A/N: Thank you, Wynni, for the prompt! :)

That time Thorin got a bit of his own back on Wren, while she's being nudged along by the giganto bees or the intelligent ponies.

He turned his head and glared at her. She had an apron over her exotic attire, and he noticed little leather slippers on her feet. The domestic nature of her footwear for some reason made him lose the leftovers of his self-control. She was mocking him, she was humiliating him, and she was canoodling with the skinchanger! Mahal forbid, how was that even physically possible? He once again tried to avoid imagining her small body in the paws of the beast-man, and failed. Curse the Dwarven libidinous imagination forcing onto him the image of her slender body wrapped around the creature, and surely she'd break in half in the middle of an act!

"I do not require your service at the moment, my lady," he sneered through his teeth and shook off his boots. His hands lay on his belt. She was standing on the bank of the stream, a small smile playing on her lips, and he growled, "Are you staying to watch, my lady, or perhaps you could make yourself useful and help with packing?"

She stepped closer, and he noticed a basket with ointments and balms in her hand. "Don't snarl at me, sweetpea, I'm here to help. You are stiff and that," she pointed at his tunic, torn and soaked with blood, which now had turned into a disgusting crust, "Needs addressing."

He jerked the belt and angrily pushed his armour legwear and trousers down, only light breeches left on him.

"It is nothing, and Oin will look at the… scratches," he still hadn't touched his tunic, surely the tooth and claw marks from Azog's mutt would start bleeding again. He didn't need her pity.

"I'm certain he is knowledgeable, but nothing beats several years of faking healership and wearing a stolen robe," she chuckled and rolled up her sleeves. "Sit, sweetpea." She pointed at a wooden bench, visible in the water, its legs firmly buried in the bottom of the stream in the shallow waters. She quite probably used it for her baths, and he clenched his jaw again. Everything in Beorn's house bore traces of her presence. There were smaller plates in the cupboards, her clothes were drying on a line in the yard, and now the bench. He dropped his backside grimly on it. The water reached him across the chest. He realised she stepped in the stream behind him and small hands lay on his back. There was some tangy smelling balm on them, she carefully tended to his back and managed to peel off the fabric without causing much pain. She grabbed the hem and pulled it off.

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. She plodded back on the bank, picked up more bottles and a bar of soap and returned to him. He was pretending to attentively study the landscape before him. She pushed a large dipper into his hands. Small cool hands lay on his back again, this time lathering soap on his skin, then the strong palms and fingers ran on his shoulders, upper arms and slid down to his elbows. In order to do so she had to lean, and he felt her breath on his left ear.

"Are you angry with me, sweetpea?" Her voice was purring, and he shivered.

"I do not have any feelings towards you, fair lady," he grumbled, and she laughed in a silver voice. Her small hands were surprisingly strong, but then again she had lots of practice climbing walls and picking locks, and he groaned when she kneaded tense knots in his muscles. She massaged the shoulders, the neck and the upper arms, and he closed his eyes in bliss. She picked up the dipper from his lap and carefully poured water on his back. Another cork popped out of a bottle, and he felt her lean in again. This time he felt her breasts pressed to his back. She was careful, not touching the wounds, but he felt her puckered tips brush his skin through her blouse and thin undertunic. A shudder ran through his body, and he told himself she affected him thusly since he was starved for carnal pleasures. Any woman would surely have the same effect on him at the moment, she was nothing special.

He felt her pick up his strands, and his hand flew up. He grasped her around her wrist, and she hissed from pain. He wasn't gentle. But in the Durin's name he had been humiliated enough, he wasn't going to allow a dishonourable wench touch his hair, her behaviour obscene, especially presumably in the house of her lover.

"Don't," he rasped, and she pulled her hand back. He didn't turn, but knew that her body grew tense. She dropped the dipper on his knees again, a bottle of what he assumed was soap essence for his hair in it. He heard angry steps behind him and threw a glance over his shoulder. She was stomping to the bank, her wide trousers soaked with water, her back straight.

"There is balm for your back," her voice was enraged, and he finally turned around. She was squeezing water out of one wide leg. "I'm certain you can find someone worthy of the honour to touch you." She straightened up, angrily threw her braid over her shoulder, and started walking away from him.

He exhaled and returned his attention to the dipper in his hands. He was perhaps too harsh. They were only allowed to rest and given provisions in the skinchanger's house because of her vouching, and she was tending to him just now. Perhaps he should have explained the significance of touching a Dwarf's hair. He shook off his discomfort as a nonsense. Surely she knew she had no right to expect any deference from him.

He heard a yelp behind him and sharply spun on the chair. His eyebrows flew up, and in complete astonishment he watched one of the Beorn's ponies move backwards towards him, its backside round and silky, a tail merrily swooshing from side to side, the small woman's trousers on her bum pressed between the pony's teeth. She was digging her heels into the ground and mumbling in confusion, "Periwinkle, what are you doing? Periwinkle?" The pony entered the water and then suddenly let her go. She made a few wobbly steps forward, moving in the momentum of her previous efforts, when suddenly Periwinkle ran around her and charged at her from the other side. She flailed her arms, there was commotion, and she flew into water, the orange braid flashing in the air. With a squeal and a splash she ended on her backside and started spitting water.

The pony emitted a neigh that sounded suspiciously like a mocking guffaw and trotted away happily swinging its mane and tail. At the bank it looked back at Thorin, and he would never confess it later but he could swear the animal winked at him conspiratorily.

He turned and looked at the redhead in the water. She looked so flabberghasted that he couldn't contain a booming guffaw. She glared at him and started flailing her arms in the air trying to rise. He got up and stretched his hand to her. She battered it away, tried to rise, fell down twice, to his immense pleasure each time a fan of splashing water would fly into her face, and finally got up. He choked at his laughter. With her blouse wet, she was as much as bare in front of his eyes. She stood, her chest rising, angry red spots on her cheeks, and he gulped.

"Consider this show your dessert, Mister Oakenshield," she sneered and jerked her chin up haughtily. Her eyes were probably furious, but he wasn't looking at them.

"I doubt our host intended this treat for his guests," he bit back, and she suddenly lunged at him. He didn't expect the assault, and she cut him down under his legs. He dropped in the water, swallowing a fair amount of it, and remerged coughing and spitting.

"Now your precious hair is clean without being desecrated by my dirty hands, dharg!" He saw red, she called him a troll! He grabbed her ankle, and she fell again. She started yelling slightly ruder things to him, mixing Common Speech, Khuzdul and Sindarin, and kicked him with the other foot. Her ankle still in his hand, he jerked her towards him, she twisted her body, and her small fist met his ear. He growled and grabbed her across her middle. They rolled in the water, he himself wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve. He was telling himself he was trying to calm her down, she was like an enraged cat, hissing, kicking and even trying to bite him, but perhaps he was aiming for a bit of groping as well. In fresh cool water she was magical.

He caught her by the back of her neck and pulled her to his lips. She landed a sensitive blow with her knee under his ribs, though he noticed it was not the side bruised black and blue by Azog's warg's teeth. He oomphed and rolled on his back. His hands were on her sides, and he lifted her. She couldn't reach him with her nails, but she made a valourous attempt. She also hissed and threw a rather obscene swearing at him, this time in Rohirrim. His arms were much longer, and he held her firmly above him. He saw her narrowed eyes, green and furious, her hair had unbraided and stuck to her neck and shoulders in dark copper waves.

"Birashagimi," his calm words in Khuzdul made her stop in her tracks, and she lowered her arms. Forgive me. "Achrâchi gabilul, Wren." I regret it. She gave him a scrutinizing look, and he softly lowered her on his body. She didn't resist, and he felt her stretched on him, every inch of their bodies touch.

"Brute," she murmured, and he nodded. She kissed him first, her lips soft and almost hesitant, and he gently stroked her shoulder blades. His hands then dove into her wet hair, soft and heavy, and he felt her sigh into his lips. His head swam, and then he remembered the duty of a guest. He twisted his mouth from under her lips and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Wren..."

"I am unattached," her voice was soft, and he caught her mouth again. Whatever could be said of her and him, they did understand each other. He momentarily wondered about the strange synchronicity and kinship that seemed to flit between them, so quickly and almost unnoticeably that sometimes it felt he had imagined it, but then she opened his mouth with her clever warm tongue and he stopped thinking.

Her hands wandered his torso, she twisted her neck and bit into his beard. Her little digits were caressing his neck, and she murmured into his ear, "I was scared for you." He cupped her face and lifted it slightly to look into her eyes. They seemed sincere and vulnerable, but he had been wrong before.

"It is nice to know you care," his answer sounded more sarcastic than he intended. Her face remained concerned, her browns frowned, and he quickly kissed her. She moaned into his mouth and gently bit into his bottom lip.

"I do, sweetpea," she murmured placing a row of small kisses along his jaw, and her lips ended up near his ear again, "I wish I didn't, but I do."

He grabbed a handful of her hair and led her mouth to his. Her deft little palms caressed his chest and sides, never grazing the bruises. His hands were grabbing her buttocks, when she lifted her upper body and looked into his eyes.

"Take me with you," she asked, and he gave her a studying look. She suddenly smiled sunnily, "My visit to Rivendell has been very productive. I think an equal courtesy to King Thranduil is in order." He guffawed and stroked her cheekbone with a thumb.

"Why would I take you with me? I doubt we'd be welcome in Mirkwood. To bring a thief with me would only endanger my quest more."

He cocked a brow, and suddenly her small palm slid down from his chest, onto his stomach, making him jolt, and over his erection. She firmly squeezed it, just the right amount of pressure, he took an open mouthed breath in, and she whispered in his ear, "Just think about it, sweetpea. Right now all your companions are waiting for you, you need to dress and march to that forest, but if you take me with you, you'll have another pair of keen eyes in your company, a person who can sneak into the house of Lord Elrond and back without being caught, and you and I will surely find some time for ourselves on that journey."

Thorin would like to claim it didn't work but that would make him a liar. And so, two hours later thirteen Dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit and a thief mounted Beorn's ponies and were ready to head for Mirkwood.

The skinchanger fixed a belt on her saddle and gently stroked her knee. She smiled to him, leaned in and quickly kissed his furry cheek.

"Thank you, my friend. Until we meet again."

He tenderly touched his forehead to hers, and then turning to Thorin he narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. The message was clear. If anything were to happen to the redhead, Thorin would be held personally responsible. The Dwarf gave the skinchanger a solemn nod, almost an oath, and the company set on the road.