice, and my own voice rang out in assent to him, I could not even hear his whispered words of love from the deafening roar. The hall was full of fishwives and market traders, men and women of the court, village girls and stable boys. The two men that made up my family cheered the loudest, though Bain's bellowed "Hurrah, hurrah, to the King and Queen of Dale!" eclipsed them all.

There was naught to do but smile shyly, and turn to the crowd to perform a curtsy as Bard bowed low to the people who called him their liege. This wedding, so easy and simple, had put me beside him and so when they cheered for us it was no longer difficult to walk beside my new husband to the long table where we would sit to preside over our wedding feast. I could barely tear my eyes from his for joy, and even when we walked around the table to stand behind it, raised on the dais for the first time, there was nothing that stopped me from darting forward to kiss his lips, near bursting with happiness when he wound his arms around me and kissed me again to more shouts of pleasure from the crowd.

"My wife," he said lowly, pulling out my chair. I sat, beaming up at him, thrilling to the word. When Bard sat down beside me, the crowd sat too, and soon we were free to share our disbelieving laughs as conversation flowed around us.

"Husband," I said slowly, testing my tongue on the word. "Husband."

"Queen Anne," he said with a smirk and a tip of his glass of spiced wine towards me. "Queen Anne of Dale, my very own wife."

"King Bard," I shot back, grinning widely and full to bursting with joy, "King Bard of Dale, my very own husband."

We ate in silence together, not that it was of our own making. Bard's children sat beside him and nothing halted the joyful words that spilled from Tilda's mouth – neither of us had the heart to stop her, and so Bard indulged her and listened to her commentary on our vows with a smile. My uncle and Alvar occupied the two seats next to me, and I was more than content to listen to their stories of all that had happened in the village since we had left. We had only a week between our departures, but already there was news of engagements and children being born. We dined on roasted meat and game, and freshly baked bread with rich, creamy butter. Soups were passed along our table and when the sweetmeats were presented I had to look away with shining eyes from the beautiful squares of conserve that I knew Birna had made that very morning. I raised my glass to her, sitting shyly to the side of the hall, such a mirror of myself a year ago that my throat was suddenly all too thick.

The dwarves of Erebor had come to celebrate with us and King Thorin sat beside my cousin, with Fili, Kili and Dis taking up the rest of the seats. If there was anything at all that marked the change in my status, it was the King Under the Mountain bowing low over my hand, brushing a kiss over my knuckles as he turned my hand over and placed a jewel into my palm that shone almost as much as the amusement in his eyes. There had been no time for any proper notifications to be sent to the Elves, but an ambassador from Dorwinion was sitting proudly at a table close to the dais, and more than once I blushed to hear him speaking to his companions of how a daughter of the vineyards had risen to be a beautiful Queen.

"You will need to get used to it," Kili said with a smirk as he whirled me around the hall not long after the dancing had begun. Bard and I had danced together during the first set to a lively reel from Laketown and the heat of his hand on my back was all too promising; both of us regretted the moment when he had to pass my hand from his to another's.

"It is no hardship," I said smilingly, laughing when he missed yet another step.

"Nay, 'tis no hardship at all," Fili pronounced when he came to claim my hand next. "I shall tell the rest of Erebor that Queenship suits you as well as the diamonds that shine in your hair."

"You have a mouth for flattery," I said dryly, "for there are no diamonds in my hair!"

We parted and circled Sigrid and Kili, until we drew together again. Not for the first time I thought that there was no better person for Sigrid, as his eyes so often moved to where my younger friend was dancing. "I know diamonds when I see them," Fili said with a smug smile. "Tell me, Queen Anne, is there another explanation for how the centres of the flowers shine so?"

I gasped and missed the next step, then giggled like a child when he simply hardened his hold on my waist and rose me up to place me where I should have been. "You lie!"

"By the beards of my fathers," Fili said, eyes twinkling. "I do not lie."

I touched a hand to the comb of pomegranate flowers, then, unable to resist, tipped my head back and laughed. And when Bard came to take my hand I greeted him with another kiss, whispering that it was in thanks for the jewels in my hair. He beamed, and swung me around until we were breathless.

The dancing lasted long into the night, and often it would be Percy on his lute that would play the opening notes of tunes that hailed from Laketown or from the original town of Dale so many years before. They were fast and merry, with lutes accompanied by beating drums, fiddles and the clapping of hands as the sweet wine and honeyed mead encouraged the crowd to sing the words boisterously. The dwarves, not to be outdone, bellowed out one of their own songs in Khuzdul, an honour that would not be seen again for never would a dwarf sing songs in his own language in front of those outside of his race. Dwalin himself sang the loudest, and whether it was the wine in her belly or the love in her heart, I will never know, but Dis let him lead her into the next dance with a smile that would have lit the silver lanterns on the walls.

Young women danced to village tunes, their hair loose and wreaths of flowers on their heads. Their mothers and I stood to the side and clapped along with the tune, and it was with near constant laughter that I accepted a hand to drag me into the circle, to link my arms with Sigrid and Tilda and let them guide me until I too was dizzy as my feet jumped, crossed and leapt. We turned and twirled, and in the end not one woman was dancing with ordered steps. I had not known such joy as I did when my hands were clasped around those of the young women that could now be called half mine, at least in my heart, and there was no holding our gasping laughter as we spun around and around.

I was glad when a break was called, though there was no hope in having the chance to slip outside with my husband as we would have done had we been the farmer and his wife. Instead we sat together, his arm around my shoulders and my back leaning into his chest, listening to the men sing drinking songs of Laketown. Bard, so usually silent and soft spoken, was not the only one who raised his voice to join in, sharing a smirk with me as Percy strummed along and Slecg jumped on a table with his arms spread wide and feet dancing along the wooden surface:

When there's food on the table

And ale on the shelf

And good loving strong

And good loving long

She don't ever need nobody else!

The singing and clapping grew louder with the next verse and soon not one man of Laketown nor Dale was seated, including the handsome King of Dale, so modestly standing with his arms around Percy's shoulders as they bellowed out the words. More than once he would grab one of his daughters and swing them around with such delight that I could barely keep my eyes away from his, full of smiles of disbelief that this man was now joined with me.

And if you play around a little

Just make her realise

You were just testing her mettle

And that's all a different kettle

She's the sweetest fish you ever fried!

The talented trio of Bard, Slecg and Percy, now all standing on the table, swept their arms out and bowed in unison.

"What have I got myself into?" Snorting with laughter, I turned to Hilda who was eyeing the three with a screwed up mouth. Percy took one look at his wife and his face paled, and quickly the trio were off the table and perched on the bench in front of it, the picture of innocence.

Bard himself joined Percy during the next song, though instead of singing he sat with a drum over his knees as he beat out a rhythm to accompany the lute. It was a different, faster tune, so like the dances of my village that I was not surprised when my uncle stood up. Iohan appeared at my side with a grin and held out a hand.

"But no one is dancing!"

"Would you deprive me of a chance to dance with my daughter, azizam? No?"

"No," I beamed and let him lead me to the centre of the hall, summoning my courage to stand opposite him and curtsy as he bowed, and out of the corner of my eye I laughed to see the Dorwinion ambassador grabbing a drum and sitting down beside Bard, who was watching us with one eyebrow cocked. With the ambassador came his companions, borrowing lutes and fiddles to play for us.

As with all of our dances in Dorwinion, if one knew what to look for, there was no mistaking the Eastern influences. Perhaps it was an exotic, foreign thing to Dale, for no sooner had we circled each other once then the hall was full again. For a song, I was a child again as I danced and turned and ducked under my uncle's careful hand, and stood to the side and clapped once, then held my arms up and clicked my fingers, rolling my shoulders while he spread his arms and beckoned me forward again. We danced around each other, separately at first, and then with our arms linked as the ambassador increased the speed, until Alvar joined us and we three jumped and kicked out our feet in unison, laughing all the while as we took our little line of three around the hall.

I almost did not want it to end, but when I turned and saw Bard's eyes on me I was impatient all over again and as soon as the music finished, we performed our bows to the cheering crowd and I hastened to his side. Sharing my thoughts, he wound an arm around my waist and stood, studiously ignoring Sigrid's sly look, though Hilda appeared in front of us with hands on her hips as soon as we took our first steps towards the doors to the royal chambers.

"Oh, no you don't!" she cried and grabbed my hand. "You are forgetting something."

With the groan of the long suffering man through the ages, Bard released my hand and bent his head to whisper in my ear.

"Run quickly," he breathed, sending a shiver down my spine. With a dry mouth I nodded and backed away from him slowly to let the women of Dale and Laketown encircle me until there was a wall of bodies between us. And then I ran.


Long ago in Dale, so the tale goes, a bride was captured on her wedding day, retrieved by her family who did not wish to let her go. But the husband to be presented himself to the family who had barred their door against him, and long speeches were given in honour of the woman's beauty, her sweetness, her kindness. Still the family would not admit him, until a physical challenge was made. A spokesman stepped in to bring peace between them, and if the man was able to find his woman, then the marriage would be allowed to take place. Such a tradition was not practiced often in Laketown, but in restored Dale it was not rare at all to see a bride galloping away on a horse, followed by men of the groom's party, trying to catch her for the luck it would bring them in their own suits. We did not have the time to organise the horses, nor did I have a door to bar – it would be a fallacy anyway, for there was not one woman in the world who would have barred the door to the King of Dale. But I had my feet.

I would let him find me.

My slippers pounded on the wooden floor, slipping and sliding as I tore through the backs of the house, heart thudding and delighted laughter escaping my mouth. All the while I heard the footsteps following me becoming ever louder, until at one turn there was a glimpse of the pursuers. Still I did not stop; dodging tables and bookcases, I ran back into the hall and threw myself into the circle of women again, turning with a heaving chest to see Bard standing serenely against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. How had he known that I would return? Anticipation built, my breath sped; his eyes did not leave mine as he began to slowly walk towards me, threading his way through the crowd before he stopped a few feet away. I feinted to one side, giggling as his arm reached out to grab me, throwing him a coquettish glance when I turned and slipped between the women again, too far for his touch to find me.

Soon enough the crowd was dancing, whirling around in village reels accompanied by none too innocent bawdy jests and bellows of laughter, and again I was herded towards the doors to the side of the house that housed the royal chambers, Hilda, Esme and Dagny forming a row in front of me. The minute that Bard turned his head, distracted by Dis appearing at his elbow, they pushed me through the doors with shouts of encouragement and joy and my feet propelled me down the corridor, flying with me as I wrenched open the doors to every room I passed, giggling all the way as I heard the great doors open and close as soon as I turned the rosewood handle and slipped into Bard's chamber; this time, I wanted to be caught.


The footsteps came closer still, the wood underneath his boots creaking with each step he made. I backed further into his chamber, and in the time that I had I looked around at the room that would house and sleep me for the rest of my days. I had been here once before, when the black night had cast its shadows over the room and there was nothing to see. Now, there was light; candles had been lit, and one lantern hung from the wall beside the door, wrought in silver. From Erebor, no doubt. This was a King's chamber, fit only for a Queen to share. I shivered at the thought, wrapping my arms around my middle. Would a woman so used to service grow to command?

My eyes first took in the fireplace to the far right of the room, then the tapestries on the walls. They were not battle scenes like another king would hang to look at upon waking; these were scenes of fields and lakes and sprawling golden buildings: scenes of triumph and of life. Hilda had whispered to me that I may change anything, and yet there was nothing to change; it was as I would want because it was his. The wooden furniture was simple: a desk and chair in one corner, two tall chests along the wall and small tables on either side of the bed. A small door led to a washroom, a privilege on its own for a woman like myself, and there was a privacy screen in one of the corners. My own chest of cedar wood stood at the foot of the bed, containing my meagre belongings that had been sent earlier from my room and small little house down the hill. To see it in such a place, the heart of the room, made my hands shake all over again. There was no going back, though I did not wish to.

The bed… I swallowed, pushing past my nerves, and walked closer to the frame of slow grown oak, looking up to take in the cream coloured hangings, so thin that my eyes could easily see through the screens to the white linen sheets. I raised a slow, hesitant hand and pushed back the hangings.

"Is it… is it to your liking?"

I whipped around at the sound of Bard's voice, my breath catching at the sight of him standing in the open doorway, watching me.

"You caught me easily," I admitted quietly, taking a step towards him, biting my lip when he closed the door.

"I knew where to look."

As I walked, his eyes moved over my dress, following the silver patterns embroidered onto the red silk. I stopped halfway across the room, my feet flat on the cool wood. There was nothing to do but to look at him, take him in, from his black hair to his vest and tunic, his hands that were moving unseeingly behind his back as he slid the bolt across the door. His skin was flushed from the dancing and chasing, and he shrugged off his vest, now standing only in his blue velvet tunic. Bard folded the vest carefully and placed it on top of one of the wooden chests.

Blood was pounding in my ears, like the sea during a storm, and I swallowed again. His desire was all around me and still I was unsure how to receive it, how to encourage it. I took another step, lacing my fingers together.

It was almost like the delicate time between sleep and waking, for the noise in the hall still reached our ears, but there was a quiet certainty in his presence - a confidence, even. Bard closed the distance between us, though not once did he raise a hand to touch me until he took a gentle hold of my wrist and smoothed a thumb over the silver buttons. An old, familiar craving seemed to swell between us and in my stomach as his practiced fingers worked on the buttons, his black hair bent over my hand as each tiny button that was released bared a new inch of my skin to his eyes.

When the sleeves were undone at both hands, he pressed his thumbs into my palms. Where had his shyness gone? His reticence? Where had mine gone? Still he was not touching me in any place but my hands, but it did not seem near enough; this did not seem to be the slow, coaxing love that I had been told of last night, the loving of a woman for the first time, for the air in the room felt almost stifling, too heated for slowness, too heavy for gentle guidance. I leant closer, and touched my forehead to his chest, taking the time to memorise the feel of the whole of his body against my own. For a long while we did not speak and the only movement I knew was the pounding of his chest over his frantic heart; the closeness of him did not make me shake like a leaf. Instead it made me bold.

I, who had been sure of my innocence and sure of his knowledge, ran a finger over his mouth, marvelling at the soft lips beneath that I had kissed and yet not kissed – never in the way that a wife must kiss her husband; brazenly, without fear. And I was not afraid.

Bard dropped his head and kissed my shoulder of red silk, my collarbones, my neck, and I buried my face in his hair, the crook of his neck, revelling in the low groan that ghosted over the newly revealed skin as his arms came around me and tugged at the laces at my back, pulling and pushing his fingers through them until the gown fell open at the back, held up only by my shoulders. After the gown came the braids in my hair, painstakingly woven with flowers that fell to the floor without a sound as he thrust his hands into the braids, spreading the river of black over my shoulders. Then, and only then, did I take a small step back and dare him to look at me, his wife, so close to bare in front of him. And I took my time in turn, studying how his eyes darkened in the glow of the candles, wondering at the sheer luck that had such a man standing before me, broad shouldered, black haired and handsome, for me and me alone.

"Impossible," I breathed and shook my head, speaking my thoughts aloud.

"This?" he asked, drawing me to him, studying my face.

"All of this."

Bard shook his head. He looked as if he might say something, soothing words or sweet nothings. But his mouth grew closer to mine and I knew without prompting that there was no need for such things, for we had been waiting for far, far too long.

His lips met mine suddenly, crushingly, and their softness made me turn over inside. And when his mouth paused and his hands began to push the dress down over my shoulders, it was as if my life was in the breaths I was taking; what would I do with the breaths? It seemed too easy, too natural – I had thought to need instruction but any decisions I may have had to take were made for me. Now he moved, turning to pull my hand and we fell to the bed, his mouth on mine, tongue tracing my lower lip, calling me out to play. Soon we were rolling and fumbling breathlessly while more buttons were undone and clothes removed until we were bare to each other and what followed was all so quick but I could not bring myself to stop it, secure in my knowledge that he was my husband now and I would soon have the luxury to stop and do more than just clutch his shoulders and feel the hardness of his back and chest, the liquid smooth thighs covering my own.

He said my name over and over, until he was silenced by my giddy laughter, and again Bard kissed me, his grip on my waist like iron and his mouth swallowed the gasp of surprise that left me at the feeling of his hand reaching for me, coaxing and guiding, until at last there was nothing between us but joining. There was a searing pain, but it twisted over and over in my belly until it was heat instead of ice, and so I did not care about the pain. And it was over almost as soon as it began; one moment I opened my eyes to see the cedar beams above our heads, then down to his brown gaze that was locked onto mine, so raw and honest as if he too understood that with this came a second chance at life. The next, a strange budding in the place where we were joined that had my head tipping back with the rapture of it, lost in the sense of his mouth descending and marking the skin offered to him until his breathing stilled and his body clenched and I was warm, for the first time in my life.


I began to understand how such things could work, how I might lose myself in his bed and never wish to leave it, forgoing all else in favour for damp sheets and heavy limbs strewn across my body. There was nothing like I had heard - some women said it was like the top string on a lute, or the first suck of an overripe melon, a sweet, sour rise. Nothing like that; something like that. A taste, a promise, an open invitation. But who could I ask? How could I know? I was sure that I did not know the top string on a lute - was it that same feeling that Bard had felt when his breath hitched and I was suddenly full? How would I come to know such things?

I turned on my side to face my sleeping husband. Bard was as he was that night in Dorwinion; on his back, one arm cradling his head, the other snug around my body, holding me against him. Sleep had claimed us quickly after he had lost himself in me; I cannot even think of how we came to be peacefully lying together after the hurried fumbling and rolling of only hours before, but somehow we had arranged ourselves into a calm and sleepy tableau. The husband and wife, sated.

I had awoken to the faint drumming sound of spring rain and though it was the middle of the night, there was no wish to return to sleep. I stretched, barely restraining a satisfied catlike hiss then sucked in a breath when warm fingers danced over my ribs.

"Wife," Bard said simply, his voice making my body tingle.

"Husband."

"How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" How did I feel? Stretched, warm, safe, languid, satisfied…

"I feel… full."

"Come here, then," his low voice said into my ear, even though I was already almost in his arms anyway, only half an inch between our skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, already feeling a budding desire in my belly and opened them to see his gaze mirroring the lazy lust that must have shone in mine.

"Will my wife forgive her husband?" he whispered, just above the sound of the rain, and trailing a lone finger along the side of my body.

"And what is my husband's transgression? What is this wickedness," I teased, "that he must beg for forgiveness on the bridal night?"

Bard did not answer, choosing instead to flip my body over, ignoring my laughing protests that were shut off immediately as his hands began to explore the markings on my back.

"Tell me what they mean."

Humming, I reached behind me and let my hand run over the marks that formed a line between my hip bones. "Birth," I whispered, voice breaking when his hand joined mine and the duckdown bed dipped as he bent to kiss each single diamond carving.

"And these?"

With some difficulty, I took his hand to trace the two separate lines that branched above the lowest. They reached my shoulder blades. "Womanhood."

His mouth followed my hand. "And what is missing?"

"Marriage," I said quietly. "And motherhood."

I did not turn my head to see what he reached for, content to rest with my head on my folded arms, though I tensed when I heard his hands moving in a bowl of water on the bedside table.

"And where do you paint for marriage? Here?" He traced a cool, wet line down the middle of my back, a vast difference to the heat that stuck to my body. Summer was approaching, and even with the windows open to catch the breeze that came with the rain, the air inside our chambers was sultry and hot.

"No," I said slowly, boldly turning over to face him.

He smirked, and dipped his fingers into the water again, painting down across my breasts. "Here?"

His hand moved lower. "Here?"

"No!" My belly shook with quiet laughter, but I let his hand rest where it had reached, renouncing modesty and already faint with desire. "We are not so wild."

"If you knew how many times I have imagined this moment…" Bard shook his head, splaying his fingers on my stomach.

"And I, too," I confessed. "Many times."

"Ah, but you have imagined it with innocence, surely."

I looked up at him. "With no innocence at all!"

"None? None at all?"

"None," I confirmed with a little gurgle of laughter. "Even when you kissed me for the first time I was hoping beyond hope that you would just do away with propriety, throw it out the window and have me in front of the fire."

At my brazen words he snorted with laughter and bent to rest his head on my shoulder. "If you had told me that then, then I would have."

"No!"

"Aye, I would have," he said firmly, rising on his elbows to meet my gaze. "I have wanted you for myself since I saw you one day in the orchard in the middle of summer."

"What?" I asked, slightly flustered. "The orchard?"

He gave me the most delightful sideways gleam. "Aye, in the orchard. Dirt up to your elbows, hair sticking to your face. Planting a cutting of a pomegranate tree."

"Aha!" I tapped his shoulder. "You must be wrong. We plant them in spring." Secretly, I was wishing that he wasn't – at that moment, there was nothing more pleasing than the idea that Bard may have known me long before our meeting in my little kitchen so many moons ago.

"Spring, then," he said easily, unperturbed. "The end, 'twas far too hot for the middle."

I sat up, not bothering to drag the covers with me. "Did we speak?"

At once he was behind me, his arms around my stomach, and a chuckle on his breath. It was effortless to arch into the curve of his chest, as if the tide of the seas I was born on carried me to him always. "We did. You told me off. Said I could pitch in or pitch out."

"I did not!" Mortified, I cast my mind back to the year before, trying to remember. There was no doubt that it was me in the orchard, given that half of the city turned out to plant in the spring time, but surely he was mistaken? "I do not remember a thing."

"My back was to the sun," he said, clearly satisfied that he had fooled me so easily. "You could not have known that it was me."

"Then my husband is a cunning man! What a grand scheme you wove, making me think I was the chaser and you were being chased!"

He had the good sense to look deliciously shamefaced, like a scolded boy.

"And to think," I mused, "all this time I could have declined your advances instead of seeking them out, if you had such grand designs all along. I could have played the virtuous maiden for far longer than I did." Though even as I said the words I tipped my head back to rest against his chest, content.

"I had no grand designs – only this." Bard pushed my hair aside to place a kiss to my shoulder.

"Truly," I said honestly, our voices soft and low, accompanying the rain. "This must be a dream."

His rough and calloused hand disappeared from where it had been resting on my stomach, moving again to trace the lines on my back. "Not a dream."

Oh, but surely it was… surely I would wake from this to an empty bed, skin shining with sweat from imagining everything that had passed between us…

"Tell me then, wife," he challenged me, gently pinching my waist as if to wake me. "Have you had the best night of your life? Or have you not?"

I twisted my neck to look at his face, pondering the question. Truly my life had been, up until this moment, comfortable and even pleasurable at times. I had been born to a beautiful, loving woman, and was undeniably blessed to have a father when I really had no father at all. At thirty summers, I had been desired and loved by a King, and accepted by his children. But this night - was it the best?

"I have," I said, conceding him everything. "And what of you? Has this been one of the best of yours?" For there was no other way to ask such a question of a father, who had held his newborn children in his arms and who had loved before, though it no longer bothered me.

"Yes," he said simply. "One of the best. One of the very best."

A single finger under my chin pushed my face up to see his darkened eyes. He was stunningly handsome; my stomach turned over again. When he opened his mouth to speak, there was nothing to do but watch his lips form the words, knowing those lips would soon be on my skin. His voice was like I had thrown in everything delectable into one of my pots on the fire; honey, wine and the rawest of sugars. "Come over here."

I turned obediently, feeling my blood hum with anticipation, and again I was in his arms, his mouth on mine as he led me to bliss. And with the bliss came the realisation that I did not have to ask anyone at all about the top string of the lute, nor the first suck of the melon. I did not have to ask, because I was shown.


We had a week. One week of dizzying, desire filled nights and days where we barely saw each other. We would rise before dawn and wash, something that had me clapping my hands with glee the first time Bard showed me inside the washroom. It was ingenious to me; somehow pipes had been constructed that allowed water collected from the River Running to be released into a bucket over a fire, meaning that warm water was only minutes away. I had only to pull a handle, and water would soon flow out. I had seen such technology a handful of times and only in Rhûn, where the palace gardens were watered by canals.

"This is a luxury indeed," I said with a shake of my head, grinning with wide eyes. Bard delighted in my childlike amazement and kissed the top of my head.

"Can every house in Dale have such a thing?"

Bard tilted his head, thinking over the question. "Possibly. Although it would take a lot of work, but the levels go lower so it certainly could be done."

And so I went off each morning imagining how we could entice the skilled hands of dwarves to work with us in creating such things, and then I would be brought back to earth with a resounding thud when families would stumble into the hall, hungry and tired after fleeing from the orcs that were slowly coming ever closer. Bard was no longer mine and I was no longer his, and we would go our separate ways, the King to the soldiers and the Queen to the families. It was harrowing; some of the children arrived alone, eyes wide from the horrors they had seen and I had quickly learned to gently push Tilda towards the kitchens to work with Birna so as to not have her see the shivering, scared little bodies huddled together, clutching siblings or parent's clothing. How had it come to this? Anger bloomed within me when a girl no older than ten summers came into the hall late one evening with a tiny baby bundled up and crying, rooting for the mother's milk that would never come again. No longer was I a woman of Dorwinion; such suffering had made me a woman of Dale, and if I was its Queen then I would be as a lioness protecting her cubs. I sent for a wet nurse and Birna came to quietly take the older girl for a warm bath and a meal. I stood outside the hall in the fresh spring air, rocking the child, letting it suck on my knuckle until the wet nurse came hurrying up the hill, already pulling open the buttons to her dress.

I fell into bed fully clothed that night, shivering even though it was hot. It was the only night that we did not spend lost in each other, though I woke to my shoes neatly placed to the side of the bed and the tight laces at my back unlaced so I could breathe easier. Even during sleep, he cared for me.

The night before Bard was due to ride out came too quickly. Childishly, I thought that it wasn't fair – we had been married for less than one week and already he would leave, though I would have loved him less if he had stayed after all that we had seen. My own uncle had come to me with a stern face, telling me that he would leave with the men of Dale and that Alvar would stay to help bring in the livestock from the outer fields. It was like a knife to my stomach, but who was I to deny him his wishes when my own husband would be riding out in front of him? There was nothing that could be said and so he left with a soft kiss to my forehead, bidding me try and sleep and that he would come to me again in the morning.

But we barely slept that night. The atmosphere within the hall during the evening meal was subdued, the men and women were quiet. There was no doubt that Hilda was right; we had to have the wedding when we did, there had to be some hope. On that last night, more couples came to us for blessings for their own marriages, and even though the hall was quiet, the alehouses were rowdy with the celebrations. We left early, and I lay in the bed alone for a long time while Bard sat with Tilda, telling her stories until she slept. Sigrid had bolted the door to her room hours before armed with parchment and a quill, something I would not begrudge her, and Bain was sleeping in one of the tents below the city with the archers of Laketown.

When Bard came to me I rose to meet him and threw another log on the fire, warding off the strange chill in the air. We undressed each other slowly, and for the first time I was able to look at him fully, run my hands from his shoulders down his stomach, marvelling at the hardness of his waist. My hands took me around his body, smoothing over his skin, there was no part of him that I did not touch. It was shameless and honest, but he was my home and I lived to nourish him, cherish him, to discover everything that lay hidden. He was mad on tenderness, his arms soft as they encircled me, pulling me against him to feel every inch of his body. I wanted to speak, I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that when he returned he would find me like this, loving and waiting.

But for a long while, words did not come.

We kissed until my mouth was almost bruised, and I knew that when my lips would touch the rim of a cool drink in the heat while he was gone, they would ache from his attentions. And my wish was granted: within seconds we were in front of the fire. His mouth moved from my lips until his head of black hair was bent over my chest, suckling on the tender skin and I was sighing from pleasure, there was nothing to do but twist my fingers in his hair and devour the strange, sour taste when he raised his head and kissed me again, slipping his tongue into my mouth, still tasting of the perfume dabbed between my breasts.

When I guided him to me, it was with steady, patient desire, but the second that he was within me I was lifted up, my knees on either side of him as he knelt on the furs, head tipped back as again he lowered his mouth to my breasts and I cried out so loud that I feared we might be heard. There was no way to anchor myself, no way to control but to let myself drift away and feel the fullness that came and went, came and went, and each time I groaned he raised his head as if to check that I was still with him, still present, his eyes gleaming with delight. He took hold of my waist, cradling me against him and again we lay down, his calloused hands raising my hips to meet him until my legs were shaking and his kiss silenced the startled cry from my mouth when the waves broke on the shore and I was dizzy, so dizzy.

Replete, he let his trembling body lie softly over me, and when we managed to drag ourselves into the bed and fall on the white linen sheets, he drew me to him and kissed the lines of tears on my cheeks.

"Did I not say that I would come back to you? Do not fear for me."

I clung to his shoulders and buried my face in the crook of his neck, unwilling to see the steady resolve on his face.

"You will come back to me," I said quietly.

"I will."

Hours later in the darkness of the night we moved together silently, and when we woke in the morning he was still lying over me, still inside me, and when I felt his desire rising for me again I let my head fall back on the pillow and took quiet joy in savouring the feeling of my husband buried in me, memorising it so that it would comfort me in the lonely nights ahead.

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A/N

This has been my favourite chapter to write thus far, but also the most difficult. Above all thank you to my lovely friend Lystan for being the beta for the most important scenes here, and so patiently reading through everything!

Lyrics within the wedding feast are from 'Satisfy Your Woman'- Paul Kelly.

Welsh weddings still have the capturing of the bride traditions, though not quite as energetic as in this story. I had a bit of fun writing it, it would have been more realistic (and possibly more Queenly haha) on a horse, but nothing gets the blood pumping like a bit of a run.

Because I am torn between romance and lust with the Bowman, you may choose to listen to either Bill Whelan's 'Reel Around The Sun' or INXS 'Need You Tonight' while reading this chapter, ha!

I've said before that I take Dorwinion to be a mix of cultures, think Mediterranean and the Eastern (Persian) influence. The Ancient Persian Empire was absolutely massive, so that's not so farfetched. The fountains in Rhûn that I'm referring to could be found in Persian palace gardens, and for Anne's dance I was thinking along the lines of Andalusian Spain mixed with a good old dabke.

RedstalkingDeath - thank you! I hope you like this one. Yep, lots of insinuations and waggling eyebrows on that night that's for sure! Did you skip anything? Haha.

IntotheMoon - ahem! ;-)

Debatable-cerealkiller - I was laughing while writing it, I'm glad the feeling came across lol!

Victoire - Wow, what can I say to that? I've read your review a few times, each time feeling warmer! I don't know what h/c means, but I hope that this has given you what you wished for. Did you just give them a shipping name? I think I love you.

Violet - for you, my friend!

Enjolras - done! Thank you.

VirgCoup - Lol, I have such fun researching for this story!

Lystan - Thorin loves your face.

XstaticBlueSoul - I try ;-) And I hope you do love this one!