A/N: DISCLAIMER:
My darlings, this story is slowly coming to its end. In the following chapters I will try to use all of your prompts, so no more new ones, please.
And once again THANK YOU all so much for this story and all the fun, it's all because of you, my gorgeous readers! And I LOVE YOU *rainbows, unicorns, cotton candy and confetti type of emotion explosion*
A/N#2: Thank you, RagdollPrincess, for the next GLORIOUS prompt, and the Ori centered idea, and of course Wren's favourite raspberries :)
That time when Thorin was cuddling Wren and lovingly feeding her raspberries mixed with kisses, while Wren got written into Erebor history all wrong.
A/N#3: And just as all those times before, dearreader, you are a genius! Here comes your prompt! :)
The time Thorin realized how much he truly loved Wren when he saw her fall in battle, while it wasn't fatal for her but he didn't know.
The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thrain was sitting on a low divan in the parlour adjoint to his bedchambers, his red haired thief leaning into his side. He was feeding her raspberries from a clay bowl, settled on her round stomach, she was playing with the bead at the end of the braid on the side of his face. She would pick it up, twirl it between her fingers, and then would slightly push it away, the heavy bead swung, her nails would click on it, and she would catch it only to repeat her game again. He smirked into his beard, but she noticed. She puffed air out and pouted her delectable red lips.
"I can bet all your treasure that you thought I looked like a cat," her tone was almost irritated, and he guffawed. Another juicy red berry was placed in front of her mouth and she slightly opened it. He put it in, enjoying the view of red on red, and the small deft tongue brushed at the pulp of his finger.
"I don't need to wager my treasure in a dispute with you, Wren, it's yours no matter what."
She swallowed the sweet berry and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, you just had to deprive this matter of any sort of fun." She pushed the bowl with fruit into his hand, slid down, her head lay on his knee, and he started brushing his fingers through her hair. "I am so bored… Can we do something nice?" He chuckled.
"By nice do you mean something potentially dangerous and most definitely dishonourable?" She slightly turned her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye.
"Can we?"
"No," his tone was firm, but laughter rolled underneath it. She exhaled through rounded lips and went back to her sulking. "You are carrying my inudoy, you are not doing anything reckless."
"I know, I know," she tenderly rubbed her round stomach and yawned. "I like it though, you two are snuggly." Thorin smiled to her lovingly. His little thief turned out to possess yet another among her endless merits, an ability to talk to their unborn son. Thorin felt as the luckiest of future fathers. They would lie in bed, and she would tell him about the strong heartbeat she could hear, how his son would yawn and shift inside her, and once even that he sucked his thumb. Thorin's heart would flutter, and he would blink frantically to hide his tears. And then he understood there was no reason to conceal his sentimentality from her, she was equally affected. They were passing through the days of her parturiency in a blissful harmony, both endlessly happy and curious.
"Can you read to me?" Her tone was lazy, and she blindly pointed at a book on the divan's armrest. He looked and saw a heavy volume of ancient Erebor history, according to the runes on its cover it talked of the war between Dain I and the Great Cold Drake. "Thirar isn't sleeping now, he likes listening to your voice." It was her idea to call their child "thirar," bump, though initially Thorin felt his son deserved a more majestic moniker. She was on the other hand so nonchalant about carrying the Heir of Durin under her heart that Thorin agreed, chuckling.
"Do you not want to read something closer to our days in time, kurdu? I am sure thirar would like to hear about how his parents reclaimed Erebor." She snorted and rolled on her back. He looked down at her face and smirked. He was taunting her, and she knew it.
"Thirar doesn't need to know all this rubbish," her tone was almost sincerely derisive, and he guffawed.
"Rubbish? Are we talking about the same stories? How about the heroic attack on the left flang of Azog's army, the Dwarven legions led by Khazad Bahinh, the Friend Lady of the Dwarven People?" His voice was sing-song, and she poked a small sharp fist under his ribs.
"Stop stuffing the head of our son with these fairy tales, they are there only because for some inconceivable reason you allowed Ori to write down the official version of the events!" Her tone was frustrated, and he continued laughing. "And it's not funny! I almost regret saving his life! The boy had lost his wits from gratitude, and now I'm this unrealistic figure in shining armour on a battlefield, all heroic and noble!" Her voice was laced with disgust, especially around the last word, and he roared with laughter. "Thorin, it is not funny! The boy was choking on roasted chicken, I did what my mentor had taught me..." Thorin was getting weak from his frolics, almost toppling on one side. He remembered the feast. It had been going for weeks by then, right after their victory in the battle of Five Armies, and then Ori grew blue and started suffocating. His little thief rushed to him, grabbed him around his body from behind, and jerked. The piece of chicken flew out of the little Dwarf, and since then Wren saw no peace.
"Yes, and now you are Barazninh, the Red Lady, and Zudushinh, the Bird Lady of Erebor..." She groaned and covered her face with her hands.
"Technically I wasn't even on that battlefield..." Her voice was muffled and sounded tortured, and he picked up one small hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.
"Well, that is not quite true, you were there… A bit..." He snortled from her exasperated expression.
"Yes, a bit, but I was not as stupid as to charge anywhere, to say nothing of commanding troops!" He grinned from ear to ear, and she narrowed her eyes. A retribution was coming. "Because of all the commotion on the battlefield, no one knows the whole truth obviously, but do I need to remind you how exactly Azog the Defiler found his demise?" He choked on his laughter. "As opposed to the glorious scene described in Ori's manuscripts?" Her tone was menacing, and he energetically shook his head. "Then stop reading this poppycock to our thirar!"
"One thing is true in those stories though," he murmured and picked up the second hand. He pressed her open palm to her lips and tickled the skin with his beard. It had the usual result. The wrinkle between her brows disappeared, she sighed in defeat, and the corners of her enticing lips twitched.
"Alright, tell me, King Under the Mountain, what is true in the pompous text written by an unreasonable youngling?" Her tone was still sarcastic, but since her little fingers were gently scraping his jaw he could safely assume she was in a better mood.
"You did risk your life for me," he purred, and her eyes widened. She jerked her hands back and tried to get up in indignation. It took several attempts, but she was finally vertical, she shifted, and sat in front of his on her knees. She pointed her small index finger at his face, almost poking his nose with a round pink nail.
"Listen to me attentively, Thorin Oakenshield, never again do I want to hear this heroic rubbish! I am constantly painted as this courageous warrior lady who was fighting for her beloved, and I'm tired of it! I wanted your gold, I was fighting for my share, and I was fleeing! I was literally saving my neck when this whole disgusting fighting started! Never in my sane mind I would fall as low as to pull out some ridiculous sword and swing it around! There were orcs and wargs at that battlefield, and I was running to safety! The fact that your nephews turned out on my way, and Fili was stupid enough to rush to save me was the worst coincidence! To say nothing of the fact that I only ended up involved in the fighting around them because I didn't need any saving, while they were almost killed like a pair of tots!"
He was listening to her in complete calmness and content, it wasn't the first outburst of this sort, and honestly she looked most delectable during them. Eyes burning, cheeks flushed, curls escaping her do, pregnancy made her so much more temperamental and enthralling that he was gazing at her like an enamoured dimwit, when she poked his shoulder with her finger.
"You are not even listening to me! How many more times will I have to say it?! I didn't want to ride Beorn into battle, it was an accident! And I was not under any circumstances planning to approach Azog the Defiler! He was the scariest thing I'd seen in my life!" Her voice was ringing, and he started laughing again. She growled at him and smacked his shoulder.
He gently picked her up under her arms and placed her on his lap. She was keeping her back straight, prickly and annoyed, and he gently kissed a small burning ear. The effect was predictable, she looked at him askew but relaxed slightly. He repeated the action, and then moved to the neck. She wasn't tilting her head, which meant more groveling was required, but he just couldn't help it and spoke, his voice exaggeratingly innocent.
"So with all that settled, am I right in assuming that we are now in agreement that you didn't kill Bolg with a perfectly executed Dwarven battle cry Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!?" That earned him a kick, and she jumped off his lap, onto her feet. Though in the last third of her parturiency she retained her agility and flexibility.
"There was no battle cry!" She started stomping her feet, and he fell on the divan roaring with laughter. She jumped at him, and the worst punishment befell the King Under the Mountain. Her quick strong hands relentless, she tickled him, first, into screams, then into begging for mercy, and finally weak whimpering. He couldn't reciprocate, firstly she was never particularly ticklish, secondly, he wouldn't want to topple over her adorable round body.
He was weakly jerking on the floor, her straddling him, and she lowered her face, her eyes right in front of his, "Take it back! Take this preposterous lie back in front of our son! I did not under any circumstances heroically save your life! I was protecting myself, and got wounded like a halfwit in the course of it, to be reminded!"
He stopped laughing and sat up suddenly, pulling her to him. He didn't want to even think of the moment when Bolg's blade went through her slender body. He thought it felt like death itself then, worse than death. His heart stopped, the world disappeared, all he could see was her broken, bleeding shape on the ground.
"Men lananubukhs menu, Wren," I love you, his voice broke, and he pulled her to his lips. She readily answered, attuned to his moods, her lips eagerly pressing to his, and he wrapped his arms around her. She was here, her body strong and taut, her heart beating assuredly, her warmth seeping through the black silk robe, he grabbed handfuls of her curls and pressed his forehead to hers. "That's all that we are telling to our thirar."
She cupped his face and made him look at her. "I have news, azyungeluh. We can still call him thirar, if you like, but we discussed it and decided on the name."
"We?" He jerked up his brows and then chuckled. "Are the two of you already making decisions over my head?" She stuck her tongue at him, and he shook his head in amusement. "Well, let's hear it."
"Dain," her tones was warm but firm, she picked up his hand and put it on her round stomach. "He says his name is Dain, son of Thorin." Thorin swallowed with difficulty, struggling with his constricted throat, and then nodded, not hiding his happy tears, and they embraced, the strong heart of their son beating between their bodies.