Eorwyn was woken up by a quiet but firm knock at the back door of the King's bedchamber. Her eyes flew open. She was on her side, her back pressed into the King's chest, his heavy right arm wrapped around her waist.
"My lord," Steward Nyr called from behind the door. Eorwyn stayed still, even holding her breath. "It's quarter hour past the forth bell," Nyr announced, and then Eorwyn heard his shuffling steps retreat.
Eorwyn carefully picked up the King's arm by the wrist.
"What do you think you're doing, little hen?" The King's voice raspy from his sleep, but merry nonetheless.
"I should go," Eorwyn whispered.
"No, you should stay," the King said, and she could feel him bury his nose into her hair.
His hand lay on her stomach, and he pulled her in. Eorwyn made a surprised croak like noise. Apparently, the King hadn't been satisfied by the previous night's... deeds. Eorwyn didn't know a proper word for what they'd done last night and the night before. There were profanities for such matters of course, but they surely didn't apply to their physical love: it had felt healthy, wholesome, and unsullied.
"I need to leave before the halls awake," Eorwyn protested weakly.
"The doors to the Royal Halls don't open until the fifth bell." The King rose on one elbow, and she felt his warm lips caress her ear.
"That's why I need to leave now," she said and turned around. She met his laughing eyes. "So I don't encounter anyone!"
"Nyr will be back at the fifth bell. That's when he usually wakes me. He'll help you sneak out." The King's left eyebrow rose. "Which means we have three quarters of an hour."
"For what would those three quarters of an hour to be used?" Eorwyn asked feigning confusion, and he shifted his weight on top of her and claimed her mouth.
Eorwyn pulled up her second stocking and got off the King's bed.
"I can't find my shoes," she muttered and knelt on the floor. "And my doublet for that matter."
She peeked under the bed. A few of the King's garments seemed to have travelled there at night. She stuck her hand into the pile of velvet and linen and rummaged.
"Any luck?" the King asked with a chuckle.
"No, and my time is almost up. Ugh!"
Eorwyn lay on her stomach and continued her search. Suddenly she felt three hearty pats fall on her bottom.
"Perhaps, my King should help me instead of playing," Eorwyn grumbled under her breath, making sure he could hear her.
The King guffawed.
"I'm fatigued," he murmured. "I'm of no help to anyone until I eat and rest. There's no strength left in me."
Eorwyn looked over her shoulder and saw that his upper half hung off the bed. His hips were still - thankfully - hidden under the covers, but above the waist his bare torso was suspended mid air. Whatever the man griped, clearly there was still strength in his body.
It was odd to her to notice that the view of so much of his exposed skin was still flustering her. His chest was covered in thick coarse hair, and she'd had her fill of touching it the night before. And yet, she averted her eyes now.
Finally, all her garments had been found and in place, and she straightened up.
"It's the Royal Family Dinner tomorrow night, my little hen," the King said. He was sitting his back against the headboard of his bed. "You are officially invited."
"Right… Aye..." Eorwyn muttered and sighed.
"Just make sure that my sister doesn't marry you out to one of my nephews. I think she has Kili in mind for you. Even though I'm clearly not abdicating or dying of old age any time soon, she still thinks a wife for Fili should be chosen politically prudently, from an old clan from the West. Kili, on the other hand..." he trailed away and gave her a cheeky side glance.
Eorwyn narrowed her eyes. Even these days, with all the familiarity between them, she sometimes couldn't quite grasp where his jest ended, and what meaning could lie below his frolicking. He couldn't possibly be concerned about the possibility of some matchmaking being directed at her, could he?
"And today is Teskêl, the Game Day," he continued in the same offhanded tone. "The day when men and women compete and show their mastery in swording, archery, and wrestling. So, if a Dwarf is looking for a spouse with fighting talent, today is the day to go to the Capital Grounds."
Eorwyn huffed some air.
"Will you go, my little hen? Men spar bare-chested," he drew out with a mischievous light in his eyes, and then added in a conspiratorial tone, "I know how fond you are of that part of male anatomy."
Eorwyn gasped in indignation and decided the man needed to be taken down a notch.
"Perhaps, I should," she said keeping her tone just as nonchalant. "I want to see how well Prince Kili does in the competition. I've heard many compliments on his… performance."
The King pounced ahead and suddenly his large hands wrapped around her waist, almost encircling it. He pulled and fell back on the bed, rolling her under him.
"What's this?" he asked. His nose was as much as pressed to hers, and she saw the blue eyes blaze. "I wasn't speaking of you watching archers."
"Oh?" she asked innocently. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. "But I am fond of archery. I lost my skill because of my hands, but I still practise. What would you have me watch?"
"You are to share a meal with myself and my kin while watching the Games and leading clever conversations," he said. "You are not to admire my nephew's performances."
"If they are worthy of admiration, I will appreciate them," Eorwyn said and jerked her chin up. She couldn't believe she was involved in an insubordinate banter - with a King! But then she remembered that she was as much as his Queen now, and, thus, his equal! The thought was inconceivable and required many hours of consideration - but at the moment she needed to stand her ground. "Is my lord intending to dictate my thoughts and feelings? Because I doubt such endeavour will result in success."
He hummed and studied her face. Some sort of fire glowed in the depth of his darkened eyes.
"And aye, I have always admired the Dwarven physique, especially the girth and the strength of your upper bodies," Eorwyn murmured and couldn't help but brush her palms to his scorching skin. He was looming over her, supporting himself on his straight arms, and muscles bulged on them and on his chest. Her fingers curled as if without her will.
A knock to the back door of his bedchamber made her jerk.
"My lord, it's five minutes before the fifth bell," Steward Nyr's voice came. "Is there anything you would like me to receive?"
Eorwyn floundered and as much as rolled off the bed. She rushed to the door and opened it hastily.
"Good morning, Master Eorwyn." The manservant's tone was perfect mundane. "Shall I escort you to the Outer Halls?"
"Morning, and aye please," Eorwyn squeaked.
"Master Eorwyn," the King's called, and she twirled on one spot and looked at him.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, a cover thrown over his lower half. One eyebrow was cocked sardonically, and Eorwyn's cheeks flamed up. Obviously, Steward Nyr had known what the purpose of her meetings with the King was, but such lack of discretion was endlessly uncomfortable for her.
"Shall I see you at the Grounds right after the eighth bell? There is a seat reserved for you in the Grandstand."
"Aye, my lord. Thank you… my lord," Eorwyn mumbled and rushed to the door.
She could hear the King chuckle behind her, and she as much as ran by the manservant.
She had been so agitated by the morning conversation and by what the King's manservant had witnessed, that it was only when she'd arrived at the doorstep of her room did she remember what had happened between her and Nis the night before. Eorwyn froze with her hand lifted to open the door.
The King hadn't understood her anguish - and she had chosen not to continue the talk with him. Perhaps, she thought, men couldn't empathise in such matters, and he especially could hardly imagine being in her place. He was certain in his thoughts and actions; he knew where he stood and what he was to do. She was Eorwyn, an undeserving girl of Men who had somehow usurped the throne of Erebor. He was going to marry a woman he loved - as bewildering as this idea still seemed to Eorwyn. She, on the other hand, had been rejected by one of her only two friends as soon as she had spoken up. She dreaded the derision and anger of others she'd have to face when their betrothal was announced.
And now she was supposed to come into her rooms and look Nis in the eye - her rooms that had become, for the first time in her life, her safe haven, her place of rest and comfort... her home.