i. Balin exited the tent with sure steps, his old back protesting at the straight posture. There was a small smile on his face. Things had gone well for them this time. Yes, the old man thought, things had gone exceptionally well. From the corner of his eye he caught a small form darting about. His smile grew wider. That must have been the subject of their discussion and what he had come here for.

The old warrior thought on that statement. The tribes had started forming alliances in the aftermath of the Crossfield Wars. It was their way of keeping peace and bringing prosperity about. This was no different. It was up to Balin to strike a deal with Odo. And he had done so admirably. Balin had convinced Odo to allow his eldest daughter to wed into his tribe; furthermore she was perfect for their leader's grandson.

Thror wanted his oldest grandson to marry and carry on their legacy. And where would he find a better bride than Odo's daughter? Using a combination of flattery and barging skills, Balin had highlighted the advantages of such a marriage. Odo had simply nodded his head and said that they should step outside and have a look at his oldest daughter. It was moments later that a slight girl ran towards the tent. Her umber braid swung behind her and unsure hazel eyes regarded her father. She had a pleasant face and looked to be healthy but her small stature would only serve to confuse people; most would be inclined to think her a child.

"Is this her?" asked Balin, distracting the girl. He watched her turn to him and offered a crooked smile. "What thy name be, child?"

"Lorena it is." Her face relaxed in an inexpressive state. Be it genuine lack of emotion, shock or an inbred sense of diplomacy, Balin could not tell. Whichever the case, the young woman before him would certainly make for a authentic impression of a statue.

ii. "Father, you wished to see me?" She asked more out of duty than curiosity for Lorena well knew why her father had wanted her here. She was aware that it was time for her to be of use to her family and tribe.

Odo knelt before his daughter. "You are a woman grown now, my sweet. It is time for you to make your own life. I have decided you are to marry into Durin's clan. It is a respectable family and a strong ally. You will want for nothing in their care and you shall be happy. Thror's grandson will make you a good husband."

"Of course, father," Lorena relied in a small voice. A knot stopped in her throat as she tried to swallow while Odo told her she would be leaving in two days' time. Enough to say her goodbyes and assemble her dowry. "I shall see to everything personally."

"There's a good lass," Odo offered, taking her small hand in his. "You do that then. Say, friend, is she to your liking?"

"Indeed she is. I am sure that she will make a fine bride for Thror's grandson." Balin extended his elbow to the girl, motioning for her to come closer. "Take a walk with me lass, for I know you have questions on your mind."

"Thank you." She looped her arm through his and they walked away from her father's tent. For a few moments she was silent, struck by the suddenness of it all. Nary a thought travelled her mind. "What is the name of the man I shall marry? What is he like?"

"Thorin he was named by his father. As a boy he was a determined little lad. A true leader, from an early age he dominated those around him, he knew how to ride a horse before he could even walk. Now he is a fine warrior, fearless in battle and fair in judgement. Do not worry lass, you shan't be unhappy by his side," Balin assured the girl. He watched for her reaction.

She nodded her head but did not speak. They walked in silence as Lorena thought over the information she had been given. Her feet moved without her mind, she was too busy thinking that in two days she would be gone from the midst of her family. She would be placed in some stranger's hands and be forced to live with him. "Does he know?"

"Yes," came the simple answer. "He is most pleased by the match." It was a small lie, an innocent lie. Balin could hardly tell the poor girl that Thorin cared nothing for the marriage. The boy was willing to do his duty but no more. Unfortunately Thorin had learned that involvement with another person in too strong a manner could bring destruction. Had he had a better experience of it, Balin was certain the boy would not be so reluctant to the match, especially with what he was getting out of it.

iii. Parting from the senior, Lorena ran back to her mother's tent. The woman looked up at her daughter's pale face. "What ails you, my little dear?"

"He's giving me away," the young woman cried in frustration. Silence befell her. Crumbling at her mother's feet she took a handful of the warm furs. "I want to stay." She didn't want to go.

"Stop acting foolish," the woman commanded. "Get up to your feet and quit this nonsense." Seeing her words did not reach the girl, she breathed in harshly. "No daughter of mine is allowed to act thus. On your feet!" Yet at no point had she been unkind. A mother's gentleness still lingered, just there.

Sensing that her tears would change nothing, Lorena stood on shaky legs. She had no hope. A more daring girl would have refused the match and be done with it. Lorena was not one such girl and acted in accordance to her nature. Her lips sealed themselves in a thin line. "Yes, mother." Her thick voice held all the resentment she would allow herself to feel towards her mother, her father and the unfairness of it all. It seemed very, very wrong that they would give her away just like that.

Her half hearted agreement was all that was needed.

(And she gave that grudgingly enough, if only to please her parents and not appear a spoiled child in the face of her clan and allies.)

One last time, her mother wrapped her safely in a sturdy embrace. It was the older woman's way of saying goodbye to her daughter. "You've stopped being a child. You will soon be a woman in the true sense of the word. But do not forget, no matter what happens, you shall remain my daughter always. Your father's daughter too."

iv. The mare cantered at a steady pace. Lorena held onto the beast's mane with a strong grip – perhaps stronger than necessary. She ought not to provoke the creature with severe treatment, yet her fingers refused to uncurl.

(Not yet sure what to make of her companion, she hardly said a couple of words during the winding hours.)

Lorena bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes landed on the tall grass they were – almost – flying through. A strange sort of ache had settled in her stomach at the thought of meeting the man that would become her man. It sounded wrong even in her own head to call him hers. The man was no more hers than she was his. Not yet, anyway.

And never really, if Lorena had her way. But she didn't and that was that. In the end, the girl had to convince herself – after a long, tiresome fight with her slightly outraged self – that she could do nothing about it. Her eyes had stopped watering about five miles back. Her throat no longer hurt with exertion, dry sobs having deserted her even farther back. She was on the journey to a new life. Some might even make an adventure out of it. But not Lorena; she was no adventurer.

v. Thorin watched, hidden from view, as his bride was brought by old Balin. He saw her climbing down from her horse, absently taking in the details she presented. A wee thing, she looked a leaf ready to be blown over by any sudden gust of wind.

(He would later discover that the woman, despite her diminutive stature and insignificant physical strength, was much tougher than she seemed. That was, of course, the very nature of women, Thorin would conclude.)

Extricating himself from the shadows, the man stepped towards Balin and her – she who was to be his wife. Stormy eyes flashed. Silently, Thorin challenged the woman to look up at him. He wanted to see her eyes. One could be well judged by their eyes – twin pools told so many stories.

"Lad, 'tis good of you to come meet us," the elder said upon seeing Thorin approaching. He turned to whisper something to the woman, who finally lifted her head.

Caught in the dark stare levelled at him, for one short moment, Thorin forgot to breathe. Her gaze was so direct. So very, very expressive. This woman knew not to guard her feelings. They'd given him an innocent, Thorin thought with some surprise. It was unexpected and he did not know how to react to this. Regaining his equilibrium, Thorin inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgement.

She was watching him too, intently but shyly. Emotions flickered across her face, one after another in rapid succession. Thorin detected surprise, fear, dismay, fascination, bashfulness amongst others. It was somewhat relieving to know her every thought, however unwittingly she gave herself away. He'd not have to worry about her hiding things from him; those eyes would always speak the truth.

Thror interrupted the quiet scene as he ambled towards his grandson and those who had arrived. Thorin took a slight step back, unsure of his actions. Thror threw him not one glance. Instead the ruler advanced towards Odo's daughter. He took her face in his large hands and held it up towards him. "You'll do," he said in a loud manner that showed both approval and certitude, after closely inspecting the woman for almost a full minute.

vi. Curious faces gathered around the chieftain's tent. The people whispered in hushed tones, spinning tales and stories about Odo's daughter. Some regarded her with kind eyes, others, more reluctant, watched her with suspicion. But all of them held close to their hear pity for the woman. True enough, she would marry Thror's grandson and one day lead them alongside her husband; yet it was well known that Thorin loved his sweetheart still. Loved her through everything that had brought them apart; despite all that conspired to keep them separated.

(Thorin would always love her, some said. Others were of a mind that it would pass.)

vii. Inside the tent Lorena sat before her new family. She felt oddly like an object; prodded and poked and scrutinized. They were determining her worth with cold, calculating eyes. She wanted to be swallowed whole by the ground; to be free of this embarrassment. But it was not to be. Keeping her lips shut and her eyes cast to the ground, Lorena endured every glance and silent appraisal. She prayed for it to end soon; she pleaded with the gods to give her just a little more strength. She implored the deities to have mercy of her, just this once.

The only stares Lorena could abide came from two small lads. They were most likely brothers as they clung to the same woman who shifted her attention from the children to the stranger. One of her sons had golden hair, the other raven locks. They all shared the same grey coloured eyes. The colour of rain, Lorena's mind whispered – a colour she liked.

Tensing she dared a look towards Thorin. He was looking straight, eyes expressionless. Reining in the impulse to show her frustration, Lorena returned her gaze to the floor. She listened closely to Thror's speech, nodding when her cue came.

"You shall move with the lad to his tent," the chief was saying. "There is no need to postpone this. After all, you came here as his bride."He nodded as if to strengthen his statement. Her agreement was not needed and not heard when pronounced.

An auspicious start, Lorena reflected, would have hurt her just as much. A favourable opinion of these strangers would have implied that she had no difficulty breaking from the only life she'd ever known – which was as farther from true as it could ever be; she was finding it exceptionally hard to let go. Lorena was a creature of habit. Change did not stand well with her – not of any kind and certainly not this which brought her only pain. Closing her eyes, she willed everything to be a dream; she tried to wake herself up. It was all to no avail.

This was no dream. (And there was no chance of escaping her predicament through yearning and praying. But Lorena supposed she could dream, and dream she did.)

viii. The pitter-patter of rain would drive her insane. Lorena scowled at the straw on the ground and at the chilliness of the atmosphere. Gently she combed her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots. Stiffness made her hand hurt with every small tug.

The tent flap rose slowly and her husband – she would soon get used to thinking him that, she promised to herself – entered with sure steps. This was his domain. The straws crunched under the weight of him and his strides. He looked a giant ready to claim whatever he wished in his possession.

Outside something like a brawl seemed to be going on.

No longer under the stern gazes of unknown people, Lorena allowed her eyes to climb upwards his form. She did not smile, she did not frown. Lorena simply stared as if she'd never before seen a man. And she hadn't. Not ever. Not like she did just now. None of the ones she'd seen before had been hers. He on the other hand was; Thror's grandson was her man.

Tearing through the distance between them, Thorin knelt before her, just shy away of touching her. He gripped her chin and captured her eyes with his. "Listen well, girl," he grounded out, a touch impatient. "You are under my care now. Heed me and yours will be a life of comfort. Don't and you'll bear the consequences." The last part was a whisper against her temple as the man loosened the material of her dress, heaving the fabric away. "Do you understand?" he asked, startling grey eyes resting on her uncovered figure.

"I understand," Lorena answered and watched as a small, fleeting smile touched his lips. She smiled in reply, satisfaction coursing through her veins. She'd just made her husband pleased with her.

"Good. Now come here," he told her, pulling the woman up with such ease, she wondered if he knew she weighted more than a simple feather. Without words he guided Lorena to a heap of furs and blankets and lowered her to the ground. He divested with quick moves and, in the darkness, joined her.

Trembling at the novelty and downright awkwardness of it all, Lorena closed her eyes at the brush of naked skin to hers. Thorin grunted, an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat. Lorena was grateful for the dark covering everything for it was too much. The slow built and the violent crash left anticipation and dread mingling together inside the woman's chest. It was all so very strange, unfamiliar and scary – and a little exciting, though Lorena would never admit to thinking it. Being like she was, in the arms of a stranger, was unsettling, yet there was no danger in sight.

Feeling the thick furs being pulled over her, Lorena mumbled her thanks as the body of her husband broke from hers. She shivered at the loss but made no move to prolong the connection. Turning on her side, she listened to the rain. Warm and exhausted she fell in blessed slumber.

ix. A shriek of terror tore itself from someone's throat. Despite her alarmed state, she pushed the young children behind her, through the tent flaps. Lorena bid them to quieten down, her hands gripping an empty scabbard. It would not be of much use but she could still defend herself better with it than without.

"Stay here," she whispered to the boys. Two pairs of familiar grey eyes trailed after her as she approached the entrance. "I am only going to look for your uncle." She'd learned that they were the nephews of Thorin, children of his sister, Dis.

True to her word, Lorena tried to pinpoint the location of her husband. She could barely see beyond the groups of fighting men. They were so very many! How was she to find her man in this crush? That was if Thorin hadn't gone and gotten himself killed. That man of her was stubborn enough to do it, the Gods knew it. But even so, he was her man and she would not sit by idly, worrying over his fate. Just one glance of him was enough to set her at ease.

Fumbling with the sheath, Lorena peered around. She had to find him. He shouldn't be so hard to detect, not with his height and bearing. Panic gripped her when she came up with nothing from her search. As she was about to inch closer into the fray, a muscular hand grabbed the back of her neck yanking her hard.

Lorena turned around, ready to deal a harming strike to the one who dared attack her. She turned, bringing the scabbard around with her only to be faced with a blood covered Dwalin. She knew him; a good warrior, although brusque and not at all civil some might say. He gave her an angry stare, before ordering her back to the tent with a rough shove. "You'll catch your death, lass," he said loudly, his voice making the disapproval clear. "Better watch the little ones."

x. (She would never be less infuriating, Thorin comprehended in the years to come. It would just be him getting more used to her. The only change would be the dependency that would develop between them.)

"Are you daft, woman?" The earth seemed to shake at the raw power and fury in Thorin's voice. Lorena certainly knew that she did.

Kili burrowed deeper into her embrace as if to protect his ears from all the yelling and Fili stared wide-eyes at his uncle. They could not understand the reason of Thorin's anger but that did not stop their wondering. Or their fear for that matter – Lorena felt them cling to her with earnest astonishment and panic. Levelling a stern glare at her man, she hissed trough gritted teeth, "There is hardly need for you to yell. You'll frighten the young ones."

Returning her fierce look, Thorin growled like a challenged beast. "Fili, Kili, run to your mother," she said harshly, not even looking at the boys as they scampered away.

"That was unnecessary," Lorena muttered. "I could have looked after them a while longer." But that had been the point of it, she knew – Thorin wanted her alone. And she wanted to evade the scolding, dearly so.

"If I hadn't seen you," Thorin began, his voice laced with cool irritation, "you would have been dead, foolish woman. Do you realise that? Do you? Of all the stupid things to do, did it have to be this? Dwalin was close to you. You were lucky in that; lucky that we both noticed you there."He saw her look away, a petulant expression marring her features. Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer to her. Grabbing her shoulder, he hauled her up, his manner brutal. "You could have died."

"I didn't," Lorena retorted, trying to shake his grip off. "And believe it or not, I hadn't planned on putting myself in a dangerous situation. I simply wanted–"

"I don care what you wanted!" bellowed Thorin, clearly exasperated. "I told you to stay safe, I believe. Are you under the impression that I will accept disobedience? Be thankful it was Dwalin to reach you first. If it had been me," he let the rest trail off. His fingers were digging into her shoulders again.

Of course, Lorena had known she was to be having this conversation sooner or later. It really hadn't been her intention to vex Thorin. "I'm sorry. Can you not let this go?"

"No! Damn you," Thorin raised his voice, shaking her violently. "If ever I catch you disregarding my words again, you will get more than a few angry yells."

A cold shock travelled down Lorena's spine at the threat. She crumbled under the pressure of his push, falling to her knees. Thorin scoffed at her and stormed out of the tent, cursing as he went. Lorena allowed her tears to spring, trailing wet lines down her cheeks. She was too full.

(Later, much later, Thorin would come back. The sun had set. He would rub the abused skin soothingly, his eyes asking her forgiveness; not for the harsh talk – which she rightly deserved.)

xi. Chilly morning air streamed trough the premises making Lorena shiver in her sleep. Murmuring incoherently, she shifted, turning towards the only source of heat available – her man. Still caught between the layers of dreaming and waking, she felt the relaxed muscles under her fingers. Her eyes opened reluctantly. A sigh escaped dry lips, artless and true.

Tracing her fingers over the rounding curve of his shoulder, Lorena urged herself back to sleep. But it seemed not to be her fate. She was to lie awake, thinking of the man sharing her – their bed.

(Lorena noticed that lately many things had started being their, not hers or his. It was a reflex, she supposed, of their being together. It was not longer I and you but us. She thrilled at the thought, excitement bubbling up inside her.)

She'd heard – not before many weeks and months of prodding – about the woman Thorin loved. Or rather, the one he had loved. Lorena had convinced Dis to tell her – not much though. The other woman had been Thorin's friend since boyhood and they had been sweet on one another for years. The tragedy was that the girl had succumbed to fever. Within a fortnight she was gone. Dead as dry leafs.

If not for that, Thorin might have married the lass. (And while it was not right and Lorena felt shame for even considering it, she could not help thinking that if that girl had lived to become a woman Thorin would have not been hers. She quite liked Thorin being hers.)

For his part, Thorin had mentioned the woman only once. It had been absentminded and not intentional, but he'd shared part of the story with Lorena. She did not resent the woman, or Thorin's continued affection for her. However she wished he'd be let go. The living were not meant to be tied to the dead, not the deceased to those alive.

xii. Heavy snow covered the smooth expanding fields. The children were playing outside, chasing each other around. They threw snowballs and yelled. Some issued out commands, while other followed instructions. They were warriors ready to defend their families.

Close to the crackling fire, Thorin observed his woman quietly. Her small frame had thickened some in the past moons. The reason was glaringly obvious. She practically glowed with it. And did it look good on her. Thorin smiled a secret smile, filled with pride. Indeed, he had reasons for it. Her round middle was covered in thick woollen clothing and grey furs hung off her shoulders. Thorin's appreciative stare rose to her face.

It was a small, delicate face, framed by brown hair. Warm eyes stared at him in confusion. Thorin's eyes returned to his food. He busied himself with the rabbit she'd cooked. But his thought had not yet left her. Finishing with his meal, he threw the leftovers outside for the dogs, afterwards dipping his hands in the frosty water.

Gesturing for her to join him, Thorin sat on the furs strewn over the ground. He eyed his wife, her movements sluggish but not without their usual cheeriness. When she was next to him he pulled her gently in his lap. "Are you warm enough?" he asked, a tender, time strengthened interest for her well-being taking over. He felt her nod and relaxed, letting himself fall back. Lorena descended with him, her head on his shoulder.

xiii. Pacing inside his father's tent, Thorin stopped only to glare at a smiling Dis. "How can you be merry when I am all but pulling my hair out in despair?"

Rolling her eyes, the sister snorted softly. "Because I am a woman," she replied as it that explained everything. In a way it did. "You worry over naught."

Ignoring her comforting manner, the man scowled at the tent entrance. His vision was assaulted by the burly outline of his father. The aged warrior gave a curious look to his son but wisely kept to himself. Thorin was slowly being driven insane. "Why are you not there with her?" he snapped at Dis, who was cradling her younger son.

"She does not have need of me!" exclaimed Dis, somewhat miffed. "Mother is with her. The healer too, Not to mention many others. Have a little faith, brother."

Dis had always been impertinent. It was part of her charm. But at that very moment Thorin was ready to strangle her. He just wanted to see that woman of his well and alive with a babe in her arms. But it was taking so damn long. And Thorin had never been the most patient man. It merely aggravated the situation that he was not allowed anywhere near his tent after he'd been kicked out.

He willed his mother, the healer, anyone really, to come and put an end to his torture. Why was no one coming? Once more, a scowl decorated his face. It was lost when a wail pierced the silence.

(Thorin would never learn patience and Lorena would never mention it to him.)

xiv. Heaving a sigh, Lorena peered at the bundle in her arms. She could barely see through the weariness but a smile graced her face. A tiny, red face was visible, still wrinkled and rather ungainly. But oh, the babe was so beautiful. He was a blessing. He was a miracle. He was a part of her – and a part of Thorin, the fruit of their love. Tears prickled her eyes and the smile on her face grew. She already loved this petite person so much; her son.

A whoosh alerted her of Thorin's arrival. Her eyes still kept to her son as she greeted her husband. "Come see him. Come see our son," she called to him, proud and blissful.

Knees touching the ground, Thorin leaned over to get a better look at the child in Lorena's arms. His heart squeezed painfully at the sight. "He is," Thorin stopped, momentarily at a loss. Was there a word appropriate for it? "Perfect," he decided to use in the end. Smoothing her damp hair back, Thorin pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you for everything," he said, sincerity pouring from every word. He gestured to their surroundings and to their child. (And that was when she finally let go.)

"Thank you," she returned, and they fell in companionable silence. Lorena hummed softly to the newborn, rocking her arms gently. She looked worn out; she felt worn out. But she was not ready to sleep, to take her eyes off of her child.

xv. Frerin, Thorin's younger brother, had taken the children out to learn to ride horses. Lorena had agreed only after Thorin insisted, not suspecting for a moment that her man had ulterior motives. She was left alone with him. Concentrating on chopping vegetables, Lorena did not spare Thorin a glance. He would have to amuse himself. And amuse himself he would.

Snaking a hand around her torso, Thorin pulled Lorena into him, earning himself a distressed gasp of protest. "Thorin! If you want any food for supper, you'll have to let me go." He did not. Instead, he took her knife away, throwing the sharp object in a corner where it would be forgotten. Lorena tried to pry herself away. "Husband–" She was promptly shut up with a pair of lips smacking hers.

"Leave that," Thorin ordered. He hooked his fingers into the material of her thin, summer dress and dragged it off her body. He'd almost ripped the thing up in the process but chanced his mind at the last possible moment. His woman would not look kindly upon his destroying of her dresses. The Gods knew why these women cared so much for those things.

Nimble fingers responded to his actions. Lorena loosened the straps and pulled his shirt off. "Could this not wait?" It was fond exasperation that tinged her words. "Imagine if the children where here." She laughed lightly as he attacked her neck with tiny, sharp nibbles.

"They aren't," Thorin whispered into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. They crashed to the ground a tangle of limbs and jerky movements. Passionate touches passed from him to her and vice versa.

"They are most certainly not," Loren agreed. She nuzzled his neck, a sign of clear affection. "It was rather clever of you." So she'd finally realised.

Grunting in reply, Thorin pushed into her body. Between raising a gaggle of children and the various responsibilities assigned to them, there was never enough time to enjoy bedding his woman. Such moments when he could take his bliss with her were not to be missed. His head slammed into her shoulder and they both shook in unison. Sweat coated skins stuck to each other, both people frozen in their moment of bliss.

Grey met brown, Thorin stared into Lorena's eyes. "I love you, woman," he said, lips almost touching hers.

"And I love you."

(It might have been years late, this confession. But it was well worth the wait. Besides, Lorena reminded herself, men were slow creatures. 'Twas better not to rush them.)

A/N: Loosely based on the Grey miniseries from chapter 3. Feel free to refresh your memory if you must and most of all, enjoy! :)