Thorin the Wanderer

Fan Fiction based on Peter Jacksons 2012 "The Hobbit" part I.

Sources and influences: The Prose & Poetic Eddas, "The Tolkien Reader", " Sir Gawain & the Green Knight, Pearl & Sir Orfeo" modern translations by J.R.R. Tolkien, "Smith of Wooton Major & Farmer Giles of Ham", "The Silmarilion" and "Unfinished Tales" by J.R.R. Tolkien . Also Peter Jackson's film interpretation of "The Hobbit"

I want to especially thank and dedicate this little variation to my FF friends, Saraleee, Valeera, Caranaraf and Tristan's Lady Hawk for inspiring me. May the Valar forgive my dark and filthy mind - but this tale is rated M for a reason!

Some folk we never forget/ Some kind we never forgive/ Haven't seen the end of it yet/ We'll fight as long as we live.

"What would you risk to save your king?" She asked him as she started to move her pieces closer.

"Anything." He murmured in an impossibly deep voice.

The last piece was set – "The king is forfeit" she whispered as she reached to take the quartz shape, but his hand was faster. He caught her hand in his. "No - I am forfeit."

"Eikenskjaldi." She spoke her voice quiet low and he felt his pulse race when he heard her. He leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth, his tongue tracing the edges of her lips.

She slipped one hand up very gently to his shoulder and pulled him closer as she tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss. He held her other hand in his and moved it slowly towards his beard. Her lips softly parted and he gently teased her as his tongue explored her mouth. She pressed close to him reveling in the feeling of her breasts pressed so close against him and in the sweet moist aching sensation growing between her thighs. Thorin felt her slender fingers start to caress his beard and it sent an electric pulse through his body, heightening his arousal - he moaned softly into her mouth and she began to shudder. His eyes were black with desire but he pulled away from her kiss for a moment even as he pulled her hips closer to him.

"Do you consent?" He half growled, half moaned starring into her eyes – his breath came hot and hungry, but it was a part of Khazad culture than no lover should ever feel forced into intimacy - that no matter ones state of desire - should the partner express any discomfort or doubt then the lover must control himself. Luckily Morwen had no doubts whatsoever.

"Gladly I consent…and I pray you continue."

While it might not sound terribly romantic, Morwen remembered when she had overheard this sort of wooing practiced by a loving dwarf couple - Lif and Gerda were their names. She remembered how kind Gerda had been to her, and how Lif would often gaze at his bride as if she was a magical living gem. Trade with the Dwarves of the more southern regions of the Misty Mountains was not uncommon then, and Gerion had made the dwarf traders welcome.

It was exactly what Eikenskjaldi needed to hear. He stared into her eyes and Morwen felt that she could drown in those deep blue - black pools. With a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, he began to kiss her throat and the tender skin just under her ear. Eikenskjaldi could feel her heart beating and the blood racing in her veins and it excited him. She felt his erection close against her belly still trapped inside his trews as he kissed her and she ran her hand down his back, holding him firm against her. His hands make quick work of removing the broaches on her simple gown and she was soon standing, her kirtle pooled on the floor, in only her linen shift. Morwen struggled to untie his blue jerkin, but her fingers were trembling too much.

"Come to the bed…"

Over the hearth, Gerion had built a loft that was always warmed by the fire - a cozy place to sleep. A small ladder -only a few steps really- was jointed securely against the side of the hearth at a slight angle. They separated as Eikenskjaldi stripped his jerkin over his head and Morwen pulled her kirtle away from the fireplace. She gazed at his torso as she loosened her braid slightly - he was magnificently muscled. She noticed scars on him that she knew a blacksmith would not often incur. She thought again of the Sorrows of the Dwarves and her heart ached.

In the firelight Thorin saw through the thin shift, her firm ample breasts, trim waist and swelling hips. The ruddy curling hairs at the delta between her legs mesmerized him and he shook involuntarily, staring at her. She pulled his hand and led him to the loft. He held her face and kissed her hungrily before she raced up the ladder and he was only a step behind her. The bedroom consisted of a broad low bed piled with blankets, a knotted rag rug and two small chests. The bed was close to the wall of the hearth and was warm but Morwen still trembled as Eikenskjaldi approached her, gently slipping his hungry hands across her breasts. The linen of her shift was so thin and worn that he thought it might well melt under his touch. She slipped off her shift - her skin shivering with chill and hunger, and as she pulled it over her head her braid came undone. Eikenskjaldi was sweating profusely. He ran his hands over her body, her breasts, her belly, down to her hips and under her buttocks, drawing her close to him just before they fell onto the bed. His hands and mouth roved over her body, slowly… desperately. Hers eyes felt heavy with her hunger and her lips were swollen where she'd anxiously licked and bit them in erotic torment. Eikenskjaldi slipped his fingers between her thighs, stroking her quim - seeing her quiver with anticipation as his fingertips glided, only just touching her. She thought she couldn't bear the intense need that racked her. He knew better.

He was still half-dressed, his cock straining at his leggings in a wonderful throbbing agony. He must have her - must fuck her, must feel her impaled on him - her orgasm shuddering around him while he spent himself in her - he must! He fumbled with his trews – pulled at the laces, and his cock was soon free. It was true what people said about dwarfs and their powerful hammers –she was impressed. He groaned as he stroked his cock - sliding his thumb over the head - gritting his teeth. She arched her hips up to him and wrapped her legs around his, her heels digging into the back of his thighs, moving with him as he rammed into her passionately. She murmured as he caressed her body with his hands, kissing and sucking her breasts, the feel of his tongue on her nipples sending jolts of electricity to her groin. And as he moved slowly against her, each deep, long stroke caressing her -she stretched and arched her back, giving him absolute control of her body. He bent his dark head to her breast and sucked and tongued her nipple as he thrust deep and hard inside her. Her nerves were on fire. He gasped feeling every muscle within her contracted and pulsed around his cock, sucking him deep into her, caressing him. Feverishly he slid his hands down to her hips, his fingernails digging desperately into the soft flesh of her buttocks. She would not take much of this, he knew, and he did not hold back. Moving himself within her, he pulled back and thrust, savoring in a delicious animal way the sensation of his cock inside her, and he groaned again, tormented, as buried at his deepest, the muscle of his buttocks and belly working desperately. Erotic need overwhelmed her and her eyes closed - the effort to keep them open was too much. He rammed into her hard, trying to get ever closer into her until the intense sensation in his body became too much, the muscles of his ass contracted and on a wave of sheer ecstasy, he pumped his release deep and hard inside her, with a strangled moan that swelled and could not be contained, a wracking quake in her body that became a sublime convulsion around his cock, and their voices joined in cries and groans of perfect satisfaction.

Stunned and blissfully sated, Eikenskjaldi and the widow curled up under the heavy blankets to sleep. Outside the rain - having long since turned to a heavy wet snow – covered the land.

Thorin slept deeply. In reflection he wondered when he's slept so well, maybe not since his childhood in Erebor when he was a small child with neither worries nor responsibilities. Morwen was warm against him and the bed was comfortably low and broad. The warmth from the hearth gently heated the loft without making it feel stifling. He stirred and reveled in the unexpected sensation of a welcoming pliable female in his arms, then stretched and dozed again. Morwen rolled over, took Eikenskjaldi's hand from her hip, kissed it and slipped from the bed. He opened his eyes again and muttered "No… come back..." yawning.

"I need to light the fire." Wrapped loosely in an old bedrobe, she slipped down from the loft. Shortly she had a small but cheery fire in the hearth. She rinsed herself quickly with warm water from the kettle, then dried and scurried up to dress.

"What sort of a wicked hostess are you?" came a deep voice from the bed – and from under the piles of covers strong hand callused from years of smithcraft (and warfare) pulled her back to the bed…

She laughed.

"Now that's better …"