Written by kkolmakov

Wren, the former healer in the city of Bree, and to her own astoundment suddenly the future Queen Under the Mountain, stretched on a wide bed and felt her tired back relax. After days on the pony back, her spine was buzzing, and she thought she could hear something crack in her pelvis. She was lying in the silent dim room, on the pleasantly cool, smooth sheets, and her situation finally fully dawned on her. She gave it a thought and then pinched her arm. She immediately hissed, her skin was sensitive and would bruise even from a gentle poke, and then she lifted her hand and looked at it. One, two, three, four, five. All fingers present, no extra ones. She was not sleeping. She was in Rivendell, she just had the best bath in her life, and she was indeed travelling to the Lonely Mountain. The reason for her travel stubbornly reminded of itself, but she shoved it to the back of her mind for now. She did feel calmer after the bath, the second one in the course of the evening. The first one she took was before dinner at which she was introduced to none other but Lord Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, after which she had to share a meal with him, sitting on the right hand from her future husband Thorin Oakenshield. Wren considered pinching herself again, but it really hurt last time. She turned on her side and tried to will some sleep.

Her mind whirling, she soon understood it was easier to let all of the events of the last weeks rush into her mind than fighting her own railing emotions. She managed to organize her thoughts ten years ago when she lost her lover Aldacar, she was calm and composed seven years ago when Thorin Oakenshield appeared in her life and left as quickly, taking her heart with him, she could do it now. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She imagined a chest of drawers and pulled the first imaginary drawer.

Here lay her feelings for the Dwarven King, locked in it seven years ago, too painful to ever be touched, and suddenly flaring and flooding all her being. She allowed herself think back at the moment when she saw him in the infirmary for the first time. Dirty from the road, paler and wider than she remembered him, features harsher, his blue eyes burning, he was frozen in the middle of her infirmary, and she doubted her eyes. Her heart painfully clenched, and the room swayed. She took a deep breath then, willing herself not to hope for much, he was probably passing the city again, and stopped by, but then the pain and the love burst in her heart and her mind, and for the first time in her life she decided she did not care. She started running, the only thought in her head was to touch him, and she threw herself on his neck. When she was taking the last quick steps, she realized later, his arms opened, and he took a few steps to meet her.

She would laugh about it later, but at the moment he pressed her into him, she heard the sarcastic voice of her best friend in her head, "Are you out of your mind, Wren? Where is Smarty Pants Wren, dull and uptight, the little bossy know-it-all that we all know and love?" And she barked at the imaginary Thea in her head, "Shut up! I have this one chance, and I will not waste it! I have a life of heartbreak and loneliness ahead of me, I am not passing my only chance to be close to the man I love. Even if for one instant."

She chuckled in her larger than necessary bed in Rivendell and suddenly realized there were tears in her eyes. She clenched her jaw and willed them from spilling. He asked her to marry him. She agreed. He was a Dwarf, they did not play with such matters. He kissed her, and she literally felt her toes curl. He solemnly declared he would not bed her till the wedding night. She agreed again. On the other hand, she highly doubted he would last. Again, he was a Dwarf, they were known for their libidinousness. She was looking forward to experiencing it first hand. She thought of the short embraces in the bushes, their lips would meet, and he would lose control and press her into a tree. Then he would shake his head, in a gesture so reminiscent of a stroppy pony that she would giggle, and then he would drag himself from her, to her amusement and his obvious frustration. He would glare at her, and she would laugh. He probably seemed intimidating to others, but she only felt giddy and hesitantly playful with him. He desired her, she felt it in every touch. There were glances that scorched her, there were whispers that would make her skin tingle, and all she wanted was to press herself into him and forget the world existed.

Wren smiled and allowed her one little moment of weakness. She would think of him for one minute, and then this drawer would be closed. His eyes, the scorching palms, the surprisingly fluffy lashes, the lips, the shoulders… She felt suddenly hot in the chilly room and buried her burning face into the pillow. The large muscular build, the force and speed with which he moved, the regal posture, everything about him made her dizzy and enamoured. For seven years she had lived with a constant dull ache in her chest. It would reside in her blood, poisoning it. And now it was gone.

He was gentle, respectful, attentive. She momentarily remembered how she leaned to fill a water skin, and a comb slipped out of her hair. Her braids sprang to freedom, their ends dunking in the spring, and he moved, and to her shock she saw the comb, never having reached the ground, grasped in his hand. Astonished by the speed with which he could move, she stared at him, and he suddenly pecked her lips and grinned. He gently moved her braids behind her shoulders and handed her the comb. Something flashed in his eyes, and she thought back on all those accounts she had read of the meaning that hair had in the Dwarven culture. He slowly released her plaids, the curly tails sliding through his fingers, and there was something endlessly intimate and passionate in his eyes at that moment, and she could not help it. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in an unrestricted kiss, perhaps for the first time in her life losing control thusly. Or the second. She did behave rather unseemly in the closet in the infirmary.

Her minute of mawkishness was over, and she shook her head. She had a lot to think of. She would see him in the morning, he would smile to her, and she would be able to ogle him as much as she liked. She was good at discreetly watching people. For years she managed to stay almost invisible for most people.

She sighed and pulled another imaginary drawer out. She was marrying a King. She was to become a Queen. She was to rule a country, a people, and none other but narrow-minded, bigoted, conservative Dwarves. She rolled on her back again and steepled her fingers on her middle. That would require a lot of work, and she would need to be smart about it. She did not doubt she could do it, become his Queen, become worthy of the honour, but establishing respect and submission from Dwarves would be a labourious task.

There were a few things that gave her hope. Firstly, she knew of how unquestionable Thorin's authority was for the Khazad. She had a chance to talk to some of them in these seven years, even once after the Battle of Five Armies, and she knew the story of the Quest for Erebor, the dragon and the battle with Orcs and Wargs. He had chosen her, she was his One, the thought of it made her feel warm and safe. They would not dispute his choice, they would doubt and probably hate and despise her, but no one would question her right to sit on the throne near him. And she would prove she had every right for it. She had his heart, she needed to gain his respect and admiration. And for that she needed allies.

That brought her to the second thought she found consoling. She thought, and she was very rarely wrong in interpreting the minds of people, she already had one friend in Erebor. Balin, son of Fundin, a white haired Dwarf accompanying her King on this trip, an attentive listener and a wonderful storyteller, amazingly agile for his age, was one third of all Dwarves Wren had at her disposal right now to base her perception of the Khazad. Given she understood that Balin followed Thorin's lead in his attitude towards her, she felt genuine affection in him. They seemed to establish wonderful relationships from the start. He was endlessly respectful, treating her as a Queen already, and she found his company very pleasant. She was also perceptive enough to understand that he was so willing to accept her as he was pleased by the changes in the King that her presence seemed to have brought.

A few nights ago all three of them were sitting around the fire, the King's nephew sitting a few feet away from them as usual, and without noticing it himself, Thorin started humming some melody. She had never heard him sing before, and she held her breath. His voice was low and velvet, pitch perfect, he followed the tune effortlessly, and she caught Balin's eyes. The older Dwarf looked very pleased, and she assumed such relaxed state was not characteristic for the King Under the Mountain. Judging by the cantankerous and bad-tempered disposition he had showed seven years ago, her assumption was right. The King suddenly stopped his humming and looked at the two of them. They probably were a hilarious pair, an older Dwarf with a cordial, fatherly smile on his lips, and an enamoured girl with wide open eyes and slightly dazed face.

"Is something the matter?" They both vigorously shook their head and pretended to be very busy with their dinner. And then she looked at Balin from the corner of her eye, and he nodded to her as if thanking her for the King's mood. She gave him a small smile, hoping he could see in her eyes that in no way she felt responsible for the changes. All three of them went back to pleasant silent companionship. The only thing tarnishing the evening was the dark brooding figure of the King's nephew sitting lost in his thoughts, leaning on a tree on the edge of their camp.

The thought of the third of her companions made her shuffle uncomfortably on her bed. Kili of the line of Durin was an unusual Dwarf. She had seen enough of the Khazad to understand that something was horribly wrong with the King's nephew. He seemed utterly broken, hardly keeping it together, unkempt, thinned. She was a healer and knew the signs of physical exhaustion when she saw them. The question she kept on asking herself was what could have happened to change him thusly. Because even through the darkness and constant agitation she saw now, she could see the glimpses of what he must have been before. A gorgeous young Dwarf, full of life, with the dark beautiful eyes that were made to sparkle with mirth and mischief, a mouth with lines sensual and strong, bottom lip full, a mouth that was destined to laugh and sing, strong jawline... Something had knocked down his defenses, the natural resilience of a Dwarf, his nerves in frenzy.

She thought she saw his hands shake, and she was certain it had nothing to do with his dependency on alcohol, though that was surprising as well. Dwarves were drinkers, but they were too stubborn and independent to allow anything to control them, including ale. To develop such habit, and he was obviously suffering from withdrawal, he would have to rely on ale to sustain him on everyday basis. He was pale, dark purple circles under his eyes, and in the time they spent travelling together he hardly slept. She had trouble sleeping too, she was always cold due to her thinness, and it had been almost ten years since she had to spend a night on the hard ground under an open sky. At night she could see him sitting, his hands constantly moving, fidgeting with a twig or a dagger, a dark disturbing energy buzzing in him. Kili was frightening her.

Every little thing about him made her distressed. His beard had obviously been let to grow out. She assumed it was short since he was an archer, but there was no bow on him at the time. The hands though bore the distinct markings left by arrows and a bowstring. Just like his uncle he had wonderful dark strands but they were dirty and were obviously not taken care of. For a Dwarf such negligence was astonishing. His clothes did not fit anymore, he must have lost a lot of weight.

She could see a great deal of resemblance between the two dark haired Dwarves, and she wondered if Kili was a remarkable swordsman just as his uncle, he obviously had the strength and the agility. But at the moment he looked like those mechanical toys when a screw went loose in them and their legs and arms would lose their coordination. Sometimes when he would get up, he would sway. Lack of sleep obviously did not help his balance. He had nightmares, there was no ale to knock him out at the end of the day.

She wondered for how long it had been going on. She would assume among other thing he was suffering from what healers called "soldier's heart." Those who had seen battle, especially if it was their first one, came back from it changed, broken, haunted. She wondered if he had lost someone dear in the Battle of Five Armies. She knew his brother lived and wondered if the other prince of Eredor was the same ghost of a person as she saw in front of her.

But she knew there was something else. Dwarves were a hardy race, they went through their lives with strong beliefs and stubborn attitude. She would think of Thorin, his arrogance, his certainty that he was always right, his obvious ability to bounce back from hardships. She knew of the Battle of Azanulbizar, when he had lost his brother, grandfather and any hope to reclaim the Kingdom of Moria. He fought, he lived, he became the King his people needed at that time. Something did not allow Kili to overcome the mental wounds of his battles.

Among other things, she thought sadly, it was possibly his uncharacteristic for a Dwarf astuteness and self-awareness. Even in the King, as enamoured as she was with him, she could see the Dwarven hardheadedness and self-assurance. She foresaw a lot of negotiating and diplomatic delicacy on her part in the future. Kili had sharp, canny eyes. He knew when he was wrong and knew what was happening to him. And she knew on her own experience, there was nothing more painful in life than understanding the evils of the world and the flaws in oneself, to perceive what nightmare one's life had turned into, and not being able to do anything about it. Kili of the line of Durin knew he was degrading and could do nothing about it.

At the beginning of their travel she assumed he hated her because she was no Dwarf, a woman undeserving to be his uncle's wife, but she soon understood it was not her he hated. He could not stand what she signified. Happiness, requited love, and most of all future. She was Thorin's future, and he was hers.

Rather quickly Wren understood that Kili's heart bore the wounds of rejection. What kind of person would turn their back to a Dwarf like him? There was strength, and pride, and strong will in him. Someone broke him, all hope for fullfilled future lost for him. And Wren was certain it was done cruelly and unjustly, not allowing him to save his dignity and even more so making him doubt his worth. If he was indeed like his uncle, and Wren saw a keen resemblance in their temperaments, that was the worst of blows for him. To destroy a Dwarf one needs to destroy their pride.

And then she thought of him being a Dwarf and possibly having lost his love, and she would feel even more terrified. For them to meet their One and not being with them was a torture. Through her seven years without the King she often wondered why it hurt so much. Why was it that everyday she lived as if in a dark cloud, every cell in her body in torment, she would go through each day and no matter what she did she remembered the excruciating void inside her. She thought she was being mawkish, childish, she would scold herself, and then dreams would come. She lived, she served, she danced, she laughed, but she carried him in her heart every moment of every hour. She could not imagine what pain such longing would cause to a Dwarf. They were taught from their childhood that there was one and only one to reside in their heart and their mind. Given, it did not spread on carnal matters, but Dwarves loved once. Had Kili already met his One and lost her or him?

Wren was a healer and no matter what her life were to be now, she could not neglect her duty to treat and to help. She so often felt like just jumping on her feet and rushing to him. Yelling at him, shaking him, embracing him, crying for him and with him... Her hands would shake from the piercing pity and desire to help. More and more darkness was gathering in him, and soon it would spill and ruin his life. The hour when he could not control himself anymore would come, and he would rage and bring ruin to himself. She felt her heart clench but she willed herself to sit on her spot by the fire and avoid his burning eyes. There was nothing to be done. He would reject her attempts to interfere, she would only make him retreat in himself more, and were he to lash on her, she would cause a spite between him and his uncle. No one could help him but himself, and unfortunately he could not either.

Wren lay in her bed in Rivendell and hoped that Erebor was inhabited by Balins and not Kilis, and she knew that it probably was. The King's nephew with his tormented mind and dark mood was no typical Dwarf. The rest of them, resilient, hard working, conventional and endlessly practical, had certainly moved on from the war and were rebuilding their life for the glory of Erebor and their King. She just needed to show them she could be their Queen and support their rise to prosperity and peace.

Wren pulled her knees to her chest and shivered. She seemed to always be cold, and the last few nights she had had such a lovely sleep. She was embarrassed to think of it, but the last few mornings she woke up in the arms of the King Under the Mountain. One night he was woken up possibly by the loud chattering of her teeth. He looked at her for a few moments, and she tried to smile to him, but her nose was probably blue and the smile looked more like a grimace. He silently got up and lay near her. She could feel the heat coming from his body even though he did not touch her, through the clothes and his brigandine, and she threw all proprietary away and pressed into him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her nose in his neck. He chuckled, probably from the coldness of its tip, and she felt her body relax and sleep taking her over. In the morning she woke up, him wrapped around her, and she was surprised by how familiar and comfortable his bone crushing embrace felt. And then she blushed, suddenly imagining how inappropriate they looked. But Kili was nowhere to be seen, and Balin was sitting by the fire as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening in the camp, and she allowed herself a small indulgence. She nuzzled his neck, coarse hair on his throat scratching her skin, and she felt a low rumble in his chest, under the palm she apparently put over his heart at night. She was too embarrassed to look at him and scampered busying herself with the usual morning errands. The day went on as all the days before it, and in the evening he just took his place near her. She curled into him and sighed happily.

She shuddered and wistfully thought that she would happily exchange the comfortable, luscious bed in the Elven palace for another night on the hard ground with pinecones trying to drill through her spine but with the King's warmth and smell of his skin enveloping her. There was a solution to her problem, but it took her another half an hour of struggling with herself to realize that as improper and indecorous as she knew her actions would be, she was going to do it. She exhaled and climbed out of the bed. The King's room was down the passage, the maid showing her to her room told her, and Wren stepped into the corridor. The floor was cold, and she regretted not putting on her shoes. In the darkness and silence of the passages of Riverdell she quickly slid by the row of the doors and not giving herself a moment to chicken out and turn back, she carefully pushed the door to the bedchambers of Thorin Oakenshield.