"This is very good, Master Dwalin!" Gandalf swilled the golden coloured liquid around in his glass.

"Aye, tis Dwalin's finest batch yet. Only half a barrel left eh?" Balin smiled, sipping on his own. His cheeks, visible above his fluffy white beard now pink with the glow of the strong alcohol.

"Well brother, twenty twelve was good year for the single malts. But if ye fancy a blend, then I would say twenty fifteen was my best year yet…" Dwalin smiled into his crystal tumbler proudly, like a father beaming at his newborn.

"At least we have moved on from the years of the 'bathtub brewery'…" Thorin eyed the contents of his glass somewhat more scrupulously.

"Those experimental years were important, Thorin! And it's actually a micro distillery, thank you very much!" He stood up grumpily, and walked over to the drinks cart on which stood an elaborately carved crystal carafe filled with his whiskey. He picked up the carafe and offered some more to Gandalf, who gladly accepted another top up.

"Well, I for one, rather like it, Dwalin." Bilbo said thoughtfully.

"Master Baggins, Dwalin's bathtub brewery nearly caused an explosion sufficient to trigger another sinkhole!" Thorin grumbled, sitting back in his armchair, cradling his cherry wood pipe.

Dwalin cursed under his breath in response.

"This is very good pipe weed, Master Baggins," Balin rapidly changed the subject, puffing away a cloud of smoke looking like an extension of his fluffy white beard. He was well versed in diplomacy, often resolving 'debates' that arose between their council leader and other members, as a result of Thorin's stubbornness. He had been responsible for resolving the dispute between Oin and Thorin, when the healer had wished to offer the much needed role in their infirmary to the woman from London! Of course, sometimes it was just easier to change the subject.

"Thank you, Balin. The finest – Longbottom leaf." Bilbo tapped the small barrel in front of him on the table.

"And why would you disagree with her, Thorin?" Gandalf returned to matter they had all been avoiding that evening.

"What gain can there be? We do not live in days of old – there will be no war between Greenwood and Erebor, over some alleged missing jewels! It's preposterous!" Thorin grunted. "If they have proof, or wish to make their case, we can compensate them financially for the cost of the jewels, within fair market value."

"The discord will be over HER – not over anything material laddie," Balin agreed.

"Aye. Ye would go to war over her – and don't deny it, cousin! I have seen how you look at her –" Dwalin grinned.

"She is headstrong and foolishly curious. She believes these lands are akin to nature parks from the south." Thorin grumbled again, glaring at his cousins, as though they had betrayed him in the most heinous of ways. "Oin has landed me with babysitting this silly girl, who would chase… some… unicorn… into a vampires coven. Of course it is my duty to save her backside; if something were to befall her here in our lands, we would have to allow unfettered access to their authorities to carry out a full investigation. Mahal knows what they would conclude and how it would expose our folk!"

"I imagine there are so many preferable things you would do with that backside of hers eh?" Dwalin grinned once more, waggling his eyebrows at their grumpy leader.

"Brother!" Balin chastised, his cheeks turning bright red.

They all sat around in Thorin's smoking room, before dinner, each man pondering various things.

"You took great risk duelling for her life, Thorin… what if you should have been gravely injured? Perhaps it was fortunate that Thranduil's son believed her.." Gandalf countered, sitting forward to set his glass on another side table near him, while watching the Ereborean leader. "Fili would not be ready to take over from you as heir yet. Someone would certainly benefit from this –"

"None of us were ready for when I had to take control and lead our people. In terrible conditions as well – far worse than this. But we all figure it out. When it's Fili's turn – he will do the same."

"Perhaps that is the aim, Thorin…? To force exposure of Erebor to the ministry of defence. You yourself said there have been issues with soldiers attempting to cross the territory border…" Bilbo offered, setting his own pipe down, as he looked with urgency from Thorin to Gandalf, hoping that they might have suspected the same. "And what of the stray wolves that invade the lands from time to time…"

"She had seen you transform then? Seen the wolves…?" Gandalf leant back in his chair, puffing rings of smoke into the air above him, his mind trying to piece together everything.

"Aye – well… she had a run in with me early on while I had shifted." Thorin admitted, as all the others looked towards him surprised by this.

"I did not know of this!" Dwalin frowned, suddenly understanding her behaviour regarding her dress that day, when he first met her. He had been under the impression that the woman's dress had been destroyed by Thorin, without her in it! "Did ya not realise that she was no threat?! It's not like ye…"

"I… I could not control myself that night. And for some nights thereafter – it was as though I had only newly shifted…" Thorin looked at his cousin, whom he regarded as a best friend, apologetically.

"This is most unheard of laddie. Has this happened again since?" Balin looked from his own brother to Thorin, concern etched across his face.

"It seems to be under control now." Thorin did not wish to discuss this matter any further with them all. That is why he had truly asked Gandalf for help. In truth, he worried that he couldn't control himself around her.

The older man in his creased grey linen suit almost seemed to understand. He gently stood up, looking around him.

"Well, she is still here. So we can safely assume she has accepted it to some extent." Gandalf smiled, his wrinkled skin, cracking further as they all began to stand and slowly move towards the door.

"Well, I think we had better join Dis and the rest of your council for drinks before dinner. We mustn't keep them waiting too long. Although, I did rather enjoy that smoke. And will our charming new doctor be joining us?"

"Aye, perhaps I should collect her…" Thorin tapped out his pipe, and looked towards the door.

"Actually Thorin, I would like it if we could speak for a moment before we join them," Gandalf remained back in the room as everyone else began to walk out.

"I will go and collect her." Dwalin was quick to offer. All this time he had not realised that she had almost been mauled to death by Thorin as a wolf very early on. And their alpha was much larger than them all – including any wolf from the Iron Hills. Many of their own women who had ever seen Thorin in his wolf form had been terrified of him thereafter, where as she had spent all night tending to him on her own, even with the possibility of him turning back. It had given him a new found respect and fondness for her. She was clearly made of stronger stuff than she looked.

"Thank you," Thorin nodded, watching Dwalin leave, and jealously wondering how much she confided in the man he considered his closest friend and ally.

After a short pause, he closed the door and turned back towards the tall, greying man, observing his attentiveness. This old man was sharper than a serpents tooth, such that he feared enough had been given away about how he truly felt about the woman. It was an admission he was not ready to accept himself.

"So Thorin, now that we are alone, let us speak freely…"

…..

Sitting at the large carved, dark wood dressing table she put on a pair of simple medium gold hoop earrings. Why she had agonised over her choice of dress annoyed her. It was only a small group of councilmen and their wives, according to Dis. Either way she had chosen the pretty dusky pink patterned chiffon dress, shaped at the waist and flaring out to stop playfully just below the knee. She had however dressed it up with a slick of red lipstick.

To say she hadn't noticed the way he had looked at her that morning, would have been a big fat lie… the intensity with which she had caught him staring had reminded her of the black wolf.

"Ugh! What are you doing…?" She frowned at her own reflection covering her face with her hands when there was a knock at the door. Slipping off the velvet cushioned stool with a twist, she quickly made her way to the door, realising she was probably late.

She paused at the door with her hand on the handle. What if it was him?

Then she opened the door to find the broad frame of Dwalin standing there. Instead of his usual all black leather and combats ensemble, he wore a tartan kilt, white shirt and deep blue jacket to match.

"So it is semi formal then?" She couldn't help but smile, seeing him all cleaned up.

"Nah – have ya seen Gandalf?" He smiled softly too, his usually stern face creasing up. "Anyway, I don't know why it's a problem, yer dress is lovely… ya look lovely, lass."

"Thanks." She paused sniffing at the strange smell that lingered on the large tattooed man. "Have you been smoking… weed?!"

"Weed? No. PIPE-weed." He grinned.

"Oh I see. That's the difference between marijuana and ganja – is that why you look so… happy?" She frowned as he stared down at her bare feet again.

"Noooo – that would be me whiskey. A particularly fine distillation, this one." He pointed again. "Ya know ye have no shoes on…"

"Yes. Yes. Jeez – you guys and your bare feet!" She huffed grabbing the heels that she had set by the door, as he offered his hand for her to steady herself while pulling on her shoes. There was no need, she had ample practice balancing while pulling on heels in a hurry. It was a habit of a lifetime for someone of five foot two working in a still quite male dominated specialty in medicine. Heels were an essential, when she was not in Theatre clogs or barefoot, that was.

"Thorin said ye hadn't unpacked…" he peered over her into her room, observing several trunks, boxes and suitcases that were still piled up in one corner. "Ye haven't!"

Pulling on the other heel, she gently pushed him out of the doorway and shut the door behind her.

"Yer not planning on leavin' us are ya?" He looked down at her, his coarse features betraying his genuine worry.

"Come on Dwalin," she gently turned him away from her door, and linking her arm in his pulled him along. "You should wear your kilt more often. It suits you. You know, more highland warrior kinda look… and less biker thug chic."

"Och aye…? Well, it's the Durin Tartan this –" he began at first, flashing a proud smile, before he stopped walking and turned to her. "Hang on – I see what yer doing; buttering up old uncle Dwalin, so you change the subject."

He set both hands on her shoulders, face filled with concern.

"I'm sorry that you had to face Thorin like that so early after moving here. Normally old timers like us can control ourselves even during the full moon. So I don't know what happened… I guess we haven't had any outsiders for a long time. Not that I am making any excuses ofcourse…" There was a brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't think even Thorin understands why it happened that day –"

"Really Dwalin…" she paused herself, her anger over the whole issue bubbling up once more. But she didn't want to discuss it with Dwalin. It was not his fault, nor his place to discuss it. "Actually, do you know what? HE should be the one to address this and apologise. Not you. But I get it, he didn't want me here."

"That's still no excuse." Dwalin shook his head as she took his arm again. "I think he should talk to ya. Yeah, I'm gonna ask him to talk to ya –"

"Okay, now YOU'RE trying to get rid of me." She chuckled, winking, and patting him on the chest. "Come on…"

….

"So, my dear, Dwalin informed us that you enjoy running. Actually, I believe words he used were – 'I will ache for days now'." Gandalf chuckled as he tucked into his main course.

"You'd think Dwalin was invincible wouldn't you?" She laughed back. "But apparently there's nothing a bit of weed and whiskey won't fix."

"Oh, I can agree with that!" His eyes creased up, as his smile spread across his face.

"Goodness me! You smoke weed too?!" She had trouble hiding the incredulous tone in her voice, suddenly realising she had consumed two glasses of sparkling wine. It was locally made, Dis had informed her, and tasted much sweeter than even champagne! In truth she hadn't noticed how much she had consumed because of how sweet it tasted, and now began to wonder what the alcohol content was, particularly since she was such a lightweight when it came to booze!

"Hmmmm. But it's pipe weed, my dear." He corrected taking another bite. "Not the sort of herb that you think of. Perhaps you might care to try some after dinner?"

"I've never tried it before – but I guess why not?" She laughed. "When in Rome right?"

They had dined in the formal hall where she had dined alone with Thorin that night. But this time the grand table had been set for a larger crowd, and filled with piles of food. Everyone had dressed up, with Fili and Kili both sporting kilts too.

Thorin had sat at the head of the table, as usual, while Gandalf had been given the seat at the opposite end of the table as their guest of honour. Balin and several other councilmen had sat near Thorin, along with Dis, while Shobha had been invited to sit beside Gandalf and Dwalin. Fili, Kili and Bilbo had also sat nearby, as thick as thieves and gossiping like nosy neighbours! While she felt eyes on her, she dismissed it as oversensitivity on her part, and didn't dare look towards the other end. The table down at her end was much more raucous with lots of loud chatter and laughter. While Thorin's end seemed much more serious.

"I always enjoy my return visits to Erebor…" Gandalf smiled looking around the table. "I knew Thror, Thorin's grandfather, at a time when Erebor was growing in wealth. They lost so many when the mountain mines collapsed, and Thorin was forced to take up the title and great responsibility of caring for an entire town of effectively homeless people. And no help came from those they had helped or considered friends."

Her eyes flashed towards the other end of the long, grand dinner table, where her gaze was met by Thorin's stern blue stare.

"Dis mentioned this – I cant imagine how awful it must have been." She quickly averted her eyes back to the safety of the older man. "Did they ever find out what exactly happened?"

"Not really, part of that mountainside is still collapsed, some of it sealed in. Why do you ask?" Gandalf observed her with some curiosity. He had taken his creased linen jacket off and flung it over the back of his chair, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and his napkin fully unfolded and wrapped around his neck like an odd looking large child with a grey beard.

"Well… there have been a few weird incidents since I have been here. And I don't think it's purely to do with hatred of me as an outsider. I think there is more to it. Like maybe forcing govern of Erebor out of Thorin's hands?" She took another sip of her super sweet wine, feeling a bit braver. "Dis mentioned that the Iron hills clan offered to buy the land after the collapse, but for nothing close to its value – and after Bofur took me into those tunnels to the generator – and the gem stones I saw in the walls… I mean – gosh… surely there is enough wealth there for everyone in Erebor never to work again."

"Thorin lost his grandfather, his parents and his younger brother in the collapse of the mountain. He never talks about it, but he blames himself for that. There were two collapses: the first and then the second. Thorin sent in many to help rescue those trapped or hurt in the first collapse of the mountain. Frerin, his brother was one of the rescue group. And none of those men returned. He was only just eighteen and back from university himself. His grandfather stopped Thorin from going in again himself thereafter to look for his brother…" Gandalf spoke quietly leaning in. "The people here all pride themselves in being craftsmen. They would always work. You know Thorin and Dwalin, are both skilled in Smithing?"

"That's really awful. But now I get why he is so… well… the way he is." She thought better of calling him grumpy after hearing of the death of his brother.

"Come on Shobha, you were going to say arsehole, right?" Fili interrupted.

"Your words." She laughed, as Fili and Bilbo cackled.

"Has he even thanked you for taking care of his wounds? I mean our mother said there were so many wounds you would have to spend all night –" Fili began, but she interrupted, simply wanting to shut any conversation about him down.

"I guess I am paid to do that job. And technically it was my fault."

"You didn't ask to be kidnapped, my dear." Bilbo unexpectedly waded in, taking another sip of ale.

"And I don't understand why you left so early that evening. Mother had asked Uncle to show you the gallery and tapestries. It would have taken at least a few hours…?" Fili looked puzzled, as though he were trying to figure it out.

"The galleries?" The slow realisation that he had cornered her before the tour should have finished, was only just beginning to dawn on her. She had thought what she saw that day was the extent of what she was meant to see.

"Aye, there's about half a mile, well beneath the Manor. We are miners, so that's how Durin Manor was built. You know there's even a large pool down there?" Kili frowned, he stopped eating and drinking entirely and turning to her from where he sat beside his brother, his warm brown eyes studying her. "We would have joined you before Uncle should have finished showing you around, even if you hadn't finished dinner…"

The jovial mood of what had begun as a way to tease her between them all at that end of the table had led to unexpected focus on her that was making her squirm a little. To make matters worse, her mind felt sluggish from the intoxication of the sweet, sparkling wine that she had consumed, a little more than she wanted.

Leaning forward for her glass of water, as a way of stalling while her brain fumbled around to come up with anything other than what truly had happened that evening, she knocked a knife off the table to the floor.

Feeling the heat reaching her cheeks, she immediately chased the item of cutlery under the table.

"Oh dear God."

But as her fingers reached for the shiny silver dinner knife, they were stopped by the large, firm, grasp of a spade like hand.

"It's bad luck to pick up a knife, if ye drop it, lass."

Looking up, she found herself under the scrutiny of Dwalin's observation. But his strange greenish-blue eyes were filled with concern and kindness.

"Did something happen… between the two of ya, lass?" He whispered.

She intentionally shut her mouth, sealing with her other hand, as if something might inadvertently pop out, and then just to be sure, she shook her head.

"Yer terrible at keeping a poker face." He asked again. "Ya know ye can tell me…"

She just shook her head, rising back up to take her seat, as he too followed and carefully set the knife on the table.

"A gorgeous girl, all alone, lots of dark paintings – some even quite scary; he probably tried to kiss her…" Bilbo made a guess, with a frivolous tone to his remark, as though he could only presume, Thorin to be too stupid or incapable to making such a move. He had carried on eating as he joked not realising the many eyes that had settled on him at that point. "I… I know, I would –"

He looked up from his plate suddenly, to find Fili and Kili now looking towards the other end of the grand table, who appeared to have concluded that Bilbo had indeed been correct, and Dwalin who looked frankly, quite angered. In fact it seemed that much of the table had quietened down, while pretending to hold conversations, most of the guests were now straining to listen in on their one.

"I… er… didn't feel too well…" eyes wide, and taking such a big gulp of water that it felt like she was choking, she replied, turning to look at Gandalf, who gently reached over and patted her on the back. "Long on call week… spent mostly in hospital… I was tired and… got a terrible… headache… yes you know… screen eyes… and stuff…"

She kept her eyes on Gandalf, who sincerely looked as though he believed her, nodding.

"Oh, I know very well what you mean." He smiled gently, and patted her hand. "It's a combination of a lack of sleep, computers and all those long hours. I personally get a migraine when I am dehydrated."

There was something strangely calming about the old man. It was not something she could wholly explain, but nonetheless in that moment, her thoughts seemed to gather themselves.

"Yes… a rich, boozy meal… and no one could keep me awake at that point." She agreed gratefully.

A quick glance around her end of the table saw the scrutiny turn from her towards him: Fili and Kili, appeared to be glaring at their mother, who sat near Thorin, while Dwalin looked as though he was ready to throw the knife he had picked up at his closest friend.

"It's never too late for a tour of those galleries, Shobha. And I know all the history around the clan directly from Thror. I might even wager more than Thorin or Dis. I think you will find I make a much better guide – and will probably be able to answer more questions too." Gandalf smiled again, the creases on his cheeks reaching his eyes this time. It strangely almost made her forget about the awkward moment prior to that. "Now… have you ever been to Indonesia…?"

…

She stared at a horrific painting of a man turning into a wolf like creature; his eyes revealing how much pain he experienced, as claws grew from his fingers and his teeth grew long and sharp, his entire body arched in agony.

"So they just found that they became werewolves one day?" She winced looking at the man in the painting again.

"Well, the documented line of Lords only begins at Durin the sixth. And he was known to have the ability…" Gandalf stood by her in his crumpled grey linen suit and white shirt looking up at the painting of the man. "Although I don't think they would call themselves werewolves. But I can see why if you have seen them you would call them that. They certainly don't look like wolves… even some of the myths around lycanthropy have a basis: the whole silver bullet thing, because it's not easy to kill them. They heal fast – faster than you could injure them. And the whole full moon myth – I guess because they have less of their human control during that part of the lunar cycle, so they would have been most likely to run into or hurt other humans on those days, leading to incorrect associations and subsequent conclusions by those studying them."

"And being bitten?" She asked walking along the large hallway. "Would that turn you into one?"

"That would just get you terribly mauled. But there are some old legends that Thror had the ability to turn others with a bite. It has led to the secret belief amongst those in Erebor even, that Thorin is like that…" he walked along side her. "He has grown into his grandfathers role well. He has that majesty about him, don't you think?"

"Hmm…" She took one glance at him sidelong, and carried on walking to the next painting, not daring to make any further eye contact, trying her very best to sound noncommittal. Where as in truth, she couldn't deny it. She had noticed more of Thorin recently, since he had been… different… even nice, towards her, on the several occasions where she had changed his dressings.

They had spent well over an hour in the galleries, and not even covered half the paintings. These were long spacious tunnels in the depths of the mountain several levels beneath the Manor House, and built into the rock itself. They seemed to have doors scattered throughout, that gave access to various parts of the manor, and provided secret access. Apparently they had been built by the original Lord Durin, so he could move about his own Manor without having to bump into or talk to staff or others. Gandalf seemed to know his way around rather well, and moved with much greater agility than he looked as though he had. It made her wonder how old he truly was.

"So how did they start transforming in the first place…? I guess it may be like a sex linked gene mutation… linked to the Y chromosome; which might explain why men only seem to transform." She thought out loud as she reached a picture of a young man. He had chestnut coloured hair, and bright blue eyes, but unlike most of the men, almost no beard, and his features were much less coarse.

"You may be quite right, my dear. It could well be such a gene. But no one knows how it happened in the first place. My personal theory is that they adapted as the only group of people who could live so close to a colony of vampires. It is no secret that the undead are incredibly strong – but the wolves possess a strength to match. And they move in packs, unlike the vampires….That, by the way, is Frerin, his younger brother… he was very much like Fili in his temperament. Brave, strong, but also kind and sensitive." Gandalf looked up at the painting, his face filled with genuine sadness. "He was also the youngest, and his loss is grieved by them both even today."

"They have never mentioned him to me."

"They never talk about him. Dis was a very talented artist; but this was the last painting she ever did." Gandalf smiled, as though recalling a fond memory. "I did not meet them until after the collapse of the mountain, but I met Thrain several days before who mentioned that she had forced him to pose for hours and their youngest could never sit still…"

Shobha smiled at the painting. Every brush stroke was perfect, and the image of the young man, clearly having just come of age, had been lovingly portrayed. In fact his eyes almost looked alive, filled with a soulfulness, that very much reminded her of Fili. It made her wonder what he had been like.

"What makes you believe the collapse of the mountain was not a genuine accident? Those mines are extensive…"

She turned from the portrait to find Gandalf observing her, his face keeping a neutral expression, but he was trying to piece what little information she had revealed so far.

"Look at all the strange things that have happened around here so far. Even when the power seemingly cut out – thought to be incidental; The generator had been tampered with. It's a large piece of machinery big enough to power the whole of Erebor. So whoever stopped it knew what they were doing. So much so that the whole team of engineers who constantly check didn't hear anything or suspect, until I spotted that spanner!" She didn't want to sound like a crack-pot conspiracy theorist. But she hoped this man would take it seriously. "There's enough gemstones here to make the mountain a worthy target…"

The tall man turned away, brushing his fully silver beard with his wizened old hands.

"You believe me!" She moved around to see his face. His eyes gave it away, even if he managed to keep the rest of his face neutral, in reaction to her ideas. "Even Legolas thought so… I mean why does Thorin think I was attacked - several times now?"

"He thinks there is a group of wolves – lesser betas, in both clans, but still powerful enough to form a faction, who dislike your presence…" he frowned, as though the explanation was too simple. "You are an outsider, and they have not been able to hide their secret from you. Maybe they worry you know too much. That you would be able to study them…"

"So why keep me here at all?" She keep here eyes firmly on his face. "Thorin, made it clear to me that I was a bother for him. He questioned whether I really wanted to be here. And I even agreed to hand in my resignation – I intended to fully take responsibility for it…"

The tunnels were quite dark, the lighting focussed only on the paintings, and any other lighting along the floor. It was like being in a slightly better lit cinema. While it highlighted the paintings well, it also made the whole experience a little bit creepy. So much of Erebor was a bit like that.

"Yes, why indeed…" this time he smiled a little, his comment heavily loaded.

"If something happened to Thorin, what would happen to Erebor?" She ignored the implication to his comment and changed the subject.

"Fili is his heir."

"And if something happened to Fili?" She hesitated before asking.

"Well, then it becomes complicated. Dis will be the one to inherit Erebor. You see, Kili has made it clear he has no intention of being anything more than a councilman. And Dis, probably wouldn't know how to manage… although she is third in line."

"So it would involve Dain and his lot." She couldn't help suppress the scathing tone to her voice at that point. "I bet they can't wait to 'help'."

"And I hope you don't mind my asking, but why do you care?" He smiled once again. It was a disarming smile, given how loaded his comment was. He was clearly paying great attention to her at that point.

"Well for starters, they made it personal when they targeted me. And I have made friends with some of the Ereboreans. Okay – I wouldn't really call it home… but so many people here have been so sweet to me… and even if he is a grumpy arse, I can see that he really does try to do his best for everyone here." She confessed, her voice falling to a loud whisper, as though it involved admitting something terrible. "Look at Mel; she was meant to be my tailor, but she was the only one that didn't treat me as though I was an idiot after seeing that wolf the first time… and maybe I can't control my curiosity..."

"Oh he was quite vexed by your helping her." A cheeky chuckle rumbled from somewhere in his chest, which he tried to suppress with a cough, as though it was an act of defiance that he encouraged.

"Gandalf, why do you believe me? About my suspicions…" she looked up at him again to find him deep in thought once again.

"Thrain asked to see me urgently before the collapse. He shared a few suspicions, similar to you, with me. And gave me his will and that of Thor's for safekeeping. He only kept copies in his own safe here. What's more, he handed me a large quantity of gemstones. We made an inventory of the stones, their weights and details, and I organised for a safe deposit to hold them for Thrain or Thorin." Gandalf looked troubled. "He couldn't be certain beyond his suspicions, but he wanted there to be enough to help his people in case something happened. It was some of that which funded the work towards making Erebor safe enough to return back again. You see the insurers and surveyors were all known to Dain and the Iron Hills council. Their evaluations suggested there was no way of recolonising Erebor. And I had not heard from Thrain for months after that visit. So when I came searching for them, I hit a dead end in Dale, where I was informed of the tragedy, and that the few survivors dispersed to various parts."

"What about Dain?"

"He has no dealings with the outside world whatsoever. All that is done through various other minions. And no outsiders are ever welcome to the Iron Hills. I had no way of making contact." He shook his head sadly. "It was only by chance that I came across a pen knife made in the Blue isles, stamped with the Durin crest, and I discovered more about the craftsman there, that I finally made contact. Bilbos home design company had all the best contacts for engineering and surveying to help Thorin set about returning his people back here."

Finally Bilbo's friendship with Thorin made sense. It was otherwise hard to imagine how those two might have ever even met!

"But before you ask, Thorin will not risk his relationship with his cousin and the Iron Hills Clansmen, where there is no evidence."

"Well that's it then." She concluded. "If Thorin believes something, then he is so stubborn he will refuse to see anything else. Even if it came bounding through the door and bit him on the arse!"

Gandalf chuckled. There was a rebellious streak about her that he rather liked. It was the sort of equally opposite stubbornness to Thorin, that he hoped would mean she wouldn't stop looking into the matter. That she wouldn't stop seeking the truth.

….

"Erebor wine. Thanks."

Shutting the door to her bedroom, and feeling very tipsy once again, she slipped her feet out of her heels feeling the relief. They had not managed to see the full collection, but Gandalf had promised to show her the rest another day. She liked him. For such an accomplished man, he was kind, unassuming and in no way arrogant.

But he had been very attuned to her mounting fatigue as they walked past countless paintings, explaining some of the history around the Durin Clan and their relationship with Dale, Greenwood, and the Iron Hills.

Dis had invited them all for after dinner drinks, but both she and Gandalf had managed to escape any more booze, by taking a tour of the galleries. Apparently Ereboreans could drink for England, and it didn't touch them! She had only drunk a couple of glasses of the local wine, but was now beginning to suspect that it had a high alcohol content!

She contemplated checking her email, and decided she was far to tired, and possibly a tad too tipsy. And so, she threw herself on to the enormous bed in the room and began to unbutton the top of her dress, when the unexpected aroma of flowers reached her.

At first, she lay there listening to the distant rumble of thunder that had just begun. It was not later than eight o clock in the evening, but night was creeping in, and the days had started growing shorter since the last week of June. Even during the height of summer, she had found Erebor in general turned a little bit creepy as evening set in.

Shutting her eyes, she took another deep breath.

It was most certainly not her imagination, as the unmistakable scent of gardenia and freesia wafted over to her. She sat up in the dim light, and scanned her room.

It all felt a little surreal, as outside the darkening skies opened up following another rumble of thunder, and the rain began to fall, heavy drops hammering the window pane.

Rolling over the ample silky chiffon material of her dress, to the other end of the large bed, she switched on the light. Then, once again as she scanned the room she spotted a rather large bouquet of flowers on the dressing table, where she had messily scattered her makeup and jewellery – or as she called it, the 'organised chaos of her morning routine'. That had truly been something Mike had found infuriating; the few days that she had stayed over at his, her make up, jewellery, creams and perfume had taken over what little counter space had been available in his bedroom. To the very end, it had been a source of complaint.

Sliding off the bed, she just about found her footing. All her faculties had been slowed down by a combination of the wine and the fatigue of that evening. Slowly, she made her way over to the flowers, unable to imagine who could have left them for her. The bouquet was large, and densely packed with stems of flowers. It was easy to realise why the room was filled with the fragrance.

Searching the flowers, she found the small card attached, and read the neatly penned script:

Thank you.

T

She stared at the card for some minutes, feeling a range of emotions; confusion, then irritation, and anger, until she finally settled on sheer rage.

She should have slept on it, but alcohol, no matter how small a quantity consumed, and rage, were not a good combination for her.

Feeling her heart pounding, and the adrenaline coursing through her slightly uncoordinated body, she slipped her feet back into the heels she had kicked off by the door and headed out.

After a short and further empowering march to Thorin's study door, she looked back down at the card he had written. She felt the injustice bubble up inside her again at the thought that he imagined he could send her an extravagant bouquet of flowers and everything would be forgotten, just like that. It reminded her all too much of Mike!

With a second bout of irritation surging through her, she raised her hand up and knocked loudly on the large, ornately carved, dark wood door. It made a louder sound than she had intended, transmitting all that anger.

When there was no answer, she knocked again. Harder. Her ire grew with each moment.

Shaking head, she wondered whether to go back to her room; Knowing her luck, she had worked herself up, but he was probably still with all the other dinner guests, having drinks.

And then the door flung open.

"By Mahal's hammer Dwalin! How many times must I tell you; It is none of your –" Thorin paused as he realised his mistake, the deep lines revealing his fowl mood, relaxed somewhat upon seeing her. "Shobha…"

He let his eyes wonder over her; Her face flushed, even through her deep honey coloured skin, her hair a little ruffled and her dress undone at the top. He followed the exposed skin down her neck to plunge between her small breasts, where they stood proudly, in a soft lacy undergarment, only just visible, where the top of her dress had been unbuttoned. Suddenly he felt caught off guard.

"What the devil is this?!" She thrust the card at him, but felt her own anger dissipating.

Thorin, himself, looked more dishevelled than usual. He only wore a soft shirt, and it was unbuttoned also, opening up the top of his chest. His sleeves were unbuttoned too. He had been busy looking over more paperwork, and making notes.

"You think you can treat me the way you want, and then send me flowers and it will all be okay?!" She frowned, tearing her gaze from his azure eyes and looking at the card she held up. The sheer arrogance of the message itself was enough to keep her going.

His own face, which had almost automatically softened, when he realised it was her and not his closest friend, hardened once again. Dwalin had repeatedly badgered him since dinner, trying to force him to reveal what exactly happened between the two of them that evening when she had been attacked!

He found himself easily irritated, after that last glass of port, and the entire evening, where he had spent it desperately trying to listen in on the conversations at the other end of the table, while having to deal with the political talk at his own end. And now she too stood there, unhappy about his attempt at a 'nice' gesture towards her!

Reaching out to grasp her small wrist in his large hand, he pulled her inside his office, as she carried on and shut the door.

"You just let someone in my room –"

"I was in your room." He began calmly at first.

"Well it's all just fucked up!" She had come to associate flowers with apologies because of Mike, so after they broke up, she promised herself that she would never accept flowers for anything less than love or a celebration

"I have been into your room before. And I thought you would like them…" it was hard to hide his own tone of mounting annoyance. He had gone to a lot of trouble to send her those flowers; choosing them himself, and spending some hours trying to put some words on that note. He had gone through almost a dozen note cards! This was all something he had never done before.

"Is this meant to be some sort of apology?!" She shook his hand off.

"It's not an apology!" He ground out through gritted teeth. "You made it abundantly clear, you wouldn't accept any from me. Did you not?"

"Then what the devil is this, then?!"

"Didn't you even read the damned note?!" He stepped forward, observing how much he had worked her up. He rather liked it. His lips twitched into a half smirk, unable to help himself. "You read ample waffle in those bloody romance story books of yours, but you can't read two simple words. By Mahal's beard!"

"There's hardly anything on it!" She blurted out, realising that was an added reason it made her angry. "You might as well have not included one."

"Then how in Durin's name would you know it was from me?" He took another step closer to her. She seemed to hold her ground, so he took another step and crooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face up to meet his. As he gazed into her big, brown doe-eyes, it almost made him forget momentarily what they were arguing about. They were still just a few notches down from yelling at each other, but he was growing increasingly worried that the dinner guests might hear the commotion and come looking for them, and then see them both in their half undressed state and come to unwanted conclusions.

"And why on earth would you even care?" She pushed her hand up onto his chest, angry that he felt arrogantly confident, as usual, to step into her space!

"Why would you not?" His face betrayed genuine disappointment for a mere moment, before resuming his usual mask of coldness. "The flowers, the scents… they smell… like you. I thought you would like them."

They were quite extravagant, that much, she would admit. She couldn't imagine there was a local grower who managed to grow that much gardenia! And she did like the aromas.

He let his hand drop from under her chin, where he drowned in her doe eyes, to cover the small hand she pushed against his chest. Her skin was separated from his only by the thin fabric of his summer shirt, and he longed to feel her touch on his skin. He just wanted to give in to his need for her. He shook his head again trying to remind himself it was just a passing desire.

"Why the hell do you do that?!" She raised her voice this time, glaring up at him, but only seeing his cold blue eyes. "Do you like to fuck with my head on purpose?! All this hot and cold - it's giving me emotional whiplash!"

"Keep your voice down! You are in the same room as me!" He stepped closer still, pushing past her hand. Any force she exerted was nothing to him. "And you don't have any problem accepting the attentions of any other man here – whether it's Fili, Dwalin, Bilbo, Gandalf or even the filth from Mirkwood…"

"Are you calling me a tart now?!" And there it was, just on cue as she expected, his insult following anything even remotely nice that he did!

"Keep your voice down, I said!" He raised his voice slightly. "Don't you ever listen?!"

"Ugh! You are so bloody infuriating!" She couldn't help herself, even now he was too arrogant and closed off just to say thank you. If he hated her so much, why couldn't he just let her be?! It made her even angrier!

"And you are bloody frustrating!" He couldn't bare it any longer. It was like a hot spring bubbling up from deep inside. "Who else would conclude flowers saying 'thank you' indicated denotations of being a whore!"

Their faces were just a few inches from each other, both angry and on the verge of fully yelling, unable to compromise or accept things, neither expected this.

She wanted to slap him.

He wanted to shut her up.

It was like the a storm as it breached land! Angry waves crashing against solid rocks, immovable and arrogant!

They both found each other's lips! He wrapped one arm around her small waist, not wishing to trap her in – should she wish to reject him, pressing her body to his, while his mouth, hot and heavy in its efforts, devoured her. And she pulled at his hair, and his shirt – pulling his large frame into hers.

It was all lips and teeth – rage and frustration, unleashed upon one another. It was like a storm!

And then suddenly as the realisation dawned on each, they pulled away panting, and gasping.

He watched, as she looked at him half surprised, her rage clearly spent and he took a step back from her himself. Her hand was still clutching at his shirt, and he still had his arm around her waist.

It had been moment of exhilaration, perhaps even desperate release, but he had felt his control slip away. And he wondered whether she was too tipsy to fully fathom what she was doing.

Without speaking another word, he scooped her up and carried her out of his study. Her own room was just along the corridor, where he took her through, and set her down on her large bed, admiring her on it – there was so much space – she needed someone in that bed with her; to keep her small body warm. He shook his head.

She looked tired and a little dazed. It made him feel a little guilty for having kissed her, but he was sure she had kissed him too, and both had initiated the kiss.

A pair of small, cool hands reached up to his chest, interrupting his thoughts. They ached against his hot skin.

He gazed down at her again, as she partially sat up, surrounded in her summer dress, with its ample soft chiffon. An errant thought crossed his mind, making him wonder what it would feel like to take it off her body. Like unwrapping a lavish gift. He could feel the torment of his sane mind at war with the fire that grew in his loins, forming its own desperate and quite strong argument.

Once more his thoughts were interrupted by the pull of her hands.

"Did we just…"

"I was trying to shut you up." His lips twitched up in the corners again. An arrogant smirk.

"You're such a bloody prick!" She let go and slumped down into the soft duvet and pillows. He had set her perfectly on her bed.

"Goodnight, Miss Seth." He began to step away, but was halted by the feel of a soft hand on his wrist.

"Wait! Please would you…" her words were lost as she saw the faintest hint of smug satisfaction appear on his face. "Oh forget it…"

She found Durin Manor creepy especially at night, and slept poorly in her room. Often she had resorted to leaving a light on, but that too weakened the quality of her sleep. She would have given up herself to him that night, just for his company. But all the same, she was confused about what had just happened. He had actually kissed her! Of course, she had also kissed him too, but only to stop herself from slapping him. And yet she was certain he had been looking at her a little funny just mere seconds ago…

"Very well, Miss Seth." He began to turn and then found her hand on his once more.

Outside the wind howled, as the rain battered against the window pane heavily.

"Please just stay here tonight. There's plenty of room in the bed. And I don't want to be alone." It burst out of her, like she was letting go of a breath she had held for too long.

"What?" He couldn't hide the look of surprise at her request. It was such an honest request, it pulled at even his cold heart.

"You heard me." She sat up in bed on her knees, reaching for him, looking up with those big doe eyes, that he was sure no man ever turned away, almost begging. "Please?"

She watched him, heart sinking, that even after she had been honest with him, he let her hand go and walked to the door in silence.

But then, most unexpectedly, and to her utter shock, he quietly shut the large bedroom door and silently walked around to the other side of the bed, where he sat down on top of the covers and unlaced his boots, pulling his feet out before laying down next to her and switching the light off.

Outside a flash of lightning followed immediately by the loud crack of thunder made her almost jump onto him, only to find his arms wrap themselves around her. They were strong, and reassuring, without saying a word.

"Thank you…" she leant over but he stopped her before she even tried to kiss him.

"I won't kiss you again." He whispered in the dark. "Not like this. I want you to have a clear head when you kiss me again. Not because of anger – but because you want me…"

He stroked her soft hair soothingly, and pulled her down into his arms next to him again, ignoring the growing discomfort in his trousers.

"Now go to sleep."

….

Dear all,

Another long chapter I'm afraid. Thank you again for following. Let me know your thoughts and comments xx

Dear Felsong7 – thank you so much for your lovely review ❤️ – it really made my day :) this story will be a bit more slow burn between them (because I don't usually write that type of story and I'm trying my hand at it with this one!)… they're getting there :)! Thank you again :)