That time when Thorin was about to bed a prostitute, while Wren crawled in his window and interrupted him.
A/N: Thank you, RagdollPrincess, for the prompt!
The wench was straddling him, only breeches left on him, all her clothes already on the floor. The woman was massaging his shoulders, while gently biting his ear. She probably had had Dwarf clients before, ears were indeed sensitive in all Khazad. He was kneading her hips and buttocks, round and appetising, feeling tension leaving his body. That was their last stop before they would venture into crossing the Misty Mountains, and they all were trying to have as fulfilling of rest as possible. He assumed that out of all their company, the hobbit was the only one who didn't have a "guest" in his room at the moment. Thorin was quite enjoying his, she was merry, traditionally pretty, thick wavy brown hair, pink lips like a tender flower. She had opulent bosom, and he sighed with pleasure when her strong, experienced hands moved to his pectoral muscles. He was tired after so many days of walking, he had paid for a few hours, he had nowhere to rush. The inn, and he was willing to pretend that it wasn't just a well hidden brothel for those travelling on this route, was clean and well guarded. Nothing unexpected was to happen.
"Oh Maiar, sweetpea, I didn't know you were busy!" The familiar voice sounded apologetic. His eyes flew open, and he saw her standing on his windowsill. The woman squealed and rolled off him. He only felt relieved his organ was still in his breeches, that would have hurt. The redhead was once again dressed in her black attire, a looped rope in her hands, and her eyes were shining merrily. "Would you like me to stop by later?" She threw an appraising look at the wench. "Hmm, three hours?" He sat up on the bed and closed his mouth finally with a clank of his previously slacked jaw.
"Is there something I can help you with, my lady?" He finally croaked, and she sighed and jumped into the room.
"I am afraid so. There is this one frustrating matter that you would be most fitting to address," she once again looked at the woman, who was pressing her clothes to her naked body. "But with all honesty, I wouldn't want to impose. I can wait and come back once you are done." Her tone was completely nonchalant, but Thorin told himself she was hiding her jealousy. Obviously she couldn't be as unaffected by him bedding another woman. One way or another the two of them were involved, women always ended up pining over him. He decided to spare her feelings.
"I am done here," he jumped off the bed and started gently pushing the wench towards the door. It was never without humiliation when it came to once again meeting the red haired thief, and at that very moment the inn slag decided to demand what she thought was rightfully hers. She had indeed spent about half an hour in his room, though nothing had happened, and he pushed a coin pouch into her hands. It was way too generous, but he needed her out of his room as quick as possible. The view of the redhead's round buttocks, she had turned away from them and was picking at the food on his table, was urging him to get rid of the distraction as fast as possible. The thief's back was straight, and he assumed she was hiding her distress. He felt slightly remorseful that he had to put her through this, but on the other hand he owed her no fidelity. The inn wench was finally out of his room, and he locked the door behind him.
The redhead turned around and smiled to him softly, "You honestly shouldn't have."
"You have saved my life twice, lady Wren, I owe you all my time," his tone was tender, and he stepped to her. There was something endlessly tantalizing in that outfit of hers, and not only its tightness, and as he was aware, the dishonest purpose of it, but the two rows of the small button on the doublet and three matching buttons on each of her hips were just asking to be open slowly and sensually.
"There is a man in this brothel, he owes me money. I don't want to steal it from him, it's mine rightfully, but he is here with his crooks, and there are seven of them. I was hoping you could help me out." He was still ogling her calves when the meaning of her words reached his mind.
"What?!"
"I am certain you wouldn't have to do anything!" Her tone was as she thought comforting, "Just show up with me there. I'm certain he'll pay once he sees you." She was thoughtful for a second, and as if he couldn't feel enraged and humiliated enough she added, "Alright, maybe take that big one from your company with you too, the one with the tattooed head. Just to be on the safe side."
He clenched his fists and snapped. "I am a Dwarf and a King! I am no small time muscle crook to be used for racket!" He roared at her. Her eyebrows jumped up.
"It's not racket, it is my money. You won't even have to do anything, just have my back there, and I'm certain..."
"Get out," his voice was low and menacing. He could hardly keep himself under control. She paused and narrowed her eyes.
"Just like you said a moment ago, Thorin Oakenshield, you owe me your life. Even if you consider you have saved my life in that valley with Orcs, you still owe me one. And I'm calling the favour now." He was shaking from indignation, but she seemed in no way affected by his anger. She stepped to his bed and picked up his tunic that was crumpled on the floor near it. She threw it to him, and he noticed she wrinkled her nose. The heady smell of rose water the inn wench left on it when taking it off him hit his nose as well. It made him even more furious, she had no right to judge. And to think of it, just a few minutes ago he wanted to spare her alleged feelings! He once again was being a massive idiot around her.
He started getting dressed, gritting his teeth and fighting his temper. She was right though, it was a question of an honourable debt. One thing was clear, he wasn't going to take Dwalin with him. No one would find out about this.
They walked down the stairs, in a small room, adjoint the common room of the inn, where eight men were sitting around a table, drinking ale and groping a few barmaids serving them. Since all help in this inn was also attending to visitors in their bedrooms, it was already quite unclear where waiting stopped and whoring started.
The man sitting in the head of the table had a long scar across his face, he was large and burly, and Thorin quickly gathered he was the most dangerous out of them. The rest were drunk, and even in their sober state they were hardly any threat. He derisively thought that if not for her he'd never find himself in the company of such scum.
"My of my, isn't it our little bird?" The beef sneered through his teeth, taking a swig from his mug. "What brought you here, red? And with a beau no less, didn't know you had a taste for stumped ones." The men laughed, and Thorin clenched his fists. He was staying a few steps behind the redhead, everything inside him charred with humiliation.
"I am here for my payment, Reek. You got the ream swag, I want my gold." She seemed completely unaffected by everything around her. The man spit on the floor and gave her a measuring look. She remained calm, her hands relaxed near her hips.
"Why would I pay you, birdie?"
"Because you wouldn't break the Code," her voice was even. "You wouldn't want honorable people around Middle Earth whispering that Reek doesn't respect the laws of the trade."
The man's mug went on the table with a bang, "Do not threaten me, girl. I'll break your jaw, and you won't wag your tongue where you shouldn't."
Thorin wondered how much of this talk was actual threats and how much was a chat between old friends. He felt twice as irritated since he couldn't shake off his jealousy. The thief leader's eyes were roaming her body, displayed for everyone to see, and Thorin thought, perhaps to touch later. How would he know how the contracts were sealed amongst the likes of her!
"Unlike you, darling," she purred, "I have other ways of letting people know what a blower you are. I can always write little notes and start shoving them under people's doors." She gestured a little rectangular in the air with two index fingers, her voice sing-song and sarcastic, and the beef jumped up on his feet. A few other men shifted, and Thorin's hand lay on the hilt of Orcrist.
But the man at the table suddenly laughed in a booming voice, "Oh, you've always been a funny one. And calm your lover boy down, we wouldn't want him to trip and cut his finger." Thorin snarled. "Why would you even go for a mountain filth when there is a man here waiting for you?" His voice was low and dirty, and Thorin saw red. His temper flared. In the next few seconds he stayed on his spot only because he couldn't quite choose between chopping the man's head off with its sleazy grin and sullied hair, or leaving her here to enjoy the scum's advances.
And it was because he was so full of rage and jealousy that he didn't notice the slight movement behind him. Only when three men jumped at him at the same time, he returned to reality. He swirled on one spot, blocking their attacks, and from the corner of his eyes he saw her kick the man lunging at her in his crotch, her sword already out of scabbard.
The room was small, he couldn't take full advantage of his long blade, but he also wasn't planning on shedding blood in the inn he might want to return to at some point. The sheets and ale were exceptional, and he had seen enough death in his life. She seemed to have similar ideas. She was jumping from table to chairs and back, showering men with blows and kicks, using the dull side of her blade, and less and less of them were standing every passing second. At some point she slid across the table on the side of her hip and kicked a man right at the back of his head. At that moment one of them grabbed her across her middle, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
That was what distracted Thorin enough to let another crook bury a dagger hilt deep into her right shoulder. She screamed, and Thorin rushed ahead. She was sagging on the floor, when he cut the man under his knees with his blade, and her assailant cried shriekingly. She got up, swayed and stepped back to the wall. She was pale, and blood was rushing between her fingers, her hand pressed to the shoulder, and Thorin roared and hit the last man standing, except for their leader, to the temple with the hilt of his sword. And Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver pressed to the throat of the one they called Reek.
"No!" She screamed, her voice surprisingly firm. "No murder. It's against the Code."
"I am not following your code," Thorin snarled, and his second palm lay on the dull side of the blade's tip. He pushed slightly, staring in the thief terrified eyes, a trickle of blood starting to run down his neck.
"You are doing what I tell you to right now," her tone was authoritative and leaving no doubt that she was certain he would listen, "I don't need a dead body on my hands. I just need my payment."
She stepped towards the two men, he could see she was unstable on her feet, her doublet soaked with blood, but she leaned in close to the beef's eyes.
"You have two seconds before he disengages your head from your body. Where is my rim?"
The man lifted his hand, it was shaking violently, and pointed at one of his men, a fat man in glasses, perhaps a treasurer of the gang. She stepped to the unconscious body and pushed her hand into his doublet pocket, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She pulled a pouch, peeked inside, and then bobbed it on her hand weighing it. There was no clank of coins, and Thorin understood that was no gold inside.
"We are even, Reek. No one died tonight, and no one should. Let's forget our misunderstanding, and no one will know that your gang was coughing and gagging on the floor once one little girl and a Dwarf were done with you."
She stepped towards the door. Thorin still couldn't quite let go of the idea of a small decapitation, when he heard her firm tone, "Come, sweetpea, I need a bath after all this wallowing in the dirt."
She stepped out of the room through the back door, he followed and caught her a second before she hit the floor. Her lips were white, and the lashes fluttered closed. He quickly carried her in his room, found her sack and once again proceeded to patch her wound. At some point when he was stitching up her shoulder, she whined, and he made soft comforting noises.
She slept for two hours, he sat in the chair and watched her. Without her snarky smile and the thief clobber, she looked very young, her hand on the pillow, delicate little fingers slightly curled. Her red curls scattered on the sheets, and she was breathing evenly. He put the second blanket over her and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You can't leave me here," she suddenly spoke without opening her eyes. "They will sober up in the morning and will come for me. It's my fighting arm." He brushed his fingers on her temple, moving the heavy curls off it, and she sighed.
"We are going across the Mountains now, it'll be dangerous for you to go with us. Especially with your wound." He knew there was no choice. He felt as if acid had spilled on his insides, it was his fault. He owed her a debt, he was there to protect her, and he let her get wounded because of his disdain and his jealousy. She opened her eyes, and her small hand lay on his. It was cold, and he felt like pulling the tiny fingers to his lips and warming them up.
"You will take care of me," her tone was soft, "You won't fail me the second time." That was a low blow, like a dagger jabbed under his ribs, but he deserved it. Their eyes met, and he nodded grimly.