That time when Thorin had a weak moment, while Wren was watching and was very affected.

A/N: Thank you, GuestReaderA, for the prompt!

She was sitting in the corner of the cave, her knees pulled to her chin, and he understood she was trying to get warm. She had been walking relentlessly, keeping up with others, hadn't complained a single time. With secret pleasure he realised that despite her wound she was still better than the hobbit. She had a fur adorned cloak and practical iron toe boots. Fili offered to carry her sack at the beginning, and she agreed without fake protests. She just handed it to him and kept on walking behind him, measured steps, leaning increasingly more heavily on her walking stick.

Dwalin went at the back of the cave, and Thorin prohibited Gloin to start the fire. He came up to the girl and threw his cloak over her shoulders, studying her face. She was very pale, her usually red lips had a purplish tinge, and she nodded weakly. He sat down near her and carefully wrapped his arm around her, mindful of the wounded shoulder, and pulled her into him. He felt her shaking. She pressed her cold nose to his neck. He knew sharing warmth was a good idea but he also suddenly needed to feel her close.

"How's your wound?"

"Bandages need changing," her voice was very quiet. He moved away and looked at her face. She apparently was weaker than he initially assumed, on the brink of losing her consciousness he realised, and he cursed internally. He should have taken better care of her. He helped her up and walked her in a secluded corner, behind a large boulder. She was limp and obedient, and he carefully pulled off his and her cloaks off her, and this time he cursed out loud. Her coat was soaked with blood, and he realised it had been seeping through it for several hours. The fur on the cuff of her sleeve was crimson. He pushed the coat off her shoulders, and she winced. He let go off her and stretched his hand to her sack, only to rush back to catch her sloping body.

"Wren..." She opened her eyes and tried to focus on him. "We should have stopped earlier, you should have..." He added an intricate swearing in Khuzdul.

"We couldn't. I just had to hold on a bit," she mumbled and weakly rubbed her face with the left hand. "The clay jar… You need to put that balm over the wound."

Under the doublet there were two more tunics, she was dressed very wisely, and he had to remove most of her layers, until he reached the thin gauze undergarment. He unlaced the collar and gently pulled one shoulder down. The darkened streaks of blood were especially striking on her pale shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. He was tending to her wound, when he realised she was studying his face. She lifted her left hand, and the delicate fingers brushed between his brows.

"You are indeed a looker, sweetpea, even when you are such a grouch," her tone was tender, and he wondered whether she was delirious. She didn't feel hot though, her skin was cool just as he remembered.

"This is hardly the time and place for flirting, Wren." She chuckled weakly.

"It is always time and place for flirting, Thorin Oakenshield." He lifted his eyes from her shoulders, and she smiled to him shakily. He slowly started bandaging her shoulder, and she hissed.

He was fighting a fair amount of self hatred at the moment. She got wounded because of him, he was dragging her across snow covered mountain, she had almost bled to death and he didn't notice, pushing further on. She could die because of him.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he heard her soft voice and jerked his head up to stare at her. She had her eyes closed, seemingly she was even paler, greenish shadows lying on her temples. "They almost died there, on that stone giant's lap, and you are blaming yourself, but you shouldn't. They went on this adventure because they believe in its cause, and they are good boys. And strong." He realised she was talking about Fili and Kili. She thought he was distressed by their near death. He was of course, but he had pushed the worry back for a while. Her trembling hands and the pulse weakly beating on her elegant neck concerned him much more at the moment.

"I know," he muttered and rubbed her limp hands between his palms, warming them up. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I got very scared, but I knew you'd get us out," there was some new sadness in her eyes, and he couldn't understand where it came from. "They all follow you, because you are their King. I hadn't seen it before… Good thing I didn't kill you that first night." He was helping her get dressed again.

"Doesn't the thieves' code prohibit murder?" She chuckled quietly.

"The Code advises against it." He pulled the coat over her shoulders and lifted her hands to his lips warming them with his breath. "The Code says nothing against getting rid of an annoying Dwarf who constantly is in the way." She pulled her hands back and suddenly leaned into him, her face pressed under his chin, her wet hair tickling his nose. "You are so warm..." He opened his coat and wrapped its sides around her. They were sitting in silence for a bit.

"That's a heavy burden..." She spoke and rubbed the bridge of her delicate nose to the downside of his jaw. "That quest of yours… The mountain, the dragon, they live but for a thousand years unless killed, I doubt he is dead, and of course the gates are sealed, your kin know how to fend undesired visitors away from their hoards... All this gold, all those gems..." Something changed in her tone, and he shifted and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She was smiling, still sluggish and wan, but he saw the light back in her slanted eyes.

"How are you going to enter the mountain, Thorin Oakenshield? Do you know another entrance?" She murmured, and he felt her left arm go around his waist. He chuckled.

"Are you trying to use your charms on me even now, miziminh?" She quietly giggled and settled more comfortably in his arms. He noticed she stopped shaking, some colour returning on her cheeks. He'd never admit it but he felt relief to see her greed and mischief awake. He also would never admit he liked her like that, as opposed to compliant and passive, with no fight in her.

"Am I a 'jewel-lady' since that is what I am after, or I myself am such a precious gem, sweetpea?" He pressed his lips to her temple.

"So you are after my jewels after all. I should have known." He felt her cold hand deftly slide under his brigandine, then the doublet and vest. There was only a tunic left between their skin, and he clenched his teeth to control shudder. He reminded himself that a small girl of Men was hardly capable of affecting him thusly. It was certainly the guilt that made him care.

"Always," she murmured, and he looked down at her. She looked sleepy, but her eyes were mischievous.

"You should rest, miziminh, we are leaving with the first light." She yawns with gusto.

"Could I have some water, my lord? I'm athirst." He got up, telling himself he in no way regretted losing the contact with her hand, and walked back into the cave where other Dwarves had already settled to sleep.

That was when the crack opened under his feet. All he had time to do was to scream to others, and then they fell. The last thing he saw was her widened eyes, her Elven blade glowing blue, already clenched in her hand. She was on the boulder they had been concealed behind before, and he could see she was in no danger to follow them.

They rolled and slid, and finally landed, and now he had bigger problems than slight confusion over his feelings towards the treacherous ginger.