A/N: As it turns out this IS the last chapter! Don't miss the epilogue, and hopefully, see you in the sequel, my lovelies! :)
Oh, I'm tearing up :') You were so AMAZING, my dearest of readers! That was quite a ride, wasn't it? You will get more of my emotional outburst in the epilogue, obviously, but Mahal, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! :*
He moves up your body, peppering small kisses, first on your stomach, then between your breasts, and then he tenderly touches your peak with the tip of his nose. That elicits a giggle out of you, and you see the corners of his lips curl up. He slightly turns and repeats the action with the second breast. "Perhaps you should leave them in peace for now, they have had a hard day..." He cocks one brow, you giggle again, and he proceeds to kiss your clavicles. You drop your head back and slide your hand on his back. Long taut muscles move under your fingers, and you wrap your legs around his waist. The feeling of his body, hot and heavy, weighing on you, pressing you into the sheets, makes you throatily moan and arch into him.
He is kissing your neck, whispering something in Khuzdul, and you breathe out, "Sanrud… Sankhuzd..." Perfect weight. Perfect Dwarf.
He chuckles and murmurs in return, "Sanyasith." Perfect wife.
You look into his eyes, now aligned with yours, and firmly pronounce, "Sanyasith nul. Nul, Thorin." Your perfect wife. I am yours, Thorin. He lowers his lips on yours and slides his hands under your back. His palms are on your shoulder blades, and you whisper, "Kahomhilizu, Thorin, luchapur…" I am begging you, Thorin, hurry up.
He presses his temple to yours and pushes inside you slowly. The thick head of his member falters in the tight ring of your muscles, and both of you inhale loudly, and then he pulls one arm from under you and tenderly strokes your hair. "Usataf..." Your heart flutters from the new moniker, and you caress the side of his face. He is waiting for approval, and you nod. He presses further, and your body is shaking. He makes a low noise, half groan, half hum, and then slightly rocks back.
"Please, Thorin, please..." He exhales and sheathes his length into you fully in one smooth movement. You cry out and arch, your hands on his neck. He starts gently rocking his hips, considerate of your tightness, and you are taking deliberate breaths. He presses his elbows into sheets, and his thrusts become more forceful. He is still gentle, but you can feel his body tremble from pleasure. His eyes are closed, and you realize the two of you are rocking the bed so that the headboard is hitting the wall. Somewhere in the corner of your mind you think that the rhythmic thumps into the wall are rather loud, but he suddenly lowers his lips on your neck, and nothing matters anymore, but his breath on your skin, the heat coiling in your stomach, your inner walls stretched to the limit, and most of all the feeling of his scorching flesh sliding into you.
His release is close, his body heating up, and you whimper from anticipation. He is seemingly lost in the sensations, his head drops, and he presses his forehead into the pillow near your temple, the movements of his hips faster and deeper. You wrap your arms around his neck tighter, and he jerks, in a few last hard thrusts, and spills his seed. He sobs, and you stroke the back of his head and his nape, your own body shuddering in the pleasure from satisfying him. His body quakes several more times, and you feel the same jolts of ecstasy in your spine. He slumps, almost crushing you, and you sigh sated. You have not reached your own release, but you feel endlessly fulfilled.
It takes a few seconds for him to at least partially gather his bearings, and he rasps out, "Akminruk zu." Thank you. You giggle from the sudden decorum in his manners.
"Yamal, Thorin." You are welcome. He starts laughing as well, his whole body shaking, and you rub his shoulders. His skin under your fingers is damp, and when you press your lips to his temple you taste salt. It took a lot of effort for him to restrain his fervour, and you are endlessly grateful. You already feel noticeable soreness, and had he lost control over his body, he would have hurt you.
He slowly withdraws from you and slides on the sheets near you. His eyes are closed, his breathing still laboured, and he wraps one arm around your waist. You roll on your side to face him and brush the tips of your fingers on his brows, then his nose, and his lips. They twitch under your caress, and he catches your digits in his mouth. You jerk your hand back, and he chuckles without opening his eyes.
You continue to trace the beloved features and whisper softly, "I like it… The new name, usataf..." The one who is the closest. His remarkable eyes open slowly. He smiles warmly and leans in to place a light kiss on your lips.
"Usataf zu, Filegethiel." You are the closest to me, Filegethiel. You smile and move to him. Your curl into his embrace and sigh happily, burying your nose into his neck. He is running his fingers over your forearm, and you feel content and sleepy. "We should wed, Filegethiel..." His tone is light and casual, and you are immediately awake.
"What?" You sharply sit up and instantly regret it. You are very sore. You squirm on the sheets, and he frowns slightly, his face concerned. "I am alright," you reassure, "But, Thorin, I am not Khazad..." He puffs the air out in slight irritation and stares at the ceiling. The line of his lips is stubborn, and you suddenly perceive what is going on. You pounce on him, splay on him and then squeeze him with your arms and legs. "I am sorry, that was doltish. It is the same old story, is it not? The next thing I was supposed to say that your people would not approve of me, and then we would discuss our future children, and you were to say that Khazad would respect your choice, and that Erebor loved me..." He is silent, his jaws tense, but his palms lie on your back tenderly. "Years and years, in the same circle..."
You sit up on him and speak firmly, "Thorin, would you please look at me?" He complies, his eyes guarded and expressionless. "I will marry you, and forgive me again. I was being preposterous..." You suddenly start laughing, and he looks at you in confusion, "I should have agreed the first morning, when I woke up in your arms after that first night in Dale, it would have been so much easier." He smiles hesitantly and strokes your back, still not understanding your unrestricted frolics. You are shaking from laughter and give him a mischievous look. "You do realize that it is rather dim to even discuss it? We have a son together, he is your heir, and as far as I remember you were intending to father more of my children..." He lifts one brow and licks his lips.
"If you continue jumping on me, little one, it will happen faster than you think." You laugh harder, everything suddenly so clear and simple. You honestly cannot remember why you thought your life was complicated.
"Oh, do not worry. It cannot happen while a woman is nursing..." You smile to him and realize he does not look reassured. He looks disappointed. "Oh no, Thorin, not another of your giant babes for a while, please..." You are sniggering. He chuckles as well and sits up wrapping his massive arms around you.
"You are right, not before the wedding..." He peeks at you, studying your reaction. But years have taught you something. You cup his face and kiss him ardently.
"Anything you want, you inconceivable Dwarf. The wedding, the coronation, twelve more children, anything..." You start laughing louder and louder, and he looks slightly alarmed.
"Filegethiel?.."
"Oh, Thorin," you are growing weak, out of breath from your laughter, and there are tears on your eyes but you have just realized something. "We are such idiots..." You are roaring and then see his flabberghasted face. It only spurs your frolics. "What was the point of all these sufferings? Oh Maiar, we are such morons..." He lets you go, and you tumble into the sheets, your legs flailing, and you wrap your arms around your middle, feeling your sides might actually split from the absurdity of your previous misgivings. He is studying you, his eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline.
"My heart, is it a new strange symptom of maternal melancholia?" You relax on the sheets, spread your arms and legs, and smile to his blissfully.
"No, I am just very happy." And here you thought his brows cannot go higher! "And I want you again."
"Again?" He asks with an almost comical disbelief.
"Yes," you nod enthusiastically. "Judging by these," your cup your breasts, "We still have about half an hour and..." He does not let you finish. His mouth covers yours, his weight swiftly presses onto you, and he grabs your leg under the knee and pushes it aside. You laugh and snatch his ears. "You have to let me lead this time, my love. I will not be able to walk if you crush me again, you brute..."
He rolls on his back and deftly places you over his pelvis. His member is already erect and even slightly twitching in anticipation. He sounds a bit grouchy though, "I was being restrained..."
You quickly lean in and kiss him, "You were. And I am grateful." You rise slightly and let his length slide into you. You take a few breaths in, you are very sensitive, and then experimentally you rock your hips. He moans loudly and presses his head back into the pillows.
"Oh Mahal, it is so narrow..." You shift slightly, finding the angle that brings most pleasure and suddenly remember how exquisite your releases with him have always been. And it is not his length and girth, and not the almost painful fullness you feel, and even not the peculiar curve of his phallus, as if pointing slightly to his left shoulder, it is the the feeling of complete faultlessness of what is happening. Making love to him you feel free, powerful, beautiful and brave. Everything else in your relationships with him has been tarnished with your mutual mistrust, with the difference in your positions, the numerous obstacles for the two of you to even be together. But you never felt more alive and happy than in his arms, in his bed, and you bend backwards, your hips start moving in a forceful rhythm, you are grinding your pelvis into his, and he is humming with pleasure under you. It sounds almost like purring, and you shortly wonder if mountain lions purr, and then you start laughing from the sheer perfection of the pleasure pooling in your lower stomach and from the ridiculousness of your thoughts. His hands lie on your hip bones, and you pick up speed. His tip is hitting just the right spot on your inner walls, and you are steering towards your release.
He is also close, and you suddenly realize you are mumbling, "Satf… Satf..." Almost… Almost… He roars and bucks his hips up, pushing you over the edge, or perhaps his rapture is spurred by your release. The fire of white hot pleasure in your lower stomach, his member jerking in you, the spurs of his seed, all the sensations mix in an intoxicating storm inside you, and with a triumphant cry you fall on his chest. You are panting, and as soon as you can actually think anything, you think that you need to rise quickly before your milk starts pooling on his chest. You are limp and drowsy though, and your eyes are closing. "Do not let me sleep..." You mumble, "I need to nurse Dain..."
You wake up when the King carefully places you on a chair in the bath chambers. You frantically blink several times and stare at him, and he chuckles. He hands you a cloth soaked in warm water and goes back to the bedchamber. You can hardly keep your eyes open, but you clean up, and he brings you a robe from the wardrobe. You smile to him sleepily, and he picks you up again. He places you in bed and quickly gets dressed. He then brings Thror to you and has to wake you up again. Thror's presence enlivens you a bit, and all three of you settle on the bed in a comfortable silence. Thror is suckling, you are gazing at him, his little ears moving funnily, when the King softly asks, "Who is Dain?"
You lift your eyes at him and blink several times, "Pardon?"
"You said you needed to nurse Dain, not Thror, usataf. Who is Dain?" His eyes are smiling, and you suddenly realize he knows the answer to this question. You blush furiously and lower your eyes. "How many children have you seen, Filegethiel?"
"Four," your voice is hardly audible, and you unnecessary straighten the corner of Thror's blanket.
"All sons?" You shake your head.
"Good," his tone is warm, "I always liked the name Unna. I think it sounds good, Unna, daughter of Thorin." Your throat is constricted with so much emotion that all you can do is nod. You finally look at him and see him lovingly study Thror's face. He is so beautiful at the moment that you bite into your bottom lip to stop yourself from sobbing. You blink the tears away and emit a shaky sigh. You touch Thror's hand, and the little fingers curl up. You chuckle.
"He is already trying to grab. That is early. Probably the Dwarven obsession with weaponry in his blood." The King slightly rises on the bed to see better.
"I wonder what he will be like when he grows up. His hands are so tiny..."
"They are very big for an infant, Thorin." The King looks at you questioningly. "He looks like any other Khazad babe. Just less fur. But you are not especially hairy yourself for a Dwarf." You giggle. Thorin is pondering your words.
"So he will look like a Dwarf?" There is no judgement in his tone, and you feel fierce love for him at this moment. He is not asking for anything, does not require any qualities in his son to love him, he is just curious and willing to accept Thror whatever he grows up into.
"An Elven midwife with prophetic gift told me he will look exactly like you. Nothing from me in him," you gently stroke Thror's plump arm, and he seems to look at you askew. It is too early for that as well, but you do not need anything from him either. As long as your magic allows you to know he is healthy and content, you are at peace. You look at the King and see his throat bob in some controlled emotion. And then he slightly shakes his head, to reign his sentiment, and clears his throat.
"Filegethiel, I would like Mira to take my name," you look at him in confusion. The King frowns, clearly worried to be misunderstood. "I am not negating her parentage. And she is her father's daughter, always will be, but it will be easier for her if the people know I have accepted her formally. And of course only if she wants it herself." It takes you a few seconds to find your voice.
"Oh Thorin," you sound choked, and tears start running down your cheeks. "I would have kissed you right now, and perhaps would have bedded you against all reason, but I have your son attached to my breast..." You laugh shakily, and the King meets your eyes. He looks relieved. You are shaking from immense gratitude and love you feel for him. "You should ask her yourself, but I am certain she will accept. She does see you as her father." He nods slightly and lies back on the bed. You pretend you do not see tears pooling in his eyes.
An hour later a maid comes bringing your dinner and finds all three of you sleeping on the bed. Thror is curled on his father's chest, safely supported by Thorin's bent arm, while the fingers of the King's second hand are intertwined with your digits. Your other hand is on his chest, near your son, over the King's evenly beating heart. You open your eyes awaken by the click of the lock only to see the maid quietly escaping the room, having carefully put the tray on the table. You shift your eyes and gaze on the two men in your life. You strictly tell yourself that weeping again would be absurd and nest back into the warmth of the blankets and the darling smell of the King's skin mixed with the sweet fragrance of your son, oils used on his skin, and fresh linen.
THE END