A/N: At this stage it is quite clear it is not a three chapter fic. What can I say? They all misbehave, and it takes time to fix the mess they are in.
Rumours start. First neither Thorin, nor Frerin are aware of them, but soon even they realise that people talk about their sister and the red haired woman of Men living in her quarters. The first few moons of the child's life Wren was staying in the rooms adjoint to Dis', and no one thought anything of it, but now that the child is approaching a year mark, Frerin comes to Thorin's study. While Wren being his or Thorin's mistress was just not discussed but perceived as, if not common, but at least conceivable, the Khazad are intolerant towards association between two women, when neither of them in bonded to a man. It is frowned upon as it leaves less women to bear children. Given both Dis and Wren have born children already, and Wren is no Dwarf, intolerance towards such relationships is ingrained in the Dwarven mentality.
"May I, nadad?" Frerin sticks his head in Thorin's study, and it is the first time they speak privately since that day in Frerin's rooms. Thorin gestures him to come in, Frerin heavily sits down on a chair across the desk from his brother.
"Something tells me you are not here to talk about the barges from Esgaroth," Thorin puts his quill aside.
"No, we have discussed them enough at the council. I am here to talk about Dis… and Wren," his voice almost unnoticeably wavers around her name. Thorin nods, he has anticipated it. Frerin's jaw is set stubbornly. "We need to interfere. There are rumours." Thorin nods again. He has given it a thought, and he knows what his brother is to offer. He cannot understand why he cannot bring himself to agree on it. He is searching his mind and cannot find the answer.
"Something indeed has to be done," Thorin answers cautiously. "Talk to Dis, you have always had better relationships with her. Wren has to be moved into separate rooms." It is not what Frerin wants to offer, Thorin feigns nonchalance, Frerin is frowning.
"The child is written into the register as my son, they need to live with me."
"Dis will not agree," Thorin's voice is confident, although he has no idea. He just cannot let it happen. He can see irritation is rising in Frerin, and Thorin is painfully reminded of the day when he fought his brother truly for the first time. Before the aggravation with Wren he never felt the real hatred of physical altercation towards Frerin. That night he wanted to kill him.
"Dis will understand, she is the sister of the King, she has to know how it looks. They spend all their time together, and maids talk. And Wren has always been fond of such attentions," Frerin is trying to convince himself and hisbrother, Thorin thinks of the evening when he saw a woman leaving Wren's chambers.
"Talk to Dis, and… let me know what she says." Thorin does not want to discuss it any longer. He doesn't understand his own irritation and wants to close the subject.
Two weeks later his mistress comes back from a trip to Gondor, he has not seen her for three moons. He receives a note inviting him to her house, it is the custom between them. He is held back in negotiations for longer than expected, and finally he enters her parlour, shaking off the hooded cloak he wraps in to hide his identity. She is pouring wine in goblets, and he drops in an armchair. He is vexed and is trying to understand what it is that is nagging at his mind.
Suddenly for the first time in this liaison he tells his mistress of his family aggravation. He expects her to judge the situation the way any Dwarf would, to condemn the possible transgression in Dis' chambers and worry of what people will say of the royal family, and yet Arna, daughter of Oli starts laughing. There is a derisive note to it, and she is shaking her graceful head. The heavy braids bounce, and she topples a goblet of wine into her mouth. He is not used to such behaviour from her.
"What in Mahal's name do you find worth of frolics here, Arna?"
"Everything, to be honest. But mostly your blindness, my King," she is giving him a disdainful look. "You yourself see no fault in your thinking, and it entertains me." He feels offended, and rage is rising. She narrows her eyes at him. She has never behaved thusly. "Have you ever shared yourself with two women, my lord?" He has, and many times. He doesn't give her any answer, he can see she will say what she thinks without his participation. "And if you look back at those nights you will remember that you were indeed the third wheel there. Only because we are expected to bear children, it does not mean we cannot gain pleasure in association with other women. It is just not spoken about. And your sister is brave enough to be open about it. I have always admired lady Dis, but I am starting to think I have underestimated her..."
He slowly gets up on his feet, she is drinking from her refilled goblet. She is a redhead, has green eyes and even, pale skin. Her mouth is like petals of a rose, round full lips, she is a renowned beauty.
"I do not appreciate your brisk judgment..." He starts, and suddenly she gives out a loud short laugh.
"Of course you do not, my lord. You do not want to hear the truth." He cannot believe it, and she suddenly makes a step towards him. He feels as if the world has gone mad. "You do not want to think that your sister has managed something that neither your brother, nor you, the mighty King Under the Mountain were capable of. Finding peace and love with that girl." She uses the word that commonly designates a child, and Thorin winces away. Wren was no child, she was a passionate strong woman, he remembers her appetites, and the fire in her.
"You judge what you know nothing of," he sneers through his teeth. He regrets talking about it. Mahal knows, he now regrets even taking her as his mistress. Who would expect his decorous azyungal to suddenly turn into this shrew?
"Are you scheming how to get rid of me in your head, my lord?" Her tone is venomous and mocking, and he jerks. She knows him too well. "You are not hard to read. Since this is our last evening, my lord, I will tell you what I think." Running right now would be ridiculous, that would show weakness, but he is almost dreading what she might say. "Women of the Khazad have always preferred the company of each other because our men are nothing but dimwitted brutes. You are so rigid in your understanding and your opinions that even if we die out completely, you will still not blame yourselves. That poor child of Men that you and your brother kept in your rooms for your pleasures, my predecessor whom you were brutalising and abusing when a whim would come," he makes a few steps back from her, her words are like lashes of a whip, "Did you honestly think she received any pleasure from it? The poor child probably had nowhere to run. If lady Dis showed her some care and tenderness, naturally the girl developed feelings for her. She probably has not seen a glimpse of sincere affection in her whole life."
Thorin understand that Arna is drunk, and had been before he came over. It is a shocking revelation, that he can fail to notice the state of a person he previously spent so much time with and claims to be associated with.
And her words, though he understands that they are coming from a muddled mind, sink in, and he remembers the day he ran into Wren, in the second half of her parturition, he remembers unadulterated terror in her eyes and how she was shielding her unborn child from him. The child that he only went to see once, a blue eyed boy that is either his, or Frerin's.
He rushes to the door, grabbing his cloak from the chair he threw it in carelessly. Arna's derisive laughter is heard behind his back. He gets very drunk that night and spends hours crashing furniture and dishes in his chambers.
Another moon passes, Thorin is unaware of what results the conversation between Frerin and Dis yielded, when there is a knock at the door of his study, it is late, he has been working in it for two hours after returning here after supper. He allows his visitor entrance, and it is Wren.
He has not seen her since the day Thror received his name. He visits the child, along with maids he always finds Dis there, just slightly more rarely Frerin, never Wren, but he knows little of what happens in the nursery. The child is healthy and active, looks completely Dwarven to Thorin's eyes, and Thorin dislikes the strange unease he is flooded with when in those rooms.
"Allow me a conversation, my King," she is calm and collected, and he gets up and gives her a small bow. She takes a seat across his desk from him and folds her hands on her lap. "I will be direct, my lord. Your time is precious, and there is no use in tamahi karâth masarranul," making runes dance. It is a good expression, Thorin is fond of it himself. There is no use in wasting time in trite conversations. He forgot she spoke Khuzdul. She sighs and lifts her odd eyes at him. "I am aware of the grievances the rumours of our association are causing for your sister, my lord, and unlike her I do not think they should be ignored. I came to talk to you of how the current aggravation is to be annihilated. And before you say anything, I will tell you I have given it a thought and came to plead you to accept my offer. I would like to be allowed to reside in rooms adjoint to yours. That will pacify the gossip." His eyebrows hike up, and she takes another deep breath in. She is almost serene outwardly, he has forgotten how focused and intense she can be once she is endeavouring to achieve something. "I understand how such arrangement could interfere with your personal pursuits, but I assure you neither I, nor my son will be a bother, as well as I am certain lady Arna would be understanding if you explained the nature of the arrangement to her." Thorin jerks in his armchair. He was not aware that his, now former, liaison with Arna, was public knowledge. Even less so he expected Wren to know about it. She picks up an inexistent piece of lint off her skirt and continues in the same tone. He now understands she has come here with a conviction and hardly anything can stop her from executing her plan. He has forgotten her will. He thinks often of her now, after the incident with Arna. He is torn between his own memories of her, with her passion, her sense of humour and her perceptive judgement, and the image of terrified woman in the dim infirmary, as well as the pale girl holding her newborn child, and now he is looking at her as if for the first time. There is some sort of hidden force in her, she is in complete control of, and he takes a sharp breath in. "If my lord desires, I can talk to her myself. We have met only once, but perhaps an explanation from me..."
"Why not Frerin?" He interrupts her, shocked himself to hear his voice. She once again meets his eyes. Hers are cold and distant, and she presses her lips momentarily.
"He still desires me."
Arna's hysterical voice is ringing in his ears. That poor child of Men that you and your brother kept in your rooms for your pleasures, my predecessor whom you were brutalising and abusing when a whim would come, did you honestly think she received any pleasure from it?
Thorin is watching her angular unattractive face. Motherhood has not softened the features, she is still very slender, the simple demure dress is hardly flattering. He wonders what it is about her that makes his thoughts, and apparently his brother's, linger on her. He himself thought little of her through these moons, but now he worries that her presence in his chambers will change it. And then he thinks he owes her that much. She easily returns his studying look, the confidence in her is familiar, some strange defiance is new. There is a purpose in her now. There is a question in her eyes, he gives her a nod.
"I shall inform your sister," she is rising, and he follows. "There is an unused kitchen adjacent to the further bedroom in your halls, my lord. I have a cook and a maid, everything will be settled, and nothing will change in your mundane life." She gives him a decorous bow and turns to leave the room.
"Why are you staying in Erebor, Wren?" Before the child he thought she stayed for Frerin, he spent nights torturing himself with jealousy, he can now admit it. It was like venom spilling in his chest, they would lie intertwined in Frerin's bed and he would imagine burying his dagger into the heart of his sleeping brother. And then he would shy away from the possessiveness and hatred splashing in his heart. His arms around her would tighten, and she would nuzzle him in her sleep. Was Arna right, he suddenly asks himself? Has this whole time the woman in his bed been staying out of necessity? The world of Men is cruel and unfair, she was indeed better off in Erebor than on the road. The Khazad do not force women in intimacy, she was treated with respect, but now he wonders whether that was abuse even crueler than she would have had to withstand in a city of Men.
"I am staying for my son, my lord. He has the right to know his people."
"He is only half a Dwarf," he wonders why he seems to always say hurtful things, but she smiles to him. It is a cold derisive smile, as if she expected nothing else from him.
"The blood of Men is weak, my lord, Thror is a Khuzd." Her eyes soften when mentioning her son. "Just like his father."
Her steps are soft, and she closes the door behind her.
The orders are made, and the next day Thorin can hear courtiers and maids rush behind the doors leading to the inner rooms of his halls carrying her belongings. The noise is subdued, there are many rooms between his study and bedchambers and the rooms the red haired woman and her child are to occupy.
Dis does not come down for dinner. Fili and Kili look concerned, and Fili mentions that his mother does not seem in good health. Frerin is absent too, and after the meal Thorin heads to his chambers. He knocks and opens Frerin's door, and then a half empty bottle of ale smashes into the wall near his head. Thorin assumes Frerin has heard the news. He closes the door not wanting to listen to the stream of drunk obscenities his brother is pouring on him.
He spends the evening in his study, not a single letter is read, neither are treaties looked through. Thorin is organizing his thoughts.
At night loud screams wake him up from the restless half sleep that he has finally fallen into. He rolls out of his bed and rushes through the passages.
Wren is pressing her child to her chest, shielding herself and the screaming babe with the cot, the maid has squeezed herself into the corner, her eyes widened in terror, and Frerin is raging. Some odd bottles and jars are hurled into a wall, the shards shower the room, Wren's hands are covering the child's curly head. She is barefoot, and there is blood on the floor.
Something snaps in Thorin, an instinct wakes up faster than his mind, and he lands the plummet of his sword he was not aware he was holding in his hand on Frerin's nape. His brother's body heavily slumps on the floor, into the broken jars and for an instant the only sound in the room is the child's wailing and the hiccups of the maid. Wren moves first. She shifts the babe in her hands and comes up to the maid.
"Tova," her voice is firm and commanding, and the maid sobs, "Tova, look at me and listen to me." The maid's eyes are widened, and Wren gives her a loud slap across the face. The girl gasps and looks at the woman, her eyes much saner. "Listen to me. King Thorin will remove Prince Frerin from the rooms now, and you will clean all this mess. And then you will go to your room, and you will sleep as much as you want tomorrow. And, Tova," Wren's voice grows cold and menacing, and the girl shrinks, "You will never say a single word to anybody about what happened this night. Not a single soul, Tova. Look me in the eyes and say you understand."
"Yes, my lady," the girl's voice trembles, and tears started running down her face. Wren does not seem to notice.
She bends and opens a trunk by the wall. She pulls a clean blanket out of it and throws it over the thrashing child in her arms.
"It is alright, kuyluluh, it is alright," she is making soft shushing noises and starts walking towards Thorin's rooms. She switches to Khuzdul. "The noise is over, my life. Mother is with you. Be peaceful, my life. Mother is with you." She disappears in the rooms, Thorin can still hear the boy's loud crying.
He drags Frerin's unconscious body to his chambers and drops him on the floor. Waking up on the stone floor, with excruciating pain in his head and preferably in all his extremities, will be the first of the retributions Frerin is to face.
Wren is sitting on Thorin's bed, the boy is not crying anymore, he is being fed. Wren is cradling his head on her arm, the blanket is draped around both of them, and the boy is still making occasional whimpering noises between vigorous suckling.
"We will need your bed for this night, my lord. The settee in your study is too small for both of us," her tone is mundane and even, and she goes back to gazing at her son, her long delicate fingers brushing at his temple. She expects Thorin to leave.
He sits on the bed near her and watches the boy eat. The ears, large and pink, very Dwarven, are moving rhythmically, and then he falls asleep still holding her breast between his plump bright lips. She arranges him among Thorin's pillows and only then pulls up the collar of her nightdress onto her shoulder.
Wren is standing over the sleeping form of her son, and Thorin suddenly clearly sees that the woman and the boy have no one in the world but each other. He gets up, comes up to her, and grabbing her hand he pulls her out of the room, leaving the door half open between the bed chambers where her son sleeps and the dressing room he led her to.
She lifts her eyes at him, frowning in confusion, and he cups her face.
"I will care for you and your son, Wren." She blinks, the crinkle between her brows deepens, and he can see how white her usually red lips are. "And now you need to cry."
"I do not understand..."
"Wren, you and your child have just been threatened, you need to cry it out. You are too calm."
"Thror is unharmed, and I am as well." Her tone is almost stubborn.
"I am not talking about harm, Wren, no one can go through this and stay that collected." She tries to move away from him, and he does not let her. "This is the last time I am imposing my will on you, but you need to cry, or you will break. If not tomorrow, then later. No one can carry that much burden." She presses her hands into his chest to push him away, and he grabs the back of her head, pulling her in. Panic is rising in her eyes, but he has seen the same wild expression in the eyes of those who has gone through their first battle. She is at the end of her endurance. "Wren, you were scared, you felt you had no one to ask for help, you had no one to protect your son." Her lips are starting to tremble, and then her whole body quakes. He can see her teeth sink into her bottom lip, there is blood. She is in shock, and he grabs her around her middle with the other arm. If Arna was right, his proximity will stir Wren out of her stupour. The small woman in his arms thrashes, and the first sob falls off her lips. "You have lived in the Mountain for years, Wren, and it is still not your home. There is not a single person of kin for you here, except your defenseless babe." She is thrashing harder, and her nails graze his cheek. He grabs the back of her head firmer, she is still holding on to the leftover control over herself. "You stayed for the sake of your son, and everyone has forgotten about you. No one cares, even Dis is now gone, Frerin could come into that room and take your child away, and no one would care. He could have overpowered you, spread you on the floor and force himself onto you..." That is when she breaks, her mouth opens, and he presses his palm over it, not to wake up the boy. She is now fighting, battering him and clawing, and her screams and growls of rage are muffled by his hand. He feels blood trickling down his cheek from the deep scratches she is leaving on his face, he can feel abundant hot tears on his hand over her mouth, and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her into him.
She slows down half an hour later, he has forgotten how strong she is, he is surprised by how exhausted he feels. They are on the floor, and she is crying, her hands fisted around handfuls of his tunic. The fabric is wet on his chest, and he gently strokes her shoulder.
"Wren, come," he opens his arms inviting her in, but not forcing her into it, and she slides on his lap, hiding her face in his neck. He does not wrap his arm around her, instead he picks up her hand and rubs the knuckles with his thumb. "Everything I said is false, Wren. No one will take away your son, you have my word." Her body jerks, and she presses into him harder. "I give you my word of honour. I will do what you ask of me and never go against your will and your desires. I give you the word of Thorin Oakenshield. No one will ever force you into anything, Wren." She is quietly sobbing.
"Please, hold me," her voice is raspy from the screams he has been muffling, and he embraces her, she is so slender he can hardly feel her. He is rocking her from side to side, and soon she falls asleep. He picks her up and puts her down near her son, pulling his own covers over her.
He is washing his face in bath chambers, the water in the basin is pink from his blood, and he realises his hands are shaking.
