Thank you for your patience! I've been working on The Reluctant Bridegroom and am only now getting to this. Please review!

Chapter 5: Difficult Afternoon

Rain clouds started to gather while Dwalin helped Thorin back to the house.

"Looks like we're in for it this time," Dwalin said as he glanced up at the darkening sky. They all heard a crack of thunder in the distance.

Thorin only grunted. The pain was fierce and intensified with each step. His sparring partner helped him slowly to the door. Sliva stood nervously, but Fili and Kili beamed from ear to ear.

"I leave him in your care, my lady," he said gruffly. "Do you think you can handle him?"

Sliva stared up at him. Mercy! What a thought! Handle the heir of Durin? She turned to assess Thorin who was doubled over and holding his side with his good arm. His handsome face was clouded with pain, and he was breathing in short gasps. Perhaps he broke some ribs. All at once, she felt unequal to the task. What if he worsened? What if he took ill, or his wound got infected? She looked up at Dwalin who peered at her expectantly and nodded, straightening under his piercing gaze.

"Aye, my lord," she said firmly. "'Tis nothing I haven't seen before."

Unfortunately, that was the truth. Because of the many accidents in the new mines and at the forges, all dwarrowdams, out of necessity, knew how to dress wounds, wrap injuries, and even set bones. Many also knew their herbs and salves. None now would faint at the sight of blood or burns, and Thorin's injuries were not life-threatening—she hoped.

Dwalin nodded and pushed the door open with the side of his boot.

"Durin's beard," he breathed as he stared at the chaos beyond.

Thorin had forgotten about the state of the house and that he meant to clean it up that afternoon. How quickly things could change! He shifted painfully from foot to foot while Dwalin threw a look of amazement over his shoulder.

"What in Mahal's name were you doing in there?" he asked in disbelief. He shook his head, and leaned Thorin up against the house so he could step over the threshold and take a better look.

"Were you trying to … cook?"

Thorin frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Dwalin threw back his head with a bark of laughter.

"It's not what you think," Thorin mumbled. He wanted to dump the heap of blame at his nephews' feet, but one look at their shame-filled faces shut his mouth. If only he had gotten up in time! If only he had gotten enough sleep.

"Aye, now," Dwalin said gustily, "Balin has to hear of this!"

He made no effort to contain himself, but Sliva pushed past him and peeked inside. One glance told her everything.

"My word!" she exclaimed. She spun on her heel and put her hands on her hips as she faced the young princes.

"You both tried to cook again, didn't you?" she asked sternly, one foot tapping the walkway in expectation of guilt. They faced her with round eyes, and Dwalin stopped laughing. Thorin said nothing but felt the sweet flush of vindication. No one now would hear tell of how the prince and defacto King of Ered Luin destroyed a kitchen trying to make a meal. He hoped that fish stew with the heads still attached was not enough of a tale to tell. He suddenly caught his own pun and tried to chuckle but coughed painfully instead.

"We wanted to treat Uncle Thorin," Fili said in a small voice. "We wanted to make him feel special."

Thorin's face softened, but Sliva was not impressed.

"Against your mother's expressed directions?" she asked. The boys withered under her disapproval. "She told you before she left not to use the kitchen. You knew that. Now, no excuses. You get in there and clean it up just like last time."

Shoulders slumping, the dwarflings trudged over to where Dis stored her wash bucket, rags, soap, and scouring stones. Fili rolled his eyes but didn't get away with it.

"Uh, uh, lad," she said. "You brought this on yourself, so no sass, if you please."

Then she turned to Dwalin. "My lord, I'll ask you to go three houses down and have my own fetch my basket of bandages and jars of salve."

He nodded and started to leave when she pulled back on his arm.

"You'd better have them bring my sewing basket and the bottle of whiskey as well," she added with a grimace.

Dwalin sighed and nodded.

Thorin stood as tall as he could and jerked his chin up as Sliva walked over to him, holding out her arms. His sharp, blue eyes stared down haughtily. Then he turned his face away.

"I need no help, my lady," he said stiffly in his deep baritone. "I'll manage on my own."

She pursed her lips and waited while he took a few, shallow breaths. Then he took one step and buckled. Rushing forward, she threw her arms around his waist to keep him from falling, and he slumped against her with all his weight. Holding each other tightly, they stood locked in a painful embrace. Sliva could not believe that she was hugging the prince and, for the space of a breath, she softened against his broad chest. To be in the arms of a strong dwarf was a pleasure she thought she'd never have again, but to be in the arms of the prince made her tremble like a leaf in the wind. She only hoped he was too distracted by his own pain to feel her shaking.

Breathing heavily, she held him while he tried to regain his balance using his good arm. He pulled her even closer to steady himself, and her cheek smacked against his bare chest where his tunic fell open. He smelled enticingly of musk and sweat, and she could not help inhaling and closely her eyes briefly. Then she struggled to get them balanced and herself under control, but she grew light-headed when locks of his hair and his braids brushed against and tickled her collar bone. He grunted in pain, and she felt herself blush as he leaned his head almost on her shoulder. Short puffs of his breath blew on her cheek. His lips were so close to hers, so close. Without thinking, she almost leaned in, but then he moaned in pain, and she came to her senses.

What are you doing, you witless fool? she asked herself angrily. He's hurt! And here I am acting a like a … gggrrrr!

Maneuvering himself into a somewhat workable position, Thorin slung his good arm around her waist, and she held him carefully around his shoulder. Sliva chided herself for her lapse of reason. Being lonely was no excuse to take advantage of his pain. She shook herself and set her mind to the task at hand.

"Now no more walking on your own, Your Highness," she said with the voice of motherly correction. "Let's just get you inside in one piece."

Slowly, they moved into the house, and she helped him sit in the largest chair near the hearth. Thorin closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing while Sliva sat back on her heels and watched his face. Even in pain, he was beautiful with his cheeks dimpling as he grimaced and his mane of black hair falling all about his face. He looked like a storm when angered, but yesterday Sliva saw a softer side. His smile when he gazed at Dis was like shafts of light breaking through the clouds. Her knees went weak at the thought.

She sighed and gazed on the dwarf prince sitting before her. Few on her side of Ered Luin ever saw the prince since he kept to himself and only visited occasionally. More often, Dis and her sons went to see him, but she wondered if now things would change. She, herself, had seen him only rarely in the distance and once or twice closer up when he did come to visit, but she never had a chance to see him this unguarded and alone.

No wonder he's always besieged by fathers and their daughters, she thought. Those eyes alone could make one swoon!

She shook her head. His eyes, a brilliant shade of blue, were always alert, always assessing. Unlike others, he never looked away or down when speaking. It was unnerving but thrilling at the same time. She looked up again to find those eyes trained on her. She gulped.

"I think we'd better get to it then," he rumbled softly. "I assume the wound needs to be stitched and my ribs wrapped."

Just then Dwalin knocked on the door, and two dwarflings burst inside, only to stop and stare at Thorin.

"Mama, is that…?"

"Aye, Lifir," she answered. "Now you both go and help Fili and Kili in the kitchen while I tend to Prince Thorin."

Little Modrin and Lifir groaned.

"Did they try to cook again?"

"Just do as I say," she said, "and then I'll make some lovely biscuits for you all."

Cheered by the bribe, the two dwarflings ran off to help while Dwalin silently proffered her supplies.

"Is this all you need, my lady?" he asked. She looked over and nodded.

"Well, then, I'll be off," he said quickly. She grabbed his arm before he could leave.

"No, you won't," she said firmly. "I may need to stitch the wound, and I'll need you to keep his arm steady."

Dwalin frowned but nodded. He bit his lip and looked around seeking an escape, but none could be found. For such a fierce warrior, he kept an embarrassing secret: he was a mite squeamish about needles. Actually, more than a mite, but no one knew since he always found some such excuse to avoid them. His ax needing mending, he needed his gashes cleaned, or he was wanted elsewhere urgently. Of course, he had plenty of his own wounds that needed stitches over the years, but somehow, he was always unconscious when Oin held up his needle—or perhaps because Oin held up his needle.

Sliva went to the wash basin and rinsed her needles in the whiskey. Then she doused a clean rag and stood before Thorin. Dwalin looked a little pale, but Thorin nodded and drank a full tankard of the amber liquid.

"Do what you must, my lady," he said rolling up his tunic sleeve and laying his arm out straight.

"This will sting, my lord," she said, "but I need to clean the wound to see how deep it is."

He took a deep breath and held it. Sliva quickly dabbed the soaked cloth on the cut, and he grimaced but made no sound. After cleaning it thoroughly, she stepped back and shook her head.

"It's a clean slice, my lord," she said, "and I could wrap it and hope that it holds, but it's deep. It's your decision, my lord."

He took a dry cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Stitch it, my lady," he said. "It'll heal faster that way. I'm ready."

Sliva turned and threaded her needle.

"Very well," she said, "now Lord Dwalin, if you'd be so kind as to …" and she gestured for him to hold Thorin's arm down.

Dwalin didn't move.

"My lord?" she asked. Confused, she turned to Thorin.

"Old friend, is anything the matter?"

Dwalin shook himself out of his momentary stupor and looked at them both as if nothing had happened.

"What? Oh, aye, what do you want me to do?"

Both looked at him strangely but then shrugged.

"Now hold his arm steady," she said, and she held the edges of the wound together and started stitching. Dwalin held his arm but grew steadily paler. Small grunts of pain escaped Thorin's lips from time to time, but he didn't move until she was done. Tying up the last knot, she sighed and then heard a loud clunk and turned to see Dwalin hit the ground.

"Not you too!" she exclaimed. "Whatever could have happened?"

Thorin looked from her needle in her hand to Dwalin on the floor. A small grin found its way on his face and insisted on getting wider. Who had something to say to Balin now! He laughed softly and then louder until he groaned in pain.

"My ribs now, my lady," he said between painful chuckles. He shook his head when she gestured to Dwalin on the ground. "Just leave him there. Serves him right." He started pulling up his tunic with his good arm and jerked his head for her to help him. Together they succeeded in getting his tunic off without too much pain. After she threw his tunic on another chair, Fili and Kili and her twins came back after having cleaned most of the kitchen.

"Are you all right, Uncle Thorin?" Kili asked, still feeling guilty about what had happened.

He nodded, and Sliva picked up her bandages and told him to sit up so she could feel for injuries.

Mahal! You don't see a dwarf looking like this every day! she thought staring at his muscled chest and abdomen.

She didn't realize as she stared that she too was under close observation. Fili and Kili had shared their plan with their best friends, who thought it was a wonder idea to have the Prince of Durin as their stepfather. All were agreed to do whatever they could to make it happen. She turned to see all four boys looking excited and eager. Fili and Kili looked especially pleased.

"Let me get you a seat, mother," Modrin said, "so you can sit close to the prince while you're helping him."

She eyed her son with suspicion. He was never that helpful.

"Very well," she replied. Then she turned her attention again to Thorin. "Now tell me where is hurts when you breathe, and I will feel those ribs."

Thorin took as deep a breath as he could manage, and winced. His good hand flew to cup his left side where the bruising was, and Sliva felt all around the area. One, two, three ribs fractured, but none were displaced. That was a relief. He sat forward with help, and she wrapped him tightly. Fili filled his tankard again, which was drained a minute later. Then she prodded Dwalin with her foot.

"No, he's just fainted, my lady," Thorin said with a sly grin.

"Sliva."

"What?"

"You can call me Sliva, Your Highness."

Modrin and Lifir beamed, but Fili frowned at Thorin until he understood.

"I see, well, in that case, you may call me Thorin," he said after glaring at his nephews' grinning faces.

Sliva spluttered her refusal.

"I couldn't possibly, my lord," she began, "I, well, uh, I just …"

Thorin looked steadily at her.

"I insist … Sliva."