A/N: Don't miss the chapter before it. It's a double update today :)


Thorin stopped in front of the door, and lifted his hand to knock. And then he halted - and for quite a nonsensical reason. He was savouring the anticipation. He closed his eyes, and took a slow breath in.

She was inside, waiting for him, just as they had agreed on when he had come to visit her in the morning. He had offered himself, and kept chuckling at his own eagerness - for him to escape mid-feast, when no one would notice, and visit her. She agreed readily, her cheeks flushed. She slept too much these days, she said; she would wait for him.

He rushed from the feast, but mid-way he'd noticed how rumpled his clothes were, and how the smell of the revels, with its mead, and the smoke, was emanating from his doublet; and he hasted to his chambers. There he found a bucket of cold water - they were still living in the most barren circumstances - and he lathered soap, and toppled the bucket over himself, to wash the hair, but mostly to shake off the inebriation.

He was marching to her room, when he passed one of the many kitchens working in Erebor round-the-clock; and he saw bunches of herbs on the cook's table. She would kiss him when he came, he thought. And he would kiss her. The thought was endlessly pleasurable. So he stepped quickly into the room; the Dwarves inside stared at him; and he greeted them with a cordial nod, snatched some mint, and fled. The thought of their flabbergasted faces made him chortle.

Thorin knocked, and quickly opened the door without waiting for an answer.

She was asleep. The candle was burning on the side table near her bed, and the book lay on her lap, and he stopped. The copper curls were scattered on the pillow, and low on her nose there was a pair of glasses. Thorin gave her an endeared smile. She was an excellent shot, he knew it about her. So, it was just the age.

He took a step back and was going to leave, when she stirred, and her eyes opened slowly.

"Oh..." she exhaled, the red lips rounding; and then she sat up sharply. Her hand flew to her nose, and she snatched the glasses. Her habitual blush spilled on her cheeks. "Evening..."

"Evening, my heart," he answered, and stepped to the bed.

"I have been hiding them under the pillow… when people would visit. And from you..." she muttered, and twirled the glasses in her hand. "Dania brought them for me. I cannot read without them..."

"Neither can I..." Thorin admitted with surprising ease; and she gaped at him. "We are not that young, are we?"

He sat on the edge of her bed, and she gave him a shy smile. He considered reassuring her that they still had plenty of time, and that he in no way felt old, but then he decided actions spoke better than words. He leaned in and caught her mouth. She eagerly answered, and then her arms wrapped around his neck. He cupped the head with his right hand, feeling soft waves under his palm; and he snaked the left arm around her waist.

"You smell of mint..." she whispered into his lips, after a few minutes of passionate busses, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. "I am so disgustingly thinned now..."

He had not noticed. It felt wonderful to hold her in his arms, and he remembered to be mindful of her injuries; but he was hardly measuring her width, or comparing her with the memories from before.

"You are beautiful..." he whispered, and dove, pressing his lips to her neck.

The day before, their caresses had been restrained; they had been getting used to each other anew. And now still, she held back, while he was heating up faster and faster. He wondered if there was something to say here, to make her feel more at ease. After all, all was finally well.

"Werna..." he whispered; and as usual no smooth words and convincing phrases came. He internally cursed his lack of eloquence. He searched his mind, but all that came out was, "Dain is returning to the Iron Hills the day after tomorrow."

She moved away from him slightly, without leaving the circle of his arms, and gave him a questioning glance.

Again, all what he thought and wished to say fell from his lips in one simple question.

"Will you stay?"

She frowned slightly; just as she had then, in the Skinchanger's house when he had proposed courtship to her; and her lips moved in the same silent muttering. But unlike then, when he craved her but felt he had no right to ask for anything of her, today he saw no obstacle and wanted to hear of none.

"Werna?" he asked insistently, and she pressed her lips, tense lines lying near her mouth.

"Is it not too early?" she asked in a low voice, and he brushed his thumb to the side of her jaw.

"Too early for what? For announcing our betrothal?"

She nodded, and gave out a long sigh. "I do not feel I have deserved forgiveness yet. And my… transgressions are still fresh in everyone's memory, and..."

"Werna, no rumours have spread. Your sister and the Gondorian are the only ones outside the company who know. And I have made sure everyone knows I do not condemn these actions, and that it was Master Baggins who made this decision." Werna chewed at her bottom lip.

"And what about the lies… the letters all those years ago, and..." she started again, her tone even more pained, and he cupped her face, and lifted her chin, making her look at him. She cowardly shifted her eyes.

"As dishonest as it was, my heart, it is also quite flattering," he whispered, and she stared at him bewildered. "You stole me from your sister. And I know you, Werna, daughter of Lyr. You are honourable to the extreme. And yet you lied and conspired to have me for yourself. I feel quite treasured." He gave her a smile, and she gave out a small uncertain laugh.

"I could not help it… You kissed me in the drawing room, just over there..." She pointed at the ceiling, where somewhere in ruins lay that very room he had held her in his arms for the first time. He looked up, although there was nothing to see ther; and chuckled. "You kissed me, and I could not give you up…" Her face grew serious again. "Whatever happened between us… people knew you had been betrothed to Dania. There had been a formal announcement, and..."

"Our betrothal will not be news for people. And it will be greeted with glee." Thorin shook his head. "We have reclaimed Erebor. Everyone is joyous. I am the King now, and I get to choose my Queen. And you get to choose a husband for yourself freely." He quickly pressed his lips to her cheek. "Allow me to announce it at the feast tomorrow." He searched her eyes. "Or better so, come with me, if you feel up to it."

"I am well enough to go, Thorin… but I have been hiding from the world for so long, I do not know if I can face all those people..." she muttered, and then she lunged ahead and pressed into him. "I… crave you, and being your wife… but I do not know if I am ready to be the Queen of Erebor. Or if I ever have been..."

"You knew you would have to be the Queen when you accepted me, Werna. And before, you would have been the Queen in the Exile," Thorin reminded her, and she sighed into his neck.

"You can count it among other compliments to you, Thorin - I never wished to be a queen," she whispered. "I just wanted you." He stroked the silky curls, and kissed her temple. She straightened then, and gave him a firm look. "It does not mean I will not accept this responsibility now."

"I do not doubt you, my firebird," he answered tenderly, and she pressed her cheek to his.

"I had a strange dream, when I was recovering after the battle," she spoke quietly. "As if I was lying on the battlefield, and you held me… and you called me arsuna, 'my flame,' and 'firebird...'" She sighed and rubbed her nose to his cheek above the beard. "It was a good dream..."

"It was not a dream..." he whispered, and she looked at him, her eyes widened. "I had been so scared for you..."

"You were supposed to despise me then, Thorin..."

"I never have, Werna. Never." He shook his head. "I went into battle, and all I could think of was… that it just did not matter. None of it..." The thought had been on his mind for so long, but again he felt he could not explain well. He looked at her, and saw her eyes shine with affectionate attention. "Getting the Mountain back, even before the Elves and the Men came… it had felt empty."

She tenderly moved a strand of hair that had fallen on his face and smiled to him melancholically. "You have paid a high price for it. It had been a long quest, and you almost lost Kili..."

"I also almost lost you," he interrupted her, and she frowned in confusion. "Not almost, really… You chose to stay with Bilbo when we couldn't open the door, remember?" She pressed her lips in distress. He picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, trying to show her he spoke without judgement. "And you were right. And then you went after him… and again you were right. I just did not listen… I was prepared to fight the Elf and the Bargeman, for Erebor, and for the Arkenstone… But all I felt was… lost. Nothing mattered. And after the victory even, nothing mattered. Have you heard the saying, your kin are the treasure of your halls? What was the point of the Mountain if I could not share it with my kin? With you..."

She once again wrapped her arms around his neck; and he exhaled in relief, seeing that she, Mahal bless her, understood.

"It is over now, my darling," she whispered tenderly, and he saw love dance in her fire opal eyes. "Like you said, we won. All is well now." He nodded gravely, and then threw her a hopeful look.

"Will you go to the feast with me tomorrow, Werna? To announce it?"

"I will, Thorin," she answered firmly, and he pulled her in, and kissed her.

A few minutes later, Thorin moved deeper onto her bed, and she seemed soft and trusting, and he wondered if she would object to more closeness. He kissed and pulled her towards him, cajoling; and saw her throw a side glance at him. She then smirked and shifted, climbing onto his lap. The tunic and trousers on her were thin, and smelled fresh and sweet. He could feel her warm body under them - and he confirmed to himself that indeed the announcement should be made as soon as possible. And surely, a hasty wedding would be very much appropriate in this time of celebration. Everyone would understand, and no one would judge. They had a mountain to fill with feasts, joy, and… children.

To be continued... And soon to be completed.