I know it's been a while since I've updated this. Sorry, sorry sorry! I've been working on one of my other stories, The Reluctant Bridegroom, but here you go and please review!

Chapter 6: Pain and Passion

After Sliva helped Thorin find another tunic to wear, Dwalin started stirring.

"What … what happened?" he asked groggily after he woke up on the floor and rubbed the back of his head slowly. With concealed amusement, Thorin and Sliva watched him regain his bearings. Dwalin looked around with bleary eyes and squinted at the inside of Dis' home.

"Durin's beard, my head hurts," he complained. Sliva held her hand to her mouth while Thorin held his ribs and struggled to keep a straight face.

"Was I attacked?" Dwalin asked finally.

Thorin nodded, looking very serious indeed. He leaned over carefully, reached into Sliva's sewing basket, and pulled out a needle.

"Aye," he replied, holding it up. "You were attacked by this."

She stifled a laugh with her hand, and Dwalin sagged on the floor and groaned.

"Promise you won't tell Balin about this?" he implored, looking from one to the other.

Thorin braced his ribs with his arm and snickered while Sliva sucked in her lower lip and bit down hard.

Fili and Kili heard their noises and ran in with their friends. Four pairs of eyes stared at Dwalin on the floor. Then they looked up at Thorin. Fili's mouth opened in awe.

"Uncle Thorin!" he said in amazement. "You challenged Cousin Dwalin to another fight and knocked him to the floor?"

"Even after you were hurt?" Kili added. Lifir and Modrin crowded behind them.

"By Erebor!" Modrin said loudly, trying out a grown-up phrase for the first time. Fili had told him that his uncle often said it, so the lad figured that the Prince of Durin would think kindly of it. All stared at the dark-haired dwarfling. Modrin looked around and saw that his ejaculation did not have quite the reaction he was hoping for.

"By Durin?" he said, trying again. He looked hopefully at Thorin who did not know what to make of it, so his eyes flashed to Sliva to answer the riddle. She blushed and quickly shooed the foursome out of the room.

"Now help me with dinner, and then I'll make those biscuits."

"I've gotta tell all the others that Uncle Thorin beat Cousin Dwalin," Thorin and Dwalin overheard Fili say. "I knew he'd win after all. I just knew it."

Thorin's mouth began to water after spicy scents drifted into the living area where he sat in a big chair next to the fire. Dwalin sat opposite in another chair, casting about for a bribe that Thorin would accept for keeping his weakness a secret.

"I think I'll accept what Fili said as true," Thorin rumbled with an intent gleam in his eye. "Just tell everyone that I challenged you to a rematch and won."

Dwalin glowered.

"You drive a hard bargain," he grumped.

His prince glanced out the window.

"Hmm, is that Balin coming up the lane?"

Dwalin jumped to his feet and looked wildly for his brother. He turned back in disgust after he heard Thorin chuckling painfully behind him. Falling back into his chair with a plop, he sank down and spread his boots wide.

"Humph," he said, "you win."

"Yes, I did," Thorin replied, "and make sure everyone knows it. So how long have you had this fear of needles, my friend?"

Dwalin rubbed his balding head.

"When I was a dwarfling, I saw my friend fall from a tree," he started. "I'd never seen so much blood. When they stitched 'im up, they pulled on the thread and tugged hard to make sure that the wound was closed. Ah!" He blinked and shook himself. "I remember feeling faint, and then I woke up on the ground with mother bending over me and shaking my shoulder."

Thorin nodded and motioned to the large whiskey bottle. Dwalin poured them both large tankards full.

"They've made me dizzy since."

Shifting slightly, Thorin winced and downed it all. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"I give you my word," he said seriously, "that your secret is safe with me."

Dwalin heaved a great sigh and clapped his hands on his knees.

"Well, I'd best be off then," he said. "I've some things to attend to, don't I?"

After taking another deep breath with his eyes closed, Thorin frowned. The pain was not abating, so he drained another cup. Dwalin refilled it without asking.

"I'm sure Sliva will have food enough if you wish to stay."

Dwalin's brows raised, and his mouth pulled up on one side.

"Sliva now, is it?" he asked suggestively.

Thorin waved his hand as if it was no matter.

"The lads wish me to be a little less formal in their home is all," he replied. "It's nothing else, so don't you make anything of it."

Dwalin wagged his brows anyway, and Thorin lowered his and glared. Dwalin laughed.

"Come now," he said, and he jerked his head to the kitchen. "She's comely enough and more than willing I bet. Why not? Her husband was of warrior rank, so it'd be an honorable match."

He sniffed the air.

"And a dwarf would do well to choose wife who can cook like she does."

Thorin leaned sideways and looked around the corner to make sure that no one could hear his words. Then he turned his full attention to Dwalin who straightened up unconsciously under his prince's hard stare.

"I'm too busy trying to establish this colony to think about a wife. Besides, I saw what it did to grandfather, and …"

"You can't still be using that old excuse?" Dwalin interrupted. He waved away Thorin's efforts to get him to lower his voice. "Thorin," he said a more hushed tone, "it would be good for you, good for all of us for you to choose from among those here. Any'd be honored, and it'll bring stability to Ered Luin. Besides, they say your quite handsome, although there's no accounting for taste."

Thorin smirked and fell silent. Then he emptied his tankard, and Dwalin poured him yet another that soon went the way of the last.

"It matters not since I'm resolved," Thorin said quietly. "Even if I were to consider it—which I'm not—no one has what I want. There's no one here who … ah, I don't what I'm saying."

Dwalin motioned with his head for him to continue.

"I don't feel drawn to anyone here," he said softly. "If I was ever to wed, it would be with someone who'd take me as Thorin and not as the prince. I'm never sure that those who seek me out care for me or only want what their association with me would bring."

Dwalin frowned and scratched his beard.

"Do you think that about me? About Balin?" he asked carefully.

Thorin sat back, and his face twisted with indignation.

"Of course not," he retorted, "but I don't know who to trust besides, you, Balin, Dis, and a few others."

Dwalin sat back and appraised Thorin in dismay.

"Do you think our people don't care about you then or what we're building here?"

Thorin shook his head and tried to reposition himself in the chair without pain. It didn't work.

"No," he said after breathing heavily for a few seconds, "but there's a great deal of difference between caring about me for the role I play and caring about me as a dwarf like any other."

Dwalin exhaled. He understood Thorin's point, and he did have a good one. His loyal friends saw for themselves the unceasing fawning of fathers with unwed daughters and dwarrowdams always trying to find some excuse to see him.

Poor lasses always end up bringing their problems to Balin. Must be a disappointment.

"Aye, well, someday, Thorin, some lass will steal your heart before you even know what happened," Dwalin said, "and we'll cheer."

Thorin's lips twisted.

"Not likely."

Over the next hour, they drank even more until the bottle was almost empty. The bandage on Thorin's arm needed changing, and Dwalin called for Sliva. She cut the bandage off, smeared the stitches with more pungent salve, and rewrapped his arm. Then she went back into the kitchen. Sometime later, she came around the corner to announce dinner to them both.

"Don't trouble yourself to get up … Thorin," she said uneasily. Her voice hitched on his name. "I will bring you your plate."

Dwalin grinned, but Thorin narrowed his eyes to warn him off before looking up to her. She wiped her hands on her apron and then stood nervously twisting her fingers. Dwalin looked irritatingly smug.

"Thank you, my lady," he said as courteously as he could manage, "but I must go and leave … you two alone."

She blushed furiously while Thorin ground his teeth at his kinsman's comment.

"Do you need anything?" Dwalin asked her more seriously after she walked him to the door. "You've got quite a houseful tonight."

She pursed her lips and then glanced at the bottle of whiskey. Her eyes widened. Either both dwarves held their liquor with the best of them, or one or both would be very drunk shortly.

"No," she said while eyeing Thorin for signs of intoxication, "no, I think I can manage."

Then Dwalin nodded to them both and left with a jaunty stride. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a plate full of solid fare: pork loin, potatoes with a melted cheese topping, and roasted root vegetables spiced with pepper and paprika. A small but genuine small flitted across Thorin's face when he saw the plate piled high, and Sliva's stomach tightened at his expression.

The four dwarflings trooped in with the silverware, glasses, and linen napkins. Without being asked, they pulled up Dis' small, candle stand table, laid a striped cloth, and set the table. He arched one brow, but her expression was one of disbelief.

"You never do that at home," she said. Lifir grinned.

"We just want to make you happy, mama," he said. "You did all the work today, and you need a rest."

Just then she did feel tired and wearily ran the back of her hand across her forehead.

"Aye, do sit, Sliva," Thorin said. "You need to eat as well."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his velvety voice behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to see Thorin regarding her quietly.

"Aye, mama," Modrin agreed too cheerfully while he pushed her to the table for two. "We'll eat in the kitchen, so we can help clean up."

She eyed her son and turned to see Thorin with his fork in his hand and nothing on it.

"Oh, dear, my lord," she stammered. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

He inclined his head and started in on the potatoes and other vegetables with enthusiasm but had trouble using the knife. Noticing his increasing frustration, she reached over.

"Allow me," she said as she proceeded to cut up his meat. He nodded his thanks and started to eat, but then his fork clattered on the plate.

"I think I need more whiskey," he said wincing.

She hurried and poured out the rest until it reached the rim. Sitting back down, she heard four voices in the kitchen.

"How's it going?"

"Well, they're getting along, so that's good."

"Do you think he likes her?"

"I hope so. Uncle's been alone for so long, and she bakes the best desserts."

Sliva heard that last from Fili and closed her eyes in mortification. At that moment, she almost felt that death by dragon fire would have been preferable. Chancing a glance at Thorin, she was relieved to see that he was too preoccupied with his food and painful ribs to have noticed. So the little rascals were plotting to throw them together.

Well, at least Fili seems to have the makings of a king, since no doubt he planned all this with Kili's help, she thought. What a tactician.

Then Thorin grunted, and she called the children in from the kitchen.

"I need you to help clean, please," she said. "Bring all the food to the ice room in containers with cloths over them. Now tie them up as I taught you, mind. Then you can have some biscuits."

The dwarflings grinned and ran about the kitchen. Thorin closed his eyes and tried to master the pain while she finished with the dishes.

"Now it's been a long day, and you all need to change for bed and go to sleep. Modrin and Lifir, you can share with Fili and Kili for tonight," she said warmly.

The quartet hollered with glee, startling Thorin who jerked upright at the sound. Seeing his mouth open in agony, she ran to him and got down on her knees.

"Do you need me to check your ribs, my, er, Thorin?" she asked worriedly.

He shook his head and tilted it back. His breath came in pants. She knew then that he needed to get in bed before he became dead weight.

"Fili," she called, "turn down your uncle's bed. He needs to be off his feet—now."

"On the count of three, Thorin," she said a few minutes later after struggling to get him ready to stand.

The heir of Durin finally stood after much maneuvering and leaned heavily on her.

"Perhaps," he gasped, "perhaps Dwalin should have stayed. This is too much for you."

She took a deep breath and carefully put his arm around her shoulder. He was heavy, but she was determined to get him to the bedroom without incident, so she widened her stance and nodded her head at the dark, open doorway 15 feet away.

"Very well," she said, "one step at a time."

Slowly, very slowly, they staggered to the bedroom with her sons and Thorin's nephews trailing close behind. At the door, she looked over her shoulder.

"Now you all off to bed. Fili, get me a clean nightshirt or something to wear. I need to get this shirt off him. It's stained."

She rolled her eyes at their wide-eyed looks.

"I don't want him to get infected from dirty clothes, so scoot!"

They jumped and ran at once to find something suitable.

"Now sit carefully on the edge, and I'll help you lean back," she said after she managed to get him to the bed.

Grabbing all the pillows, she artfully stacked them to make an incline for Thorin to rest on. Kili ran in empty-handed, saying that there were no more nightshirts. Sighing softly, she had Modrin bring in her shears. Then she ordered them all to bed. Once she was sure that they were under the covers, she cut Thorin's shirt off his body as quickly as she could. By this time, alcohol, pain, and exhaustion combined to make him drowsy and disoriented.

"Now lean back carefully," she said. "No! Not forward. Lean back—BACK!—yes, back slowly."

He sank against the pillows gratefully and gave her a lopsided smile that made her heart beat faster. She gathered the what remained of his shirt and threw it in a basket to wash later for rags. Then she carefully checked his arm and ribs, lightly running her hands over his bicep and torso. A little blood had seeped through the bandage on his upper arm, but she was satisfied that the bandage wouldn't need changing until morning. The herbs she had packed under the wrapping were doing their job.

"Thank you," he said softly through half-lidded eyes. She made no motion that she heard him. With his good arm, he pulled her closer.

"I said thank you," he whispered. "Didn't you hear me?"

She knew then that he was not himself, and she patted his good arm lightly and smiled.

"A kiss for thanks," he said, and she froze.

"Uh, um, I think I'd better leave you to rest," she said while trying to tug her arm away, but he didn't let go.

"No wife for me," he said drowsily. "Never for the prince. No one for me."

Even wounded, he was strong, and she realized the she couldn't get away without hurting him. She sat up instead and looked around and then down at her arm that he held in his grip. Leaning closer, she whispered, "Tush, you'll find someone, or she'll find you. It will happen."

He shook his head, and locks of hair fell around his face. Then he lifted his chin.

"A kiss for thanks you," he said, slurring his words.

She almost laughed at his now childish demeanor, so she leaned forward and lightly kissed him on the lips the way she would one of her sons. However, when their lips touched, he let go of her arm and reached up to hold the back of her head.

"More kisses for the prince," he murmured, "for the sad, sad prince."

He opened his eyes, and his wounded, tragic eyes held hers. Gasping, she could not help reaching up to lightly stroke his face. All the pain he kept hidden from every hurt and insult he endured since Erebor fell was now laid bare for her to see.

"Oh, Thorin," she said, almost in tears, "you have a right to be happy. You can love and still be prince."

In answer, he pulled her head down and pressed his lips to hers. She squeaked in surprise but then leaned into the kiss and felt like Mahal himself had given her a precious gift. Mumbling incoherently, he ran his calloused fingers through her hair at her temple, and his lips parted and moved gently across hers. She smelled the whiskey on his breath but did not pull away. He slipped his hand down to the back of her neck and pulled her closer. Sighing deeply, she let his mouth run along her bottom lip. A deep yearning pulled at her, a yearning to love and be loved.

I may never get an opportunity like this again.

She stared at his half-closed eyes, still brilliantly blue but glazed over. Reaching into his hair, she ran her fingers along the side of his face and kissed him slowly on his lips and the corners of his mouth. He moaned slightly, and she felt giddy with excitement.

Who would have thought such a thing could happen to me?

"My heart," he whispered, "where are you? How can I find you? When are you coming to me?"

She stopped, and all her excitement congealed into a hard knot in her stomach. She stared down at his handsome face and intense eyes. No matter what his state of mind, he was still beautiful and very, very desirable. Slowly, she disengaged from him and let him relax into the pillows. He sank down into the feather pillows and mattress and sighed. She was not the one. She didn't know who was, but she knew then that in the morning, he wouldn't remember a thing. She would go back to being a simple widow with two dwarflings in tow, and he would stay the powerful and charismatic Prince of Durin.

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