A/N: If you read the companion M rated piece "Me Together With You," please read Chapter 4 in it before this one. "Together" is complete for now, and Wren continues her journey.
There was one day of travel left before they would reach Rivendell, and Wren found herself sitting staring at their campfire, unable to sleep. Her thoughts were again and again returning to her second night with the King. After she had entered the room, he had dragged her into the bedchambers by her hand, she was laughing at his fervour, he was already shaking off his tunic. After they had enjoyed each other three times, and Wren still felt the heady blush thinking back at the acts they had performed, they were sitting in front of the fireplace, cozily crackling in the bedroom, on the furs thrown on the floor in front of it, her back pressed to his chest, a quilt wrapped around both of them…
"We still need to talk, ushaktul," the King's tone was soft, but firm, and she sighed.
"I do not wish to talk, Thorin. There are just a few days of journey left till we reach Rivendell, perhaps we have very little time left," she choked on her words and felt the ring of his arms around her tighten.
"Even more so… We need to talk of what you are to do when I am gone." Wren took a measured breath in and slightly turned her head to give him a stern glare. He leaned in and kissed her nose. "Ushaktul, you have to promise me..."
"I do not have to promise you anything," she interrupted him, and then closed her eyes in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I did not mean any offence..." He did not lower his arms, but she felt his body tense and as if grow colder.
"You are right, you do not owe me anything," his voice grew hollow, and she turned to him, pressing her forehead to his temple.
"I did not mean it in such way, I just do not want to talk… about your passing."
"Wren, I have no claim on you, and no right to ask for any. You have no obligation towards me, but I have a plea… Promise me you will wed when I am gone." She jolted and moved away from him, clutching the quilt to her chest. She felt like asking whether he was mad and what sort of opinion he seemed to have of her, but then she saw earnest appeal in his eyes.
"Thorin..."
"If a chance comes, do not turn it away."
"I do not want a chance! I want to grieve you, and I just cannot… will not be able to..." She felt sobs choking her, and she whipped her head hiding her face from him.
"You can grieve me, my heart, but do not use me as an excuse to hide from life. I am dead, Wren." She gasped, his words were slashing her like the sharpest of blades, and she sank teeth into her bottom lip, almost drawing blood. "We were given this time, but it is to end, and you will have to live on." She looked at him and saw his face sad but calm. Wren pressed her lips stubbornly.
"I do not have to wed to have a plentiful life. You have not," she pointed, and he gave her a warm smile.
"I have not indeed. But it is different for the Khazad, Wren. We believe we have a 'sanyasath,' the perfect bride, the One destined for us by Mahal, the Smith of the Valar. I had not met mine and died unwed." She cringed, from his nonchalant mentioning of his death, but then she assumed he was just too sated and relaxed to feel agitated by it at the moment. She slowly moved closer to him, and he opened his arms. After settling into them again, she sighed and asked in a small voice.
"So, what is to happen of her now? Is she left somewhere alone without you? It is so sad..." Suddenly Wren felt an acute sympathy to that unknown Dwarven woman, she had a chance to be his and possess him, have his sons, and the honour of being his wife, and all of it was taken away from her.
"Sad indeed," he agreed and nodded, pressing his nose at the back of Wren's head. Something was odd in his voice, and Wren tried to turn to look at him. He did not let her and whispered into her curls, "Not only she is left without me, she is marching through the Misty Mountains in December. It is a perilous endeavour..." Despite his attempt to hold her immobile, she twisted in his arms and gawked at him.
"You do not believe it! I am no Dwarf!" His eyes were twinkling softly, and he tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger.
"And I am dead, and yet..." She puffed some air out, his complete casualness with the matter of him being deceased was making her rather vexed.
"If you believe it, then how can you even assume I would look at another?!" She cried out, and since he did not seem that affected by her discontent, she pushed him, toppling him backwards. Her attempt to snub him backslid since falling backwards he pulled her after him. She squeaked, but he held her tightly and she ended up splayed on him.
"Do you promise me you will consider it?" He pressed his large hot palm on her head, keeping it pressed to his chest, and her nose bumped into the coarse hair and scorching skin, and she felt compliant and soft, only wanting to purr and nuzzle him.
"No," she answered nonetheless and rubbed her cheek to him. "I refuse." He sighed under her, and to distract him from the conversation she pushed her hand down, over his stomach, and lower.
"Wren, are you prepared to reap the fruit you are seeding?" His voice was raspy, and she bit into the solid muscles.
"I am counting on a plentiful harvest, my lord."
"Not sleeping, lass?" Bofur's voice made her jump up, she had a ridiculous thought that one could read on her face what exactly she was recollecting, and she hurriedly took a sip from her waterskin.
The Dwarf sat on the fallen tree near her and started his pipe. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Wren was poking the embers with a stick, he was smoking, and then he cleared his throat.
"Does he know? Thorin, does he know of what happened in the mountains?" Wren gave him a confused look. "How we started up the mountains, and you fell, and the ranger found you, and we had to go back to the Skinchanger, and of your injuries..." Wren sighed and shook her head.
"I did not tell him."
"He would have been livid," the Dwarf's eyes twinkled in understanding, "Probably would have tried to send you home and such."
"He did before," Wren nodded and thought of that dream. It was their first kiss. How many more were left for them? Would there be any more? "I did not tell him because he could not have done anything, just torture himself over it."
"You almost died for him, lass." Bofur's tone was uncharacteristically somber. "He should know."
"What for? It was my decision to go to Rivendell, it is my quest. Him… He just has these hours in my dreams, he deserves them to be peaceful." Bofur exhaled a ring of smoke and look at her squinting.
"In your fever you spoke, lass. In Khuzdul and Common speech… In Khuzdul, we reckoned, it was Thorin speaking through you. You spoke of the Battle, of how Kili and Fili shielded him after he fell, and..." Bofur choke on his words and waved his pipe as if chasing the memories away. "We were there, you know. In the healer's tent when he passed away… He was awake till the end, so calm… talked to Bilbo, and the Elf… And then just closed his eyes and..." Wren kept her eyes on the flames of the campfire, letting the tears run unrestricted, and she heard Bofur sniffle loudly. "And you spoke of the Quest as well, of the opening of the door, and how we ignited the fires in the forges..." The Dwarf grew silent, and after a while Wren reigned her emotions.
"And in Common Speech? What did I say?" She looked at Bofur, and he met her eyes, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Mostly you were muddled, all words jumbled… But there were busses mentioned," he winked to her, and she squirmed on her tree. "You just kept on saying 'It makes no sense, it makes no sense' and also 'It is just because there is no other here,'" the Dwarf once again squinted his eyes at her and was studying her face. She blushed and went back to her stick and embers.
"Do you believe in a Dwarf having the 'sanyasath,' Master Bofur?" Wren asked in a small voice and braced herself for his answer. She wondered whether even Bofur with his light temper and obvious sympathy towards her would condemn her speaking Khuzdul and imposing on matters so sacred for the Khazad.
"I believe only a dimwit would not cherish a woman who went through so much for him," mischief was laced in his voice, but his eyes were earnest, and Wren gave him a grateful, bashful smile. "And answering your question, aye, I do, but there are so many of men among Dwarves, and only thrice fewer wives for us. Mahal had been generous to Thorin."
"Not to be disrespectful to your belief, Master Bofur, but how is this generous? First a death, though honourable, and then being stranded in a head of the scrap of a girl..." Wren bit her tongue, embarrassed by her snidy words, but Bofur chuckled warmly.
"Have you ever thought of where you are trying to let Thorin pass, honourable healer?" He asked, and she looked at him catching strange gravity in his tone.
"The Halls of Mandos, Itdendum," Wren carefully pronounced in Khuzdul, and he nodded.
"The Halls of Our Forefathers, where we as believed are to wait for our rebirth," he then gave her a pointed look, "But not the ones where Men and Elves go, our Maker adorned his Halls for the Khazad, and only for us. Have you thought that perhaps had Thorin not been lingering behind, he would have passed into Itdendum and never have known of you? How would he have found you then behind the veil? Perhaps Mahal was generous after all."
Wren was sitting staring at Bofur, her hands trembling, breath coming out of her in sharp exhales. The Dwarf got up, stuffing his now finished pipe behind his belt, and patted her shoulder.
"I will go let Dwalin rest, it is my turn for look out." Wren did not stir out of her transfixion, her eyes on the red embers.
Even if Bofur were right in his preposterous, hopeful outlook, would Mahal be generous enough to let them find the way to each other when it was her time to enter the Halls of Mandos? And even if so, if she were to succeed in her quest, how many years were she to endure before she was given a chance to see Thorin Oakenshield again?
PLEASE READ:
Personal/important/not so important notes:
1. My darlings, it is my birthday on Thursday 23rd :) Last year I got a tattoo of an oak tree on my wrist, and Wren got silver earrings in the shape of an oaken branch in "Thorin's Word of the Day" #39 'Impecunious' :D
This year I'm getting a tattoo of a wren on a wire (which is 'coincidentally' the name of my second novel I'm currently writing and parts of which I will be posting here as a test drive).
Can Wren get a drawing of her or her and Thorin, please? *shy shuffling of a foot* I myself am rather mediocre even in doodling (you can see my miserable efforts on my Deviantart page, nick kkolmakov), but if any of you draw or doodle or sketch, and feel like it, could you, please? *shy smile* I would be happy to provide visuals if you need any and also exchange a story (with reader insert or a prompt) to a drawing of my couple.
2. "Wren on a Wire" will start when this story is done, and though the novel will have nothing to do with "The Hobbit" several of the characters there will be inspired by my OCs and already familiar characters, such as John Thorington and his family. I hope you will find it interesting and will join me on this journey as well.
3. I'm also pondering what to do with "convince me the winter is over." It has gone through the initial editing process and now it is time to make a choice between a publishing house and self-publishing. Please, if you have a moment, let me know in a review or a PM what you think.
I am inclined to go with online self-publishing, that would make the final product cheaper and thus more easily available for those of you who would want one for themselves.
Thank you, my darlings, for reading and being here with me!
Love you all with all my heart!
kkolmakov