Amor Virtutis
Chapter Three
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Thorin felt the tug on his shoulder, Dwalin's large hand pulling him towards the warrior.
"I think your lady needs you."
Thorin glanced over his shoulder his wife was leaning in her saddle, he nodded, called a halt to the company's slow pace. Everyone dismounted with pleasurable sighs, the hot day making all of them itchy in the saddle.
Making his way down the line, Thorin stopped by the pony carrying his wife. He looked at the hard leather she sat upon.
"Where are the furs?" He barked his question to Fíli, his nephew shrugged.
"I thought Kíli had them."
His youngest nephew with his brown hair a mess and his mischievous smile firmly in place approached them.
"Thorin," he greeted boldly, casting a fond look between his brother and uncle, "What is it?"
"The furs, Kíli."
"Oh, yes," the dwarf reddened a little, "They're on Mr Boggins pony."
"Baggins," Thorin murmured distractedly, his brow creasing. "Why are they on his pony?"
"Well, Myrtle was a little more docile than this pony. Shana swapped, to ease his fears."
Thorin turned his sharp gaze to his wife, sitting there, pain dogging her mahogany eyes, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth.
He nodded, a promise in his eyes that made his wife tilt her gaze downwards.
"Well, then, let us help my wife from her pony."
He knew there was no saving her from the pain she was in, he flicked his head at Fíli a silent command that had the young dwarf smirking.
Once the blond dwarf stood opposite him, he held his arms out. Fíli grabbed her foot from the stirrup, making her shriek as he pushed her sideways.
She fell into Thorin's arms, her own circling his neck tightly. She was a light little thing, weighed less than the axe on his back. Her hiss as he dragged her clear of the animal wounded him, he swept her legs up, found himself soothing her with murmured apologies no others could hear.
His nephews both stared at him oddly. He ignored them. He strode away keeping Shana firmly in his grasp lowering her body to sit beneath the shade of a tree.
"You will not ride without furs to protect you again, is that clear?"
He wasn't harsh with her, not like last night at the hobbit's home. He'd learnt his lesson there, never wanting to see her turn away from him again.
"You will sit here until we ride again."
She bestowed a small smile, the ache of her thighs still showing on her face.
"Rest," he soothed, taking her hand he dotted kisses over her small fingers, before biting the tip of her middle one leaving her gasping.
Thorin marched to his friends. A smirk plastered over his lips that had Balin grinning, Dwalin chuckling, his nephews staring with crumpled brows.
He passed by, Dwalin slapping him on the back.
"Balin, has he been enchanted by the wizard, or cursed perhaps.?"
Thorin couldn't stop the gruff bark of laughter at Kíli's question. He was still grinning when Bofur brought over some cold meat and bread, enough for two he noticed.
Thanking him, he gazed at his sleeping wife, ate half the meal and wrapped the rest for her when she awoke.
Shana stretched her arms up high, enjoying the cool breeze beneath the shade. Sunlight stippled the ground in little waves shifted by the swaying branches above her. Her eyes wandered over the camp and to beyond.
A wide break in the forest showed the road they'd taken nestled between patchwork fields. The greens and golds of the land were inspiring.
Songs and poems could be written about this beauty, she thought. Wishing that her father could see this, her mother.
Her smile slipped away, she swallowed back her gathering emotions.
"Such a sad smile, wife."
She turned to look beside her. Thorin sat with his back resting against a tree, one knee propped up the other out straight. His pipe in his hands and a fond look on his tilted face.
They said there was no love more fiercer or true than the love shared between the King and Queen of the Habai. She'd believed the stories of their love and passion, seen for herself the slow decay of her father after her mother died. Could never believe it could exist somewhere else.
Now, here, at this moment. Her breaths shallowing, her heart thumping, skin crawling, she thought they were wrong. She could love this dwarf-king, give him her soul and her heart willingly. If he asked her to drain her life's blood for him, she'd do it without hesitation.
"Shana?"
"I love you," she whispered.
He froze, pipe halfway to his mouth, the fondness replaced with sternness. She scrutinised his face, trying to translate the cobalt gaze, the pursed mouth.
Displeasure.
She'd gotten caught up in fairy tales of her parents and her passion of last night, he calling her his love. He'd said it in sleep, for all she knew he could have been thinking of another.
After all, she knew nothing of his life before their marriage. How was she to know he had not had plans to marry another?
Averting her eyes she ignored the flaring pain in her thighs, using the tree behind to push herself up to weak feet, legs trembling.
"Shana."
She walked away, could not bare to look at him. Many a time had she been cautioned about her quick mouth. Never giving thought to her careless words.
This was an arranged marriage, its purpose designed for a king to get what he wanted, for her people to get what they wanted, for her father to get what he wanted. She had no place in this other than to be a good wife. It was her duty, and falling in love with her husband was not part of that duty.
She sat alone from them all, waiting for the order to mount up and depart. The beauty of The Shire now tainted and diminished.
Her nephews by marriage approached her with soft smiles.
"My Lady, we are to help you."
She could read the signs clearly, seeing as it was they and not her husband who had come to her.
She took the proffered hand of the eldest one, allowed him to help her to her feet and followed towards the long line of ponies.
Her beast of burden awaited her, munching grass and snorting. Steeling her body, ready for the pain of mounting the animal, Shana frowned as she was lead past it.
Further away from the pony she was led until they stopped at the front. She stared at her husband's boot clasped in the silver stirrup.
"Lift her up."
Her breath choked as she was turned, hands at her waist lifted her, larger hands grabbed her and settled her. Her rump between his legs, hers pitched over one iron thigh. Her skirts adjusted and smoothed flat by his hand. His arms imprisoned her as he reached for the reins.
The touch of his lips against her ear, "They'll be no running from me this time, Wife."
Outmanoeuvred by his keen intellect, overwrought by his words and the sultry baritone voice she could only sit straight as the pony began its lazy sway onwards.
They had to have been riding for about an hour, Shana guessed. The sun moving purposefully overhead, beating down on her covered hair. Thorin had insisted she cover herself in his cloak to protect her. She was used to a sun hotter than this, but had not argued, had not spoken in fact. Merely nodded and obliged him.
She was swathed in the midnight material. His arm rested against her back, the other resting on her thigh. Occasionally his thumb would smooth over the cloak, a few strokes now and again, more through habit than emotion she feared.
Behind her, she could hear the soft murmur of voices. The brothers were teasing Bilbo again. The other family one of them with an axe in his head, were laughing and joking, the hatted one murmuring dirty rhymes. Her husband had already shouted over his shoulder, red patches mottling his cheeks, disappearing into the sharp lines of his beard. His caution that a lady was present had forced a smile from her, but she'd hidden it away.
Now she rode in silence with her husband, her thoughts looping back to her foolish words.
"I've changed my mind," he murmured above her head.
She didn't reply, merely angled her face to hear him better.
"I think I like a wife who obey's my every command."
She bristled, unable to stop the stiffness of her back, he chuckled.
"Had you obeyed my command regarding your pony, you would not be suffering such soreness between your legs."
She couldn't disagree with that, her chafed thighs still pained her, even with the gentle trot of their pony.
"My pony would not have to suffer carrying two."
That made guilt rise. She would not purposefully see an animal suffer.
"Furthermore," he sighed deeply, warm breath teasing the strands of hair that fluttered over her cheek, "I would not have to punish you, Wife."
Her eyes fell closed, a tremble setting up in the base of her spine. Thinking of the punishments dealt out by her people. Wives beat and flogged for the smallest of infractions.
"How should I punish you, Wife?"
She shook her head, not wanting to give him ideas.
"Should I command you to tell me?"
Softly she tried to ease her body away from him.
"Should I strip you, take my leather belt to your unblemished skin?"
She couldn't reply in any form, her heart thumping loudly.
Another deep breath, his barrelled chest pressing against her arm.
"My Mother was against physical punishment. My Father once was going to take his belt to my backside. My Mother soothed him, said that you always caught more flies with honey."
His hand slipped beneath the edge of the cloak resting on her knee.
"My Mother could make me feel guilty and small, whenever I did something wrong. Her beautiful eyes, disappointed in me, was worse than any belt across my hide."
Shana could feel his hands scrunching her skirt higher until warm fingers pressed to her skin.
"I give you a choice, Wife." His fingers trailed a blazing circle above her knee, inching higher with each rotation.
"Tell me your words again, or take your punishment."
Her words? Understanding came to her. No, she would not say that again.
Her silence was her answer.
"Very well, little one."
His fingers danced over her raw thighs she stifled her gasp at the sting. He shifted his knee a little higher causing her legs to gape. His fingers dove in wasting little time. He traced her folds, mapping her in idle strokes. One finger found her nub and began to stroke. It was slow and tender, not what she'd call a punishment at all. She couldn't help widening her thighs to give him better access.
He flicked at her centre, drew circles around it, brushed it tenderly.
A warmth began to build with his slow motions, her breathing increasing, her blood speeding, a light sheen of sweat dotting her skin.
Still, he was slow and purposeful, and her gradual build was starting to crest. Her peak reached, her back arching into him, her lips puffing out tense little breaths.
His finger stopped, and that delightful feel of release ebbed away.
"Tell me?" He whispered, lips brushing her forehead.
She shook her head. She couldn't force her love onto him, not if it would only ever be one-sided.
After a few minutes of silence, he bowed his head, "Very well."
His fingers began strumming her again, this time, more aggressive, bringing her need for release into a sharp spike of arousal.
When the waves looked set to crash upon her, he stopped.
"Tell me?"
She gasped, a hand grabbing the fur of his coat, clawing in. She tried to rub her thighs together, to get that needed friction, his thick wrist stopping her.
She shook her head, refusing to give in now. A battle of wills developing. She would not break to him this way.
"Very well, Wife," a caution in his hiss.
His fingers moved, this time slipping down to enter her while his thumb flicked and rubbed her nubbin.
Twice more he brought her to near completion, each time stopping letting the need drift away.
Her body was a mass of trembles, sweat coating her, her dress sticking in places. The cloak about her too warm, each time she tried to throw it off, he stopped her.
Her legs shifted, her back arched, her emotions toyed with to the point that the next time he brought her close and stopped she broke open.
Turning her face into his chest, hiding her sobs.
"Tell me," and this time his voice was begging her.
She shook her head, "I cannot," she choked.
"Give it to me," his lips pressed to the corner of her eye, tongue flicking out to taste her tears.
"No," she sobbed the word into damp fur.
He stiffened, she felt his body turning, "Balin, take the others ahead. My wife is distressed, once I have calmed her I will catch up."
His arm came around her, holding her head tightly to his chest, his hand between her thighs began teasing her. The gentle clip of ponies passing by forced her body to stillness.
He was brutal in teasing her, two fingers easing in and out of her, his motions hidden by the cloak. His thumb striking her swollen centre, tracing wet folds, flicking her nub. She couldn't keep up with what he was doing to her. Every time her arousal shuttled through her, it brought a fresh wave of tears.
Finally, silence etched over them only broken by her choking sobs and gasping breaths. He was unaffected, his breathing steady. His movements were cold and efficient.
She wanted to hate him but found she couldn't, it galled her.
Her body screamed for action, she tried to fling herself away, but he was too strong. If she could not escape him, she decided, she would make him burn with her.
Slashing a hand up, circling his neck, grabbing his hair at the roots, she heaved up and smashed her mouth against his.
Her teeth bit into his lips until he opened his mouth. Her tongue waged a brutal war against his. Her hands clawed and scratched as she near climbed his body, knees to the saddle as his hand fell away, then around his hips as she began to rub herself against his belly. Her chafed thighs protested, but the sharp pain only stirred her desire to greater heights.
He threw his head back, "Tell me!"
His demand ignored, her teeth scraped his bearded chin followed it down to where it ebbed out at his throat. She bit and sucked, feeling the coldness fall away as a tremble overtook him.
"No," he gasped, his throat bobbing against her lips.
Hands grabbed her, shoved her to arms length, leaning her against the neck of the pony, the animal snorting, sidestepping, his fingers tightening, keeping her steady.
"Tell me!" He yelled at her, his face was red, lips snarling, teeth gritted.
"I love you!" she screamed back at him.
He yanked her to him tugged her down. Somehow, he'd freed himself, and her wetness allowed him to thrust into her.
Everything stopped.
He glared down at her, a fury barely banked behind sapphire eyes.
"Wrap your arms and legs around me," he commanded, "And do not let go," he finished on a rumbling growl.
The unease she should have felt an age ago now trembled through her, causing muscles to tighten and a hiss fell from him.
She obeyed him, staring into his face. She felt his legs move, knees shifting inwards.
The realisation of what was about to happen made her cling on as the pony lurched forward at a fast clip and her body was bounced up and down on him.
His hands released her to grab the reins, and he yanked the pony around in circles. It was too much for her she came apart, arching into him.
Still, his thick maleness penetrated her, hard stabs that drove him deep into her. It was pounding, but she clamoured for more, the bliss and sharp sting propelling her body into a frenetic state. Her nails clawed into his neck, her thighs, still chafed, squeezed against his hips.
His face started to dissolve from absolute control into a snarling madness. His hands let go of the reins, and he commanded the animal with the slightest twitch of his legs.
"Shana!" He cried out, eyes clenched shut, his face contorted in agony, his fingers grasped her hips cleaving her to him.
He broke apart in shallow sobs, his hardness swelling inside her. He erupted in pulsing explosions, his hot seed marking her womb. She clung to him, whispered her love into his ear. His head lodged against her shoulder, his howls of completion emptied against her breast.
He eased the pony to a stop, his breath heaving over her, his heart pounding a rhythm they could both hear.
"I shouldn't…have done that." The words were tugged out of him, she could hear the building guilt in his tone.
"Yes," she consoled him, "Yes, you should have."
"I cannot risk a child with you."
She stiffened at his admission. His hands clawed into her, dragging her closer.
"No," he beseeched softly. "Do not misread my words, they are not cruel."
"They are the truth," she offered, trying to ease her own ache and separate their bodies.
"A truth that must be, until this quest is over."
"You do not need to explain, My King."
He growled low in his throat, "Hearing you call me that, means that I do, Shana."
The pony threw back its head with a snort, shifted hard, lurching them both. He soothed the animal, while his eyes slowly rose to hers.
"If this quest should fail, if I should meet my death, I cannot go to the halls of my ancestors knowing I left you with a child to raise."
What did that matter?
"I would love our child, Thorin. No matter the outcome of this quest." she pressed a kiss to his trembling lips.
"Of that, I have no doubt, but you're not a dwarrowdam, Shana. My people may not accept any child of ours as royal bloodline. Only a king can rule Erebor. Only a king can rule the Habai. Where would that leave you, my beautiful wife?"
She lifted her head, lips rasping against his, hands clinging to his cheeks, "Raising our child." She pushed every bit of belief into her eyes and voice.
His hands embraced her cheeks, he dotted small frantic kisses to her lips.
"Do not ask me to leave you with such a burden," he caressed her face with his thumbs, searching her eyes with his.
"I wish that you would," he shook his head at her words.
"Why would a child now, between us, make such a significant difference than when my throne is secure."
She shrugged, eyes tipping down, hands settling on his chest, fingers spreading out to caress him.
"Because I have nothing else to offer."
He frowned down at her.
"I bring no gold, no land, nothing to you that is of use. I was a means to an end when you took me to wife. I have no other purpose to cling to, no other use for you."
His eyes fell closed wearily, his forehead pressing against her. His lips found hers for the briefest of kisses before he pushed her away, turned her around to sit in front of him.
She hissed at the feel of his seed between her bruised thighs. She could feel him putting himself together, a shield coming up. He urged her leg over the saddle, sitting her aside rather than astride the pony.
His hands grabbed the reins, his boots gently nudged the animal into a slow gait.
All that love and hope inside her that swirled and eddied lapping at her heart and rippling through her soul began to still. The dryness of a barren desert edged in, withering all away.
His head leant to hers, a kiss pressed to her crown, a soft sigh of words rippling through her hair.
"I love you, Shana. That is your purpose to me."