Thorin drank wine and watched his company revel. They had deserved the rest and the festivities. Although Thorin would prefer to continue their travels faster, he understood that after everything they had endured, they just wanted to forget about Orcs, giant spiders, and what was waiting for them in the mountain. And Thorin perhaps would have been able to put his restlessness aside and enjoy the merriment, if not for the spectacle he had in front of his eyes.

Werna danced with Bilbo in the center of the hall. Once the first dance was over, Bofur had stepped to her, and she accepted his invitation with a small bow and a radiant smile. And then two more dances followed, both with the Halfling, and although Thorin did not doubt her in any way, jealousy stirred in his heart. He sipped more wine, and tried to concentrate on the rambling from the Master of the Laketown.

"No one will judge you if you cut in, laddie," Balin suddenly whispered into his ear, and Thorin whipped his head. The old warrior's eyes were twinkling with mischief.

Thorin kept silent, but now his eyes would stray to the dancing couple more and more often. And then she laughed, while the Hobbit twirled her, and the cascade of the fiery curls wavered, and Thorin saw shiny the green eyes, and her red mouth stretched in a wide grin, and he realised he was clenching the goblet in his hand.

Thorin asked himself what it was that was stopping him from getting up and going to her. After all, their association had not been secret for the longest time, and he felt nothing but pride and joy at the thought that she was his betrothed. Once the decision had been made in his mind - in the Skinchanger's house - he had not had a single moment of doubt that she was the woman he loved, and that was her he wanted to see near him till it was time to face his Forefathers, and beyond, in the Halls of Mahal.

There was only one detail in their current betrothal that worried him. He had asked her to keep it discreet, as in his mind he still needed to talk to her sister and ask her forgiveness before his marriage to Werna could feel untarnished. The question that started tormenting his mind, two days after the conversation and the kisses they had exchanged, was why it was that she had agreed.

He was hardly a sensitive man, but her moods and her state mattered to him, that was of course, when they were not in the imminent danger to be beheaded or devoured. There was melancholy hiding in her eyes, and now Thorin worried that she felt he was ashamed of her, or was having second thoughts. He once again cursed the lack of eloquence in him. He was no poet to weave some compliments, and pour honey into her ears. When they would have one of the sparse moments alone, he felt tongue-tied, and as much as he would prepare to talk to her, to confirm his noble intentions towards her, he would forget everything near her, and all he cared about was to hold her close, and find her lips, and delight in her love and her passion.

He once again caught himself watching her attentively, and an instant before he forced himself to shift his eyes, he noticed a small wince from her. She was obviously favouring her right side, and her cheeks burned feverishly.

Concern rose in her - for her wounds - and he decided he needed to act. He threw aside any thoughts of how indecorous it would be for him to leave mid-conversation with the Master, and approached Werna and the Hobbit.

"May I?" he asked, and the Halfling stepped back. The next tune started, and she smiled to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He picked up the small strong hand, and squeezed her fingers.

"Could we leave, please?" he asked softly, and her eyes widened. She nodded silently, and he walked out of the hall, leading her by her hand, her fingers lying in his trustingly. And he just could not care less what others thought of him at that moment!

They stepped into the backyard, and he turned to ask her of her injuries, when she pressed into him flush and caught his mouth. He swayed, from the force of her attack, but blood rushed to his ears in an instant, and he grabbed her and pulled her in even closer. A raspy lustful moan fell off her lips, and he lost all sense.

Her lips moved, demanding and greedy, and he growled, and shifted, pushing her backwards. Her back slammed into a wall, and she whimpered. The sound sobered him a tad.

"Werna… I worried..."

She twisted her neck, and her hot mouth brushed to his throat, below the beard, making a shudder run through his body. Their caresses had been sensual before, but never went further than passionate busses, and hands wandering the other's body through clothes. Her actions now seemed quite heated compared to what they had indulged in before.

"You have nothing to worry about…" she muttered, and he felt her even white teeth nip at his skin. "Surely, you are not jealous..."

"Werna… What came over you?" he mumbled, fighting the deafening roaring of blood in his ears, and the endlessly pleasurable sensation of heat licking the back of his neck.

"Nothing much," she giggled. "I have missed you..."

Thorin wanted to give in - to forget everything and just enjoy her. Her confident caresses, her hot little palms that slipped under his doublet and were bunching up his tunic, her legs she pressed to his - he craved all of it, but he clenched his teeth, and gently placing his hands on her upper arms, he moved her away and looked into her eyes. Just as he suspected, the fire opal irises burnt, the pupils immense and bottomless.

"Werna, you are ill. How are your wounds?"

She looked taken aback and disappointed.

"Is that what matters now?" she asked, pouting.

"It is to me. Have you had anyone look at your wounds?"

"A healer from Men did. I went to the infirmary with Kili." Thorin did not trust the Men and their medicine, but he was glad Kili was cared for. "They bandaged me, and gave me herbs. Could we stop talking about this dull affair?" she asked, stepping to him again, her hands on the clasps of his waistcoat.

"And what did the healer say?" He picked up her hands, and seeing how displeased she was he pressed them to his lips, hoping to mollify her. She frowned and kept quiet. "Werna?" She made a scornful sound, pulled her hands out of his, and stepped back to a bench by the wall.

"The healer told me to go to bed. He said I lasted that long purely out of stubborness." She jerked her chin up, challenge in her eyes.

"Werna! What sort of childish foolishness is this?! You should rest before..." He did finish, as she emitted a growl, and marched inside by him. "Werna! Do not dare going back to dancing!"

That was clearly a wrong thing to say and a wrong tone to take with her. She had already disappeared behind the doors, but then they flung open again, and she was back. Her cheeks were flaming.

"You have no right to tell me what to do!" she hissed at him, thank Mahal, keeping her voice down despite her unreasobale state. "You are not even my betrothed, for all intents and purposes! And none would be allowed to order me around anyway!"

That was, of course, the opportune moment to clear the air, and make those colourful declarations, and confirm that he was indeed her future husband for any intents and purposes. And Thorin knew it, since he was not an imbecile. But she was ill and would not listen to reason! And he was no boy to be bullied into certain behaviours!

"I am the leader of your company, and I am telling you to have rest, or you are not continuing this journey with us tomorrow morning!" His tone came out even more authoritative and threatening that he had intended.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. She looked so offended and upset that he expected tears to roll onto her feverish eyes, but instead she pursed her lips and narrowed the eyes at him.

"Very well… my lord," she venomously gritted the moniker through her teeth. "I will obey and will go to bed, while adults revel and drink and make merry."

She twirled on her heels, and Thorin cringed when the doors banged behind her.

Don't miss the next chapter posted right away!