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"Where did you go to, if I may ask?"

"To look ahead."

"What brought you back."

"Looking behind… And seeing a little nymph chasing me."

Thorin looked over at his wife. He wondered if it was wrong to find the snarl curling her top lip enticing.

Her mahogany gaze narrowed on him and he knew he could put her off no more. She'd thoroughly checked over every dwarf he'd shoved her way, only to see that rage simmer, ready to boil over. He'd get an earful he was sure.

"Would you say you're happy with your wife, Thorin?"

He smirked at the curious wizard. "That is my business," he stated. Marching away from the wizard to his wife of fewer than two months. He stood before her, holding his arms out at his sides.

"I am uninjured, Wife."

"I will see for myself, Husband."

He smirked down at the crown of her head as she ran her hands over him searching for wounds. He noticed her fine tremble and while she distracted herself examining his chest he stepped forward enfolding her in his arms.

He heard the first gasp and cradled her closer, chin resting on her head. He hid her from the others, enshrouding her in his coat as she sobbed into his chest. He let her fall apart against him her body leant into his, he holding her together in his strong arms.

His dwarves shot sly, sympathetic looks his way. Each one showing a growing fondness and loyalty for their exotic Queen.

When her tears stilled, he placed soft, encouraging kisses on her lips. He murmured his love for her, and she returned it in a shaky whisper.

He found his words of love for her easier now. Her declaration a few weeks ago had forced him to reveal what lived inside him. He revelled in the new purpose she gave him, being a husband, a provider, and if Mahal wished it, a father. It made his quest to Erebor that much more vital. Giving her a home, welcoming their people, it all culminated inside him in a warmth and responsibility he did not shy away from. He welcomed the oncoming challenges with his alluring wife beside him.

"My brave, beautiful wife," he wiped her reddened cheeks dry, smiled devotedly at her. He skimmed his hands over her checking for injuries. Every so often making her squirm with his tickling fingers.

He'd been surprised at Gandalf's statement. His plucky wife had run after the wizard to alert him of the trolls and their predicament.

The hobbit had done well in buying them time. His wife had done equally well, if not more so, he thought.

He knew she could have fallen prey to any number of evils out there. He thanked Mahal she did not, but still it sent a shudder through him, made his hands tighten their hold on her slim body. Later, she could expect a stern lecture from him. When he was sure, she had recovered, of course.

"Someone's coming!"

Her alert had him shoving her behind him. Drawing the elvish blade, he'd discovered.

Overgrown brown rabbits pulling a wooden sledge crashed through the undergrowth. A mad looking fellow with bird droppings on his face stopped at Gandalf's urging.

Thorin stared off into the forest, one hand stayed on his wife's back, rubbing soothing circles. He didn't know if it was to comfort her or himself. He was reluctant to spend more time in this cursed forest.

Gandalf was talking to the mad looking wizard, Radagast. He couldn't hear their murmured words.

"I wonder what they're saying?" Kíli piped up.

Thorin grinned, his youngest nephew always had that knack of saying what was generally being thought by others.

"He's talking of dead walking, of evil growing in a fortress."

They all looked at Shana, she shrugged, "I have good hearing."

Thorin smirked over her head. His nephews grinned back.

Thorin leant in, "Tell me more, Wife."

Shana repeated the conversation to him, mentioning a Necromancer, his mind spun as to what it all meant. The talking came to an end when a bloodthirsty and familiar howl rent the forest air, sending birds careening into the sky in a whoosh of flapping wings and panicked squawking.

Bilbo asked about wolves in his innocent tone, only for the foul beast responsible for the noise to hurtle into their area.

Thorin pushed Shana out of harm's way raising his sword and delivered a fatal blow, Dwalin helping with one of his axes. He tugged his wife to her feet, grabbing her to him. Hiding her face from the shock of an arrow strumming past them to hit the second Warg. He dealt another deathblow and pressed his wife back to him. Soothing her shaking and kissing her trembling lips.

Ori announced they had no ponies, and Gandalf yelled at him about who he'd told of their quest outside of his kin. Thorin assuredly stated that none of his people would ever betray him.

The wizard looked to Shana, she nodded, "There are those who would see the Haradrim as our rulers. Bahij has many spies. He would not be pleased when this news reached him."

"What news?" Thorin questioned.

Gandalf answered sharply, "News of the Princess' marriage."

Thorin pointed his sword at Gandalf, "I want to know all. When we are safe, you will both explain." He glared at the wizard but softened his gaze at his wife.

The wizard nodded, glanced behind him. "We cannot outrun Warg riders on foot."

"I'll lead them away, Gandalf," Radagast's tone like a puppy eager to please concerned Thorin. Looking around at his troubled company, he knew they were out of choices and would need the fool's help.

Thorin pulled his wife aside, stern eyes taking her in. "You stay beside me, you follow my command. Is that clear?"

She nodded, he took in those almond-shaped eyes, deepest brown flecked with amber. Her pert little nose and kissable mouth. He checked her clothing, making sure there was nothing that would trip or hinder her.

"If anything should happen, look to Dwalin."

Her mouth twitched, "You will follow my word, Shana. I will not have you in danger."

He pressed a hand to her belly, "If there is a child, you must survive. Promise me?"

She stiffened, her lips tightened into a white slash. Thorin pressed a kiss to her immovable mouth.

"You have an indomitable spirit, wife. I suppose this means I had better not die today."

She nodded, but he could read her panic. It echoed loudly through him, a fear arose, not for himself, but of not being able to protect her.

He clasped her hand and pressed a hurried kiss to her fingers.

Run and hide, became her mantra as she dogged her husband's footsteps. The strange, hunched magic-man on his wood-framed sledge, pulled by the large-eared forest creatures he called Rhosgobel Rabbits, darted across the wide stony range.

His turns sporadic, leading the orcs and their vile rides far from them, only to spin around and lead them back. The fool nearly ran across their path leading their hunters close to them.

They ran again, a short way, all stopping behind a large clump of boulders covered in moss. Shana tried to stop in time, but her sprint was too fast to stop so quick. She ran into the back of her husband.

He turned face pale and strained, she opened her mouth to apologise, but he pressed a hard kiss to her forehead.

"My brave wife," he murmured, grasping her hand, squeezing it. She could see his body brace. Her muscles clenched readying herself for the flight across the rugged ground.

They all took off as one multi-headed creature, legs pumping, boots pounding the grass, dirt, and rock. Behind another large clomp of granite they waited.

"Where are you leading us?" Thorin questioned the wizard, he didn't reply to her husband. He stared at them remorse clouding his azure eyes, before signalling them all to run.

Fleeing across a flat innocuous looking area, they sprinted, Shana clinging tight.

Her hand snatched from Thorin's. Her foot caught in a dip. She slammed down onto her chest, her bosom taking the impact along with her knees.

She watched breathlessly as her husband slid to a halt, whirled around and swiftly he was there. Dragging her up against his body, forcing her to run. Her breath shallow gasps as her body tried to curl in on itself from the stabbing pain in her chest and scraped knees.

Behind another outcropping, he leant her against a rock and examined her. "She's done," he said to Dwalin, the tattooed warrior nodding in agreement.

"No," she sobbed hands grasping at his furred coat. "I can run," she pleaded, dread swelling inside pushing back the pain to a dull thrum.

Thorin eyed her, "Aye, you can, but you will not."

The signal to flee and her husband swept her up in his arms, flying across grassy ground, to another collection of rocks.

This time, their presence did not go unnoticed. Over Thorin's shoulder, she watched a mounted orc, its drooling beast scenting the air. An arrow loosed from Kíli's bow, and it tumbled to her husband's feet, a ferocious squeal echoing over the landscape as the killing blow was inflicted.

They were running again into longer grass, "Kíli shoot them."

Thorin's order was accompanied by him placing Shana on her feet, standing in front of her like a shield of stone. Axe in one hand, sword in the other, Shana glimpsed the true warrior that was her husband.

Before she knew what was about, Gandalf was calling for them from behind a boulder. She was picked up and tossed into the arms of Dwalin. She didn't have time to fight the hold, saw only that her husband remained as she slid down a sharp incline into a cave. Hauled up out of the way of others coming down.

At last, her husband was there, and she ran to Thorin, just as a horn sounded and a grotesque brown body tumbled into the cave an arrow lodged in its neck.

"Elves," her husband spat. Throwing the arrow aside.

She knew her husband was not fond of these people, but a part of her wanted to crawl up the slope and see them. She'd heard much about them from Gandalf, and Bilbo always spoke in awed tones of them.

The small body curled in his arms shifted slightly. Her head readjusted itself snuggling tighter into his embrace. Her eyes closed in sleep.

Her injuries were his fault. He'd seen the hole in the ground, his wide gait carrying him over it easily. In his rush he didn't even think of Shana behind him. The feel of her stumbling, her hand ripped from his. It was sharply engraved in his mind. His pure terror choking him as he slid to a halt, whirled about and saw the warg rider in the distance.

He'd snatched her up, heard her muffled cry of pain, her body bowing in as he forced her to run alongside him. The panic in her face when he declared her done. He wondered if she thought he meant to leave her behind. He gripped her tighter, whispered a kiss over her forehead. He would rather cut out his heart than even consider the idea of it.

He was not pleased with where the wizard led them, but when they came to the outcrop, Thorin had to wake his wife. Rivendell was no dwarven stronghold. It was too vapid, too bright, waterfalls, trees and over-pungent flowers surrounded the homely house. It held no beauty for him, but he would not allow Shana to miss the sight. He knew she had become fascinated by stories of the elves.

"Wife," he whispered into her ear, his breath stirring against her cheek, her eyelids fluttering. Her fawn eyes opening to his.

"Look," he commanded with a nod towards the view. Shana turned slowly, her rapid intake of air made it all worth it. There were those who would likely say he acted a fool for the way he pampered his wife. He didn't care, her pleasure was his. Truly, what did a few minutes spent on a bluff cost him? The look of happiness that came over her face, as she turned to him that deep love of hers vibrating through him.

"It is beautiful," she murmured and a heat sprung up in her eyes. "Not as beautiful as my husband," she whispered, her fingers curling into his neck, pulling him into a kiss of sheer rapture.

"Careful, wife," he pulled back, lips tracing against hers, "You're injured."

She shook her head, "I feel wonderful." She emphasised with a stretch of her supple body.

Thorin grumped, the magic of elves indeed. "Once I am sure you are well, my lips are yours to command."

The little sprite grinned and sucked his lip into her mouth, biting down. His cock swelled, his breeches were unforgiving, trapping him tightly.

"You'll be the death of me," he gave her a mock glower. She laughed, and it was a beautiful, tinkling sound that rivalled the flowing waterfalls. The urge to throw her to the ground and bury himself deep shuttled through him.

"Thorin," Gandalf approached, "I think you should know that this place can have a particular effect."

He'd guessed that, and with strength he set his wife on her feet, pushing her gently ahead in front of him, wrestling back his control.

Gandalf leant in close, "Though it has more of an effect on those in love."

He stopped, staring at his wife's back. He'd never needed confirmation of Shana's feelings, but the assuredness that rushed through him brought a giddiness he'd not felt since a dwarvling running around the halls of Erebor.

A new pride took hold in his steps as he followed her down the path to Rivendell.

Gandalf stared at the royal couple, beside him sat Lord Elrond. The Elf-Lord had warmly welcomed the dwarves, enjoying their suspicious ways, barely hiding his amusement at their antics.

"My Lord, do you sense anything?"

Elrond's eyes flicked over to him, "Yes, Gandalf, I do."

He nodded, he wasn't sure if this complicated matters or not. The Lady had not foretold of this happening so soon.

"You'll need to talk with him, soon." Elrond cautioned.

Gandalf nodded.

"Will he be pleased?" The Elf-Lord questioned, his gaze curious.

Gandalf stared at the happy couple enjoying Bofur's singing and dancing, "He will not show it, but he will be pleased."

"And my offer?" Lord Elrond asked, a worry tingeing his tone.

"He will see sense in it," Gandalf assured, knowing he would help the dwarf see the need for the Elf-Lord's help.

He'd assumed when he'd been requested to visit the Lord of Rivendell in his study, it had to do with his Father's map.

As the door closed behind him, he stared at Gandalf and the elf, both casually sitting across from each other. Food and drink perched on the table between them. An empty chair awaited. His instincts yelled at him.

"This has nothing to do with my Father's map, does it?"

"No," the wizard held out a hand to the ornate chair. "Please sit, this matter is urgent and cannot wait."

Thorin sat and waited. Gandalf was his usual blustery self, talking but not saying anything.

"Get to the point, Wizard." Thorin's natural paranoia stabbed behind his left eye, causing a faint twitch. He wasn't interested in hearing the wonders of Lord Elrond and his healing abilities, or about the keen senses of elves.

"Thorin, Son of Thrain," Elrond spoke this time, his voice deep and sonorous.

"Your wife is with child."

Thorin took the long route back to the room given to him. Shana was bathing, he'd acquiesced glumly to the she-elves stealing her away earlier. No doubt she'd be delivered back smelling like Mr Baggins garden. His nose wrinkled.

He stopped, leant against the white balustrade.

A child.

Inside there was a kernel of unease and only his warrior's resolve kept it small and insignificant.

He closed his eyes. Everything else that had been said flooded back.

"Your wife will need aid in her time."

"Would you keep her with you?"

"What if your journey takes longer?"

"Who will see to your wife in her labours?"

Questions and comments he had no reply to.

Aye, he wanted his child born in safety, his wife to have the best healers. But could he agree to what had been put to him?

To leave Shana in the care of the elves while he continued his quest.

A part of him was furious that they had told him. It should have been his wife who imparted such glad tidings.

Not an elf or a wizard.

And Shana? His wife was unaware of what treasure she hid in her body. He would accept Lord Elrond looking over his wife, making sure the fall she'd suffered had not harmed her or their child.

But to leave her behind?

Was he that noble?

There was a selfishness inside him that wanted her with him. To watch her belly swell with their child, to feel the first kicks of life.

Could he drag her across the wilds while her body changed? His sister used to suffer headaches and a sickness constantly when pregnant with Fíli. Kíli had been easier on her, a blessing considering she was grieving the loss of her husband all through her pregnancy.

What if he died? Would he be so cruel to have his wife witness his death? What of her safety? If he fell in battle, surely the perpetrators would kill Shana and their child soon after. He knew now they had enemies hunting them.

He thumped the marble, glowered over at the mezzanine opposite. Master Baggins stood there, surveying the homely house. For a moment their eyes met. The hobbit could never hide his fear of this quest. He was lost and homesick.

While his brave wife never showed a fear of the quest itself. She feared for him, for the others. She was not lost or homesick. She'd told him she was home when she was in his arms.

Her people were never settled for long, she was used to constantly moving, breaking camp and rebuilding when they found somewhere else to stay for a short while.

Family was their home.

Perhaps, it was a lesson he could do with learning.

Thorin stood straight, took in a deep breath of the cloistering sweet air. If he had to leave her somewhere, was Rivendell not the wisest choice?

There were no better healers, even among his people.

But, that one thought besieged him. Thorin desperately wanted to be there when their child was born.

He looked to the cloudless sky, beseeching Mahal for an answer. He could not abandon his quest, yet he could not abandon his wife.

"There have only been a few children born between human and dwarf."

Thorin rested his arms on the rail, dropping his head to his hands.

"I do not need your counsel, Gandalf."

"Thorin, I do not offer counsel. I tell you, taking her will be a mistake. We have no idea how long her pregnancy will be. You could be in Erebor when the child comes, or, you could still be travelling."

He shook his head, "You already know what my answer will be, Wizard."

"You do love her?"

Thorin chuckled, "You sound surprised."

"I had hoped, I did not think it would be this quick."

"I knew the first night," he murmured to his clasped hands.

Thorin turned around, hands fisted at his side. "She invaded my heart, conquered my soul. No matter what, she must live. Our child must live."

Gandalf nodded, "I will inform Lord Elrond of your answer."

Thorin inclined his head with a grace he did not feel. He strolled away, aiming for dignity, a point of pride in his step that was an illusion.

For when the wizard was out of sight, Thorin Oakenshield dropped his head to his hands and wept.

She whirled around, watching her dress flare out around her legs. She staggered to the side, her head dizzy, and laughed at her foolishness. She had none of her pretty dresses with her, only drab, functional clothing. This sheerness covered her scented skin, caressed her small frame with a decadence she'd thought never to experience again.

Shana swept her hands over soft gossamer, it twinkled like stars caught in spider webs. Beneath she wore a silky shift of cream, her sleeves belled out at her elbows, tapering down to little points that hung below her hands.

She wasn't sure of this style, being so different to her traditional garb. The sash that had hung around her tapered waist had been discarded.

She spun around once more, colliding with a rock hard body and a kiss that curled her toes.

She pulled away, gasping for breath between her delighted giggles. She twirled for her husband.

"Do I look like an elf?"

His eyes roved her body, "More beautiful than any elleth that has ever lived."

Blood rushed to her cheeks, her lips curving in glee. His nose twitched, and she chuckled.

"I smell like an elf."

Her words teased a smile from him, his nose wrinkling, "Aye, you do. I prefer it when you smell of me."

"As do I, husband," she coyly tipped her head, hair tipping over her shoulders, tumbling down her chest like an ink stain.

"Your hair, it is the deepest black." His fingers reached out, stole a lock and rubbed it between his fingers. "So unlike my people. It shines like polished onyx."

She watched him, seeing a melancholy drift over his face. Her husband stood in this room, but his eyes told her he was far away.

Something had happened.

She stepped closer, offering him a teasing smile he could barely return. She reached up on tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his frozen lips.

His nostrils flared at the cloying honeysuckle and lavender that perfumed the air. It cooled the ardour between them. Sinking back down, her hands linked around his neck she looked up into blue eyes muddied with concern.

She knew he would impart nothing until he was ready. Her husband clung to his control like he did his pride. Only once before had she seen this morose side, this vulnerability that shrouded him. They were no longer in the hobbit's home, and right now she felt lost in how to help him.

She pulled away, took his hand.

"Show me Rivendell?"

He nodded, leading her to the door.

"I love you, Thorin."

He stared at her, his eyes roaming her face intensely as though this was another of his keepsake moments. She gave him her warmest smile, the ones only for him.

"I love you, Wife."

Males, be they dwarf, elf or man, were basal creatures. A woman need only simper in their direction, bat their eyelashes and ask questions about simple things that seemed beyond her comprehension to lure them into that false sense of masculine security.

Her father and his chieftains had fallen prey to this tactic many times and to this day had never realised what Shana had done.

Lord Elrond Halfelven was no different. The towering elf, clothed in sky blue robes with an air of intelligence and long-lived experience worn around him like a mantle, was ensnared as easily as a fly to the web.

Shana ate her dinner, her husband showing no disdain for the leafy meal. When first they ate here, he'd grumped about the lack of meat.

His silence was telling her a story, one he would not talk of, yet. Her ire over his fierce need for control raised the hairs on her nape, though she held back her temper.

Her curiosity, however, would not be held back, neither would her fierce loyalty and devotion to her husband's wellbeing. The elf-lord and the wizard had met with him, and since then it felt as though she were sitting next to a diminished effigy of her husband.

She wanted to know why.

Taking the smallest sip from her wine glass, keeping her senses clear, she observed the elf-lord.

"Rivendell is beautiful, My Lord." She bowed her head politely.

The elf returned it, "Thank you, My Lady."

"The magic of the elves is inspiring, to bring such vitality to a valley that, perhaps, struggles so."

Elrond smiled, his eyes twinkling at her recognition of his power. She smiled back, wide and toothy.

"Such beauty in my land would make our hearts sing, my people have never seen such abundance."

She could feel Thorin's eyes boring into her, her hand slipped beneath the table, settled high on his thigh and squeezed. His fork clattered against the fragile china plate.

His head was bowed, his breathing uneven. Her touch, both welcome and not. She'd guessed what his reaction would be. Though it hurt to watch him excuse himself from the meal and join his company, it was the effect she'd sought.

"My apologies, My Lord," she offered to Elrond. "My husband, he is…" she shrugged, eyes downturned, a sour mask slipping over her face. Tilting her face in his direction, she confided, "We spoke…" she shook her head, reached for her wineglass, fingers gripping the thin stem, eyes fluttering.

"It is understandable. I commend you for your high spirits in this situation. The gladness of new life, yet the separation of lovers. I understand his reaction too well, My Lady."

Shana nodded, her thoughts spinning like the sand storms that devilled her people in the hot months. Every word he spoke was scrutinised, meanings and truths clicked into place.

Slowly her head rose, her brown eyes stared at Elrond, her face smoothed, lips thinning. His face began to pale, stretching taut, eyes widening.

"My Lady—"

"I wonder," she interrupted, "If the circlet you wear, indicates your position?"

Thrown off by her words, his mouth flapped a little before he answered, "I am the Lord of Imladris."

"Of course," Shana spoke, "I, of course, wear no such thing," she flapped her hand towards her head.

"So, it is easy, My Lord, for many to forget."

His eyes narrowed, the old elf unable, it seemed, to keep up with the conversation.

"Forget?"

She nodded, "That I am a Queen."

The Lord sat back in his chair, a new respect flashing in his eyes. His lips twitched.

"Well played, Your Majesty." He swiped up his glass toasting her.

"Thank you." She watched him, noted he was becoming uncomfortable with her scrutinisation.

"I think, Lord Elrond," she snatched up her crystal glass, sipped the blood red wine, "That it is time you told me what has been said to my husband."

It was Bofur who fetched him. The hatted dwarf, nearly yanking out his moustache, stuttered through his words.

Dwalin caught 'drunk' and 'maudlin' followed by 'angry' and 'threatening.'

"Who?" he questioned.

Bofur paused in his worried spew, squinted, pointed behind him. "Are you not listenin'. Thorin, he's well in his cups, he threatened Kíli. Had him by the scruff, so he did."

Dwalin didn't listen to the rest, he marched towards the large fountain and the alcove branching off to the right. Most of them had elected to sleep there. He rounded the corner and saw a red-faced Kíli on one side, straightening his crumpled collar and Thorin on the other.

Fíli sat with his Uncle, casting worried looks at his brother and anyone else who was paying attention. Everyone was, even though they tried to pretend they weren't. Including the elven guards across the walkway, their damned elvish eyes and ears likely picking up every move and word.

"I need not be told by some Pup, that I am a fool. I am a King. My orders are to be obeyed."

The dwarf tipped to the side as he reached for his goblet. Fíli was quick from his seat, catching Thorin, pushing him straight, holding his shoulder to keep the drunk in his place.

"Uncle, we were raised on the tales of Erebor, you cannot deny him this quest." Fíli's plea a soft entreaty, his body stiffening, a wariness in the young one, leery how his Uncle would respond.

What in Mahal's hairy arse-crack was going on?

Dwalin ran his hand down his face, wondering if he understood the snatch of conversation. Kíli had been ordered to leave the quest? Why?

He searched over his shoulder, and Bofur edged up, whispering in his ear.

He scratched his bald head at Bofur's words. Nothing made sense, the eve had started well, and now the world had descended into chaos.

Thorin's hand moved to his sword, his slurred words became loud and boisterous. He thrust up from his seat, swaying, slapping away his nephew's helping hands.

"I am the King! I will be obeyed!"

Dwalin knew what was about to happen. He marched across the floor. Thorin tried to pull his sword, but both hands became tangled in each other. His spine snapped straight, his eyes rolled back, the chair slid sideways, and Dwalin caught the slumping dwarf in his arms.

He didn't look forward to delivering this package back to their new Queen.

Dwalin squinted down at the petite lass.

"You want me to…What?"

Shana stared up at him unblinking. His height and bulk not intimidating to her. Instead, she sighed, waved at the slumped form, "You think it would be better he be left like this?"

Dwalin looked to his friend. Thorin snored, shifted, scratched his balls and slapped his lips.

"Aye, well, right now he's not at his best. But, what you're asking me to do." Dwalin shook his head, "I know him, he'll react badly."

"And you think when he awakens, and you leave on your quest, that he will be in a kinder mind?"

No. Dwalin knew for sure that when they continued, Thorin would be in a worse mood, and it would not get better. Thorin Oakenshield in a snit was bad enough, with a furious fire lit in his belly. Well, Dwalin had experience of watching his friend near destroy himself before.

He wasn't the only one to notice the change in their King. Shadows of the past no longer lingered in his eyes. His shoulders no longer hunched under the burden of being what his people needed. His spirit was no longer crushed.

This lass brought his brother, in all but blood, back to him, back to life itself. If the lass thought she had a way of helping, he could at least try, for his King's sake, and for the sake of their quest.

He nodded, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Well, he thought, might as well get it done before Thorin awoke. He cast a look at the lass, she was brave little one for sure.

Dwalin marched out the room, shutting the door carefully, hitching the latch.

He walked to Shana, a large clump of material in his hands.

"I..er..here." He held out the bundle of clothing.

"I think it would be better for you to keep them for this night."

The dwarf warrior shrugged, "It won't matter lass, he's got no problem running around in his birthday suit."

Shana reached out, smoothing her hand over the soft pelt of her husband's coat.

"I have to try," remembering Dwalin's presence she flicked her gaze up to his steel eyes. "I cannot lose him."

Dwalin huffed a breath, glare shooting from her to the horizon, "You'll never lose him, lass, if you just abide his wants."

She wished she could make this dwarf understand, but she could barely understand her motives. All she knew, was that she had to try.

"Thank you," she bowed her head to him in respect.

"Lass, you may not be thanking me before this night's through."

She smiled, knew it was brittle. A deep breath in and she edged past Dwalin, he grabbed her hand.

"If you need me, lass, you come to me." He swallowed, "I'll no let him hurt you."

She bowed her head once more, his concern touched her. She wanted to state that her husband would never hurt her, but right now, she couldn't be sure. Her plan could come undone in a spectacular way. She hoped not, but she knew his reaction would not be pleasant.

"I have to try," she told herself again, eased out of the grasp and walked towards her room.

Inside, a single lantern burned, casting the room in near shadow, highlighting the bed. It reminded her of the first night she shared her body and soul with her husband. Becoming his had caused an awakening in her heart. One she embraced, held tight in her memories. Thorin called his memories 'keepsakes.'

Tonight, Shana could lose everything. A slash of pain through her heart, her inner voice warning her. No, she thought, she could not give in now. She would show him, make him believe, she was strong, stronger than he knew.

Stepping forward she stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at her husband.

Her eyes greedily examined every curve, line, crease of his flesh. His body wide, his musculature pronounced. Honed by his years as a warrior and a blacksmith. Skin, pale between patches of dark hair, only his face and neck, and the small V on his chest touched by the kiss of the sun.

Now laid before her, bare as the day he was born, spread out, arms up, legs parted. Each limb slack, restful, and unknowing that they were tied to the posts of the bed.