A/N: Since I can't answer some of you in PMs, my darling readers, here are some answers to reviews:
Darling dearreader, Fili's wife left the mountain to live with another woman in chapter 7. Frerin got married after the aggravation with Wren moving into Thorin's chambers in chapter 6. He seems rather happily married, and in this chapter we will get an update on their relationships.
Dear GuestReader A., Thorin visits Thror three times a week for about ten minutes to find out how the boy is doing and how his education is going. It is becoming harder for him since the child is more and more a person, which some men need to start noticing a child in general. Frerin doesn't visit Thror since he wanted Wren and considers Thror taken care of.
Thorin enters the boy's rooms and finds Wren in them for the first time in a moon and a half. The boy is sitting near her on a divan, she is bundled in covers and furs, and she is running her hand through his ebony curls. She looks thinned but there is a faint colour on her cheeks, and she is smiling merrily.
The boy jumps off the divan and gives Thorin the habitual respectful bow. He is very decorous, he always addresses Thorin 'my King' and speaks only Khuzdul to him. Thorin nods, and the boy rushes to the table. Recently he started showing Thorin some of his work when the King visits, and the latter tends to stay longer in the chambers.
"Habanuh," Wren's voice is soft, "Perhaps the King wouldn't be interested in your maps."
"I'd love to see them," Thorin sits in an armchair, and the boy brings his parchments to him. He has an astute, strategic mind, and excellent memory, he is curious and industrious, and his tutors are pleased with him. They talk for a few minutes, Thorin is pressing his lips to hide a smile at the boy's haughty rendition of his previous lesson, and then Thror leaves to his small desk to finish his writing lesson. Wren is sitting her eyes on the window, and Thorin notices distress hiding in the corners of the red lips. He remembers the pale mask of death on these features and slowly moves to sit on the divan near her.
"How are you faring, my lady?" She turns to him, and he think he has forgotten her face again. He notices the high cheekbones, the delicate wings of the nose, freckles in constellations.
"Much better, thank you." She casts her eyes down and smoothes the fur on her lap. "My lord, have I displeased you in any way?" He looks at her in confusion, but she does not lift her eyes. "I was told you visited me in my illness, and that I was delirious and spoke. Were my words offensive? And Thror says you have not been visiting as much as before, and I have not seen you..." Her voice wavers, and he sees her taking a deep breath to calm herself. He ponders lying and telling her he was preoccupied.
"You did not talk to me when I visited you, you were too weak." He slowly speaks, and she looks at him askew. Her cheekbones are pinker now, and he is suddenly overcome with tenderness and some sort of piercing desire. It is not a greedy flame, not a hunger for her body, but he imagines pressing his lips to this flushed cheekbone. "I got scared, Wren," his voice is very quiet, and she sharply turns to him. "You were dying, and it affected me. I did not wish to see you weakened and enervated." She frowns slightly, and then suddenly picks up his hand. It has been years since they touched, and even longer since she initiated a contact.
"I am here now, I am gaining my strength back," her fingers indeed squeeze his hand tightly, "I know men are not equipped to handle mortality, life and death, birth and withering," she gives him a small smile, and he returns it. "That is why most healers are women. But I'm faring well now." She is still very slender, but he is not to tell her that. He pats her hand with his other palm, and she quickly pulls both hands back. The memory of her skin is burning his hands. Thror makes an irritated noise, his quill screeches, and Wren chuckles, her eyes on her son. She only has eyes for her babe, Thorin remembers his sister's words, and he excuses himself and leaves.
Two moons later the news come. Frerin's wife is expecting, but the parturiency is complicated. Healers and midwives are concerned, and the atmosphere in the halls is tense. There has always been a friction between the Princess and Dis, both competing for the status of the oldest woman in the family, and Frerin is tired of their squabbles. They exchange venomous remarks at dinner, now that Frerin's wife is with child, she becomes more irritable.
He is returning to his halls and hears loud voices coming from the parlour. Dis and Freda are arguing again, but this time the reason is new.
"You kept his former mistress in your halls, and his bastard as well!" Freda's voice is ringing, and Frerin cringes. He knew sooner or later Wren would be mentioned, he is surprised it has not happened earlier. "And I am certain it is due to your protection she is now residing in the King's halls. It is a disgrace to our house!"
"Let me decide what is good for my house!" Dis is raising her voice as well. They have probably been in dispute for a while, it takes a long time to make Dis lose control thusly. Frerin flees.
He finds his brother in a courtyard, training. They spar for a bit, and then they are sitting on a bench, tunics thrown over their shoulders, drinking water. The silence is companionable, and Frerin closes his eyes. Sometimes he feels like he is suffocating in the Mountain.
Frerin starts training with Thorin more often, anything to flee his halls that are more of a battlefield than a shelter these days. He is laughing at himself, he expected his brother to lose agility and these trainings to be Frerin's time of triumph, but Thorin only seems a more cunning fighter, his avidity and strength seem only have increased, while Frerin gets tired more quickly than ever. And then a ridiculous jealousy comes. Frerin wonders if having Wren as his mistress makes Thorin such. He catches himself looking Thorin over attentively, looking for clues, perhaps a copper hair on his undertunic, a ribbon tied on his wrist, Wren used to do it for Frerin, some markings from passionate love.
One day Wren shows up during the training, she is leading the boy by the hand, and the blue eyes of her son are shining. She apologises for intrusion and asks if Thror could watch their sparring. Thorin is smiling widely and allows with a wide gesture of his hand. Frerin thinks back at the day when he woke up with horrible headache, half his face in deep bleeding scratches, and the terror he felt when the memories flooded him, of Wren's pale face and her slender arms protecting her child from his rage. Frerin still doesn't understand how it happened. He could never hurt her, he is certain, but even now after all these years she is not looking at him.
Dis then told him to never come to Thror's rooms again, she told him Wren would never forgive him and would always perceive him as a threat to herself and her child. Frerin is looking at the boy now. It is a strange feeling, like looking at his own childhood memories. That is exactly how Thorin is in Frerin's earliest memories.
Their training swords clash. Frerin is distracted, he feels Wren's eyes on himself, while Thorin has always had an exceptional ability to focus on a fight. Frerin lands on his back again and again, cut down with Thorin much longer training sword. It mimics the distinctive shape of Orcrist, and Thorin is laughing. It is not malicious, but Frerin feels his jaw clench more and more tightly with every passing minute. He wraps up the training and leaves. The last thing he sees over his shoulder is Thorin placing the training sword into the boy's hands. They are leaning over the blade together now, their curls of the same shade mix, and Wren is looking at the two men with tenderness. Old offense stirs in Frerin's heart, it could have been him if Thorin hadn't stolen it from him. The woman, the child, the loving look Wren throws to Thorin while he is smiling into the boy's eyes… Frerin mindlessly walks into his halls, but the loud voices are once again ringing behind the closed doors, and he rushes into the armoury. One can always find a drinking mate there, or someone to discuss swords with.
Thorin finishes his usual training, and pulling on a clean tunic he walks into a passage, absorbed into his thoughts. He bumps into someone, and there is a soft gasp. He sees Wren, she has shied away from him, and he takes a step back from her not willing to frighten her. The passage is dim, but then he sees that her cheeks are burning. The stairs they are on are narrow and lead from the yard into an armoury, he cannot imagine what she could be doing here unless she was looking for him. He assumes she has a question, and he looks at her expectantly. She excuses herself, the voice is high and tense, and rushes by him. There is another door in the opposite side of the yard, but it leads to the pantries, again he cannot imagine what she would need there. It is none of his concern after all, so he shrugs and starts walking to his halls.
Thorin has been drinking for many hours now, a wild debauch has been unwinding in his chambers. Many of his warriors, some guests from Esgaroth and Dale, and plenty of harlots from both cities of Men are drinking his ale, and there is singing, loud screams and several rooms are occupied with orgies now. He gets up, and swaying violently he starts walking towards the kitchen.
She is obviously not sleeping, one wouldn't be able to sleep with all this noise, and he pushes the door expecting to see her with her usual book at the table. She is not here, and he angrily throws the bottle from his hand into the cold stove. It mournfully clanks, ale spills, but there is no splash of fire. He cannot perceive why, and it irks him more.
He turns around and starts marching to her rooms. He has not been there since the day he knocked out his brother with the plummet of his sword onto her floor. Her rooms are empty too. A feeble thought that the King is not to wander his halls drunk out of his senses thrashes in his mind, but then he decides to inspect one more location.
There is light in her study in the infirmary, she is sitting at a large desk, a register of some sorts in front of her. There are letters and contracts on the desk, everything in neat piles, and he feels irritated at how put together she and her life always are.
"Why aren't you in the kitchen if you are not asleep?" The question seems logical to him, but she does not answer. She is pale, and he sways. He wants to take a step towards her, but then he sees that she is clenching a letter opener in her hand. His eyes run over her body, she is tense, ready to jump on her feet at any moment, and he sees dilated pupils and white lips.
He does not know why he is still standing in her study, but then he lifts his eyes and meets her widened amber ones.
"I love you, Wren," he leans back at the nearest shelf with some jars and rubs his face with his palms. "I have from the start, from when you came here with Frerin." Part of his mind celebrates the liberation of saying it outloud finally, another part notes the absurdity of his behaviour. He does not care. "I know you do not seek any intimacy, but..." He does not know what else to say, his thoughts are sluggish, heavy, like mill stones, and he makes a step ahead and picks up a parchment from a corner of her desk. He now sees that these ones are her drawings, not recipes or contracts, and he is looking at a portrait of smiling Balin. He has never even thought of whether she is acquainted with his warriors.
"Could we discuss it in the morning, my lord?" Her voice is calm and collected. If she were not still holding the letter opener in her hand like a weapon, he'd assume she was not affected by this presence. He nods and tries to move away from the table. His body does not listen to him, but then he pushes himself harder, and walks out of her study.
He wakes up in his bed, there are two women sleeping near him, and he rolls off with a groan. After visiting the bath chambers he walks out in his parlour, and finds Frerin and three more men still drinking. He does not remember when his brother joined them. Frerin is completely drunk, but they are stubbornly trying to open another barrel.
Thorin goes back to the bath chambers and soaks in hot water for an hour. He can hear courtiers and maids cleaning up in other rooms, from time to time a maid comes and dumps more hot water into his bath. He washes his hair, and stays in the tub for a bit longer. He knows he is stalling. He needs to go see Wren.
He does not find her in her rooms, and he is shortly worried she decided to leave the Mountain. He assumes she was terrified last night, but then he deems his own fear absurd. He finds her in Thror's rooms. The boy is very excited, he spent the night in Lady Dis' rooms, Thorin understands Wren sent him away when the first barrels were brought into Thorin's chambers. Thorin listens to Thror's account of the games he played with Dis' maid, and then he asks Wren to have a walk with him.
She is pale, after the sleepless night, and they stop at a balcony overlooking a courtyard. It is empty, and she is leaning her back on the railing. He is standing facing at the opposite direction. His arms are folded on his chest, hers are fidgeting with the belt of her simple home dress. She is silent, and he looks at her angrily.
"What I said last night..." He wants to take it back, but he is not a child. The familiar ache under his ribs rises again, it blooms behind his sternum as well now, and he takes a laboured breath in.
"You were not yourself, my lord," her tone is calm and even, and he suddenly sees red.
"I was drunk, I have not lost my mind!" He raises his voice and then feels ashamed. He can see her body jolt, she immediately looks frightened. "Kuthu zall tamdini ib-bund rârâk zataznishîn tu," he is sneering through his teeth. When ale enters the head, secrets will fly out. She is looking at him from the corner of her eye, he does not understand the expression on her face. The long pale fingers are wriggling, and he wants to grab the hands to stop this nervous fidgeting. She is right though, what does one say to the pathetic drunk blabbering? He can see her small breasts rise under a modest bodice in slow measured breaths. She arrives to a certain internal decision and meets his eyes.
habanuh = (Khuzdul) my gem
