That time when Thorin thwarts Wren's robbery, ties her up and decides to have a chat, while Wren gets the better of him again.
A/N: Oh thank you, thank you, dearreader! Your prompts are always marvelous, but this one made me giggle and rush to my keyboard right away. To be honest it's so good that this chapter was written before the previous one :D You are glorious!
A/N#2: Regarding Princess Bride reference in the previous chapter and how all of you caught it, that's why YOU ARE THE BEST OF READERS! And I love you-u-u! Thank you for bearing with the love outburst and, please, proceed to reading :)
Using the redhead's map Thorin successfully managed to navigate his path to escape the swamps and finally reach the Shire. He found an inn, it was very late, and he couldn't possibly arrive to the house of the burglar where all his company would be awaiting in the state he was in. The evidence of the swamp dunking was obvious on his clothes, although his hair was clean and brushed, after the bath he was offered in the stilt cabin. He gritted his teeth remembering how full of blissful plans he was in that very bath. After some consideration he decided that humiliation he had endured almost impeded the gratitude he felt towards her for saving his life.
Perhaps his mood was so sour from the embarrassment of being asked to pay for his room in advance because of his appearance and being able to offer the innkeeper in "Green Dragon" only half of the payment. He haughtily said that he never paid fully in advance as so many inns failed to satisfy their clients, and the innkeeper conceded, but Thorin didn't enjoy the short moment of not being sure he would even get a room that night. He dragged the clothes off him, gave them to a maid for cleaning, sat in a hot bath and grumpily started wondering where he would get the second half of the payment. He rarely travelled without sufficient funds and was unaccustomed to the current frustration. On the other hand, the fact that she had stolen his favorite dagger was still more infuriating than the lack of his gold pouch she had looted.
He was sitting in the bath, fuming and coming up with different, highly unrealistic scenarios of executing revenge on the cursed redhead, but then he noticed that the images he had in his head had changed. While he had started with finding her hideout and taking all her loot, he was now imagining bending her over his knee and smacking her delicious bum until the perky buttocks were was nicely red and sensitive. When he understood that he was industriously imagining how she'd be squirming under the slaps and moaning loudly, he sighed and brought his hand to his member. Thorin didn't enjoy having mixed feelings, so he concentrated on the easiest to understand and started pumping his hand.
In the morning he woke up before the sun rose and found his clothes on a chair by the door. He quickly got dressed and considered escaping through the window. He was no thief though, he was an Heir of Durin, so he left his second dagger as a pawn and went down into the common room for a hurried breakfast. He was planning to return for the blade on his way from Hobbiton.
She was sitting in the common room, decorously drinking tea, dressed in a healer's robe and a neat dark blue cloak. The robe indeed made her look respectable and innocent, even younger, although she looked no older than twenty in any dress, and he grabbed her upper arm and started dragging her upstairs. She wasn't fighting, although after a few steps he understood how inappropriately he behaved. He was just so angry from the humiliation of asking for a favour from a simple innkeeper, and she was the reason for it after all. He thought, quickly walking up the stairs, that had she started screaming, hobbits and a few Men in the inn would have helped her, but she was quiet. He couldn't see her face under the hood that had fallen down and was covering the upper half, only her red mouth visible.
He pushed her into his room, locked the door behind him, and pushed her on a chair. She giggled and shook the hood off. She was smiling coyly, and he saw red. He quickly jerked the sheet of the bed and tied her to the chair.
"Sweetpea, don't you think it's a bit excessive?" Her tone was purring, and he grabbed another chair and straddled it a foot away from her. She was studying his face, and he assumed she was trying to determine how much of her plans he was aware of. He knew nothing, but he could play the game too.
"Well, knowing you, darling," he drew out venomously, "Since there is furniture, water jugs, food and drink in this room, I prefer you immobilized." She giggled again.
"You are taking all the fun out of this situation." He thought that she seemed a bit nervous though hiding it. While he knew she had no reason to, she did save his life twice and he would never hurt a woman, he decided a small scare would serve her well.
"I can still have my fun," he murmured darkly, and he saw her eyes widen.
"I saved your life!" She squeaked, "Twice! Is that how you are planning to pay me?" She jerked her shoulders, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.
"Do not bother, I have seen your rendering of an innocent girl before. Your fake tears won't soften me." They did, he suddenly felt horrible. Her eyes grew slightly pink right away, and the plump bottom lip trembled. He felt like an animal.
"Are you angry because of the dagger?" Her voice was shaking. "It's in my sack. And the gold too." He got up and picked up the bag. She had sadly dropped her head, and he saw a tear drop on her lap. He opened a sack, saw something lacy and peach coloured, felt even worse and put the sack back. It could wait, and he felt almost sick from the thought of rummaging through her belongings.
"What are you doing here?" She didn't lift her face and sniffed. "I am waiting. What are you doing in this inn?"
"What is it to you?!" She bit angrily back and lifted her face. Furious blush was burning on her cheeks, and for the first time he saw her eyes vulnerable and emotional.
"I have learnt of your ways by now, and I just don't understand what you could be doing here. There is no one to rob here, honestly speaking, it's a tiny hobbit village, nothing of value. A dishonourable crook like you has nothing to do here."
He was feigning coldness but he was one instant from untying her and apologising, he had overreacted, when she suddenly yelled at him, angry tears bursting from her eyes, "I was following you, you swine! I was worried and followed! There is a price on your head." She turned away from him, and he was staring at a small burning ear. She was red in the face and shaking, and he quickly untied the sheet.
"I can take care of myself," he started, when she jumped on her feet and slapped him across face.
"Curse you, Thorin Oakenshield, do whatever you want! Drown in a bog, let them cut off your head, do whatever your insensitive, miserly, avaricious self wants!" She was yelling at him, drumming her small fists at his chest, and he caught her wrists and pulled her into a kiss. She bit his lip vengefully, but he kept on pressing, and soon she relaxed, her arms went around his neck, and she moaned into the kiss. He tenderly cupped the back of her head, her slender body pliable and familiar, and piercing pleasure flooded him.
"I am sorry for the sheet," he murmured into her lips.
"And I'm sorry for the vase," she murmured back.
"What vase?" He asked distractedly, and everything went black.
He came back to his senses tied to the very chair he had pushed her into. Two thoughts came to his head. One, it was getting repetitive. Two, he wondered how she managed to manhandle his unconscious body onto a chair. He was very heavy. But then again, she did manage to pull him out of a bog. He shook his head clearing his vision and saw a note pinned to the chair in front of him with his own dagger she had taken from him at the swamp.
"Sweetpea,
I'm returning your dagger. I wish I could say it was taken as a memento of the wonderful sensual moments we spent on all those beds together, but honestly it just looked very expensive. You seemed rather sullen about it though, and I assumed it's a family heirloom. While I seem to be managing you quite well, the last thing I need is your kin being frustrated with my habits. So, here is your blade back.
Answering your question sincerely (and yes, sweetpea, I have lied. Did you honestly think I'd cry tears over unrequited but adamant love towards you?) I heard the rumours that twelve Dwarves were to pass this village in the nearest future, and your kind does carry a lot of gold with them. Even if they were looted of it twice by then by the same person. I am leaving now of course, since I seem to be intimately familiar with one of these twelve Dwarves.
And honestly, did you think I'd believe your threats? You are as scary as a moon old wolf pup.
W.
P.S. I left you half your gold from before to pay for the room. They will come to clean it in a few hours, hope you won't need to attend to your basic needs before it."
Thorin loudly swore and tried jumping on the chair. She knew knots, after a few minutes of enraged wobbling and rocking he only achieved one result. Now he was lying on his side, the chair still tied to his backside, and he considered banging his head to the floor. And what he hated most of all was that she had been right about everything. He did indeed feel an urge to attend to his basic needs. Curse the ginger.
He also thought that when he finally arrived to the burglar's house he'd tell his men he got lost. Anything was better than the truth. Yes, he decided, he got lost, twice, that was a good explanation.