Hobbit 1. Chapter 1

You dive out of the darkness, swallowing big gulps of air, coughing painfully. The first thing you feel is the searing pain in the right side of your ribs. Thick nauseating string of blood is tickling your left temple. The world around you is blurry, high pitch ringing in your ears makes it hard to concentrate. Your hands are tied behind your is cold and the air is stuffy and humid. The only sounds are your ragged breathing and rhythmical water drops echoing somewhere to your right.

You try to think, to remember the last clear image. There was a hunt, you didn't want to go. The honourary guests insisted. As the uncrowned queen you were to accompany them. You hate killing animals, you hate killing in general. The blood thirst repulses you. You remember having a row about it. You remember closing a door into his face, while he was still trying to convince you. Obviously, slamming it loudly would attract too much attention, so you just closed it, his mouth still open in the middle of a sentence. Your voices had been hushed, which made you even more irritated. The maid brushing your hair felt your anger, her movements careful not to set your mood. You were looking in the mirror. Your favourite necklace, he had crafted it himself… Soft locks that he had caressed just the morning before… Eyes cold, brows frowned… You let the maid go.

The bed was empty and the luscious sheets scratched your skin. You tossed and turned in the bed that bore his weight as well as yours every night without fail for the last two months. You told yourself to stop thinking that for the first time after his return from the mountain expedition he had to sleep in his room. You said to yourself you were not a minestrel or a jester to entertain his guests. You told yourself you were not a dutiful wife for a brutish barbarian. Your mind, your magic, your skill of a warrior allow you to… What? Your train of thought kept falling apart. You tried to feel angry by repeating his arguments in your head mocking his serious tone: everyone knows about your status, your going would show the respect to his guests, the favour to him, and so forth. But the empty room and your lonely breathing in the dark let the treacherous thoughts crawl into your mind. The soft expression on his face, the gracious bow he followed with his request, how considerate he was even though his usual temper was storming in his blue eyes...

You got up from your bed and sneaked by the corridor. The candles were burning in his room. Through a half open door you noticed him sitting on a bench by a table with untouched dinner, frowning and playing with a buckle from his belt. The bed was untouched as well. "Are you intending to sleep at the table, my lord?", you attempted to sound haughty. He lifted his left brow, well aware of what it does to you. Oh, the unbeatable magic of the black, smooth, knee-weakening, mouth-watering, breath-taking, delicious brow… Your facial expression though was schooled in a scornful cold mask, hair strategically running down your shoulders, the cape over your night dress hardly closed. You were reminding yourself that using your feminine charm as a weapon was below you. He yielded the brow though, so you were only retaliating… "Most likely", he gave up the brow and turned to mournful lost look, "I couldn't bring myself to...", he waved towards the made bed. You lifted your brow this time. His mask cracked and a small smile sparkled for a second in the corner of his mouth. "Fake humility does not suit you, my melhekh," you were holding your position but all you could think of was slipping closer and sitting on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You knew you needed to resolve the dispute first though. "It is not fake", he looked in your eyes and suddenly he was all seriousness, "I was wrong and too proud to come back to you and admit it. I am grateful you came." All pretense gone, you stepped into his arms and sat on his lap. "You are ruining my gesture, my kurdu. I came to say I was wrong. You were graciously asking to assist you with delicate negotiations and I let my fear govern my actions," your fingers trained through the thick hair at the nape of his neck and through the familiar black and silver strands. "Fear?", he looked confused. "Fear," you nodded, tracing the outer contour of his ear with the tip of your index finger, "fear that if I am not treated respectfully... No, I say it wrong... I fear that by going with your request I would look weak, submissive...", you struggled to explain, suddenly forgetting your own reasoning behind your anger. He turned to look into your eyes. "Submissive? You are my queen!"

You are lying on the cold floor of your cell and remember his face at that moment. His absolute conviction, his love and passion burning in suddenly bright blue eyes, the loyalty and tenderness… You leaned in and kissed him. He flooded all your being like a storm, with intoxicating fierceness and familiarity that made your body shiver and your thighs clench. His hot chapped lips, his black beard scratching your cheek when your mouth slipped to the pulse forcefully and rapidly beating on his neck, his hand grasping your gown, then his large palms caressing your shoulder blades, his gasp when you pulled his hair back to look into his eyes again. "Sometimes I forget that my king is a very noble man," you smiled into his wide open eyes, "and much more progressive than the rest of his people." He smirked, "If all men of my people had a woman like the one your king has..." You pulled the hair again. He smiled wider and rephrased. "Loved a woman like the one your king loves," you charitably bestow a small kiss to his lips, "they would never doubt woman's equality to a man." You shifted and hugged his waist with your legs, earning a relieved sign from him. "Let's agree that I was wrong", he opened his mouth to object, which you promptly put your finger on, "this time," he kissed the finger and nodded, "and I will apologise profoundly". His brow jumped up again and he quickly looked into your eyes. You smirked and moved your lips to his ear. "And then once more, after the tomorrow's hunt. May be twice." The low rumble broke out from his chest and you were suddenly lifted by the pair of very strong arms. His eyes were roaming the inviting view of your cleavage since the cloak shifted when he jumped on his feet with you in his arms. "One thing though…," he licked his lips and with obvious difficulty shifted his gaze to your eyes. "Anything, my lord", you gave him your most breathy tone and laughed at his unsuccessfully suppressed hoarse moan. "We are going back to your bedroom."

You made love three times that night, in your bed just like he wanted. With all honesty, half of the second time was on the floor since you rolled off of it in the middle and landed with an obsene thud. His loud throaty laugh is still ringing in your ears. It is so rare, sometimes you feel like it is your own private treasure, the rumble, the irises hidden behind the thick black lashes, the bird feet wrinkles in the corners of the beloved eyes. You lay on his still heaving chest, your right thigh on the cold stone floor, your left leg wrapped around his middle. Your hand sprayed on the coarse chest hair, the ends of his hair tickling your nose. Sudden shiver ran through you body. You loved him, at that moment you loved him… With all your being, feeling as if hot flames were licking your whole body, your heart painfully beating with only one thought. The thought was thumping in your temples, your still boiling blood carrying it through your body, through your veins… Your king, your heart, your… Yours… You took a deep breath and a searing wave subsided, leaving you content and sated. He screwed his eyes at you and smiled a lazy smile. "Should we get back into bed? I am too old for tumbling on the floor." You guffawed and suddenly straddled him. "Old? What about me then? I'm centuries ahead of you. And you did not act old just a moment ago, my king". You pretend to be looking for a more comfortable position, shamelessly shifting your hips. "Your flexibility and reach are endlessly admirable, my lord". Two large palms squeezed your buttocks, and a wicked smirk adorned the sensually curved lips. "Allow me to demonstrate my endurance as well, my queen."

You are pulling on your restrains questioning your sanity. Who in their right mind would indulge into heated bedroom memories while obviously abducted and recently knocked unconscious? You close your eyes and prod your magic. It's bubbling in your body but something tied it. You attempt to sit and hiss from the pain in your temple. It comes back to you. Your, as it turns out, not so honourable guests demanded to stop for a meal. They were boasting about the magnificent wine their clan had been producing for centuries, and they offered you a goblet, quite clearly making it a matter of personal offense should you have refused. The wine was surprisingly good, but it is probably its taste that masked the flavour of the magic binding potion they slipped you. The hit to the head rendered you unconscious and the ribs were bruised when they threw you into this hole. You finally manage to sit up and look around. The cell is rather small with one door in the wall to you right, with some dirty hay on the floor that you are currently sitting on. You lean back to the wall and try to think.

The fact that this human clan even offered to negotiate any sort of trade had been a surprise and their previous hostility made your king relieved when they finally agreed for a meeting. Access to the part of the Big River's bank that belonged to them would sufficiently advance the exchange of goods in this region, allowing your king to avoid unnecessary expenses and lessen his dependency on transporting the goods by boats, which was unreliable at best due to extensive rifts and unpredictable seasonal stream changes. Their behaviour during their visit was indeed too good to be true. The contract they brought for his approval was so lenient that he decided to take additional day to discuss it with his council looking for loopholes he thought he missed. What was their plan though? Keep you as a hostage and present him with a different set of requests? It would be a plan of a mad man. His temper as well as his, for the lack of a better word, devotedness to you are well known. Anyone who would even consider using you as leverage would pay a high price. Are they considering keeping you as hostage indefinitely and thus dictating his trading policies in this region? Do they honestly rely on his faithfulness and longevity of his fondness for you? There are so many possible ways to lose control over this hostage situation and unleash his rage. And it is known and feared. It is and should be feared more than dragon's fire and nature's wrath. When furious he is cruel, meticious and ruthlessly calculative. What is their plan that they accepted that they would cause it and still went on?

You rub your thigh to the wall and realize that not only they took the blade from your belt but also the hidden ones from your hip are gone. You set the thought of someone's hand searching you aside and note to yourself to remember it later when you are exercising your revenge. You wriggle you left foot. The dagger from the boot is gone too. They were thorough. You wonder for how much longer the potion will work and what they intend to do when it doesn't. Forcing it down your throat won't be easy or pleasant, for both sides.

At that moment the lock on your cell's door creaks and sunlight blinds you. You blink and try to figure out the dark silhouette of a person standing in the door frame.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opens and you see a young girl in a very dirty dress. Her posture is stiff, she is wriggling her hands. She sneaks inside and closes the door behind. You look attentively and see that she is not a child as you have assumed initially but a young dwarven maiden. "Milady", she stops at the stairs, hesitant to approach you. "Come closer, don't be afraid", you use your softest but most authoritative tone, "what is your name, child?" You see that she is trembling. "I am not supposed to talk to you", she is biting her lips. "But you are already here..." "Is it true that you are King Thorin's azyungal?", she interrupts. You nod and she makes a step closer. "If I help you, will you protect me? When he comes, will you tell him I helped you?" You look at her attentively. She is obviously frightened, but you can see something else hiding in her eyes. Admiration? Respect? Hope? She is certain that he will come for you, her faith in him is almost adorable. You muse that it probably isn't the time to tell her that you do not share her conviction. "Help me and the King will know about it", you try not to lie. "And the men there?", she nods towards the door. You are treading carefully. "They will get what they deserve," you attentively follow her reactions, "what do you think they deserve?" She wrinkles her nose and says, "One of them was nice to me, he gave me some food, but the rest are...", she mumbles a dirty swear in Khuzdul. You are not used to hearing such words from the lips of a maiden. She gives it another thought, "But then he got drunk and pushed me in a wall, so he is no better", she seems to make up her mind, "I want the Mighty King to cut off his head too. I want them cut open". By now you are accustomed to the ferocity of Dwarves, but the indifference on her face is alarming you. You understand her desire to punish the men who were obviously cruel to her but such disregard for someone's life is not common even among experienced warriors. "I promise you they will be punished for their crimes adequately. Now, do you have something to cut the ropes?", you leave her no time for doubt. You suddenly remember how once you told Thorin what your father taught you about negotiating.

You were sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, idly playing with the thick black hair at the nape of his neck. It was a hot summer day, and you two were hiding in a chilly stone chamber at the bottom of the mountain. He was pretending to read a book open on the table in front of him, while placing lazy kisses behind your ear. The knock at the door startled you and you swiftly slipped off his lap. Although at the early days of your relationships, you were rather open about the shared night chambers and your influence over your King's decisions. You still tried to avoid such obvious displays of affection though. Let us not recall, on the other hand, all those numerous times you were caught in compromising positions all around the castle, including the night when the cook walked on you two, wrapped around each other in the pantry closet, initially looking for a midnight snack but distracted from it by a convenient flat surface. And the armory, and then that one time in the stables, when many warriors saw your king with his trousers around his ankles and you… Well, some things are best left undescribed… This time you were standing, dress in order, face schooled with regal decorum. You let the servant in, accompanied by one of the trade counselors. The king was back to reading his book, after dismissively waving his hand at you two. Apparently you were supposed to deal with the matter. You scoffed and envied his freedom at that. He could delegate dealing with this beefhead to you, but whom would you force into this? You invited the counselor to a smaller table in the corner, and the endless monotonous muttering started. You were familiar with the matter better than anybody, the day was hot and the languish kisses of your King had already started putting you into mood. The only way you saw out of it was to settle the matter quickly and decisively, and then promptly divest your melhekh of his dark blue garments. Your palms tingled from the memories of the soft material you had been pressing your naked shoulder into just a blissful moment ago, your mouth watering from knowing what is underneath it. You devise a quick plan in your head, one fast and hard tumble on the floor, and then slow and thorough on that settee by the wall, and finally turn your attention to the still maundering Dwarf in front of you. When you were a child, your father told you that if you want to achieve success in negotiations, you have to only do two things: keep on repeating your point of view and answer the question before it is asked. You straightened your back and sharply looked into your opponent's eyes. "My lord, the treaty will be signed in a week's time and no changes will be made. And no, your family cannot participate in the second part of the negotiations," the Dwarf sitting in front of you almost jerked and paled. You could almost envision his trump card sadly bursting in flames, flakes of ash floating in the air between your faces. The discussion swiftly was brought to conclusion, he bowed and hastily left the room. You were standing in front of the finally closed door when two strong hands twirled you around and you were pulled in a rough kiss. Pulling at the strings on your tunic, your King mumbled in your neck, "Remind me to always take you to the negotiations from now on". You guffawed and remembered the third part of your father's advice: "And put your orders in a form of a question that does not permit a negative answer". You pulled the shirt over his head and slid your hands over the wide shoulders of your melhekh and down his broad chest, slightly scraping the hot skin with your nails, eliciting a low growl from him. "We do not have time to move to another chamber, do we, my kurdu?". You bit his shoulder and he roared. Pulling you down on the floor, he ripped your breeches down your legs, pressing searing kisses to your throat and clavicles. "Also, remind me to ask you where you learnt to negotiate thusly ", his voice, low and raspy with passion, reverberates through your sternum. "Well…", you start, "if you want to achieve success in negotiations, you have to only do two things... ", he pressed his mouth to yours, effectively silencing you. "Later", he rumbles, and then closes his mouth around your right nipple. Who are you to argue with a king?

For a tense second, you are watching the girl. You are calm outside, your mind racing, feverish prayers to Mahal in a constant loop in your mind. She nods and moves closer. A dirty dull kitchen knife appears in her hand and she finally cuts the ropes. Your swollen wrists are numb, and your arms fall along your body like rags, but the tingle of rushing blood feels like a bliss. You get up and straighten your back. "Your name, child". She shrinks away from a queen that is standing in front of her. "I don't know it. They just call me Tunz". "Well, Tunz", you smile a slightly unpleasant smile, "let get me a sword".


	3. Chapter 3

Luckily the first of them that you reach is alone. You slide along the floor, punching precisely into the celiac plexus, elbow over the head finishing knocking him out. His sword is too long for you, and dirty as well. You wrinkle your nose and wipe it over his shirt. You wouldn't use it anyways, unless absolutely necessary. Its unbalanced weight irritates the back of your mind, but it is no time to be nitpicking. The next two you encounter in the dim passage fall on the floor with dull thumps. The door at the end of the corridor leads to some sort of common room. You hear drunk voices and clanking of dishes. A few of shriek female voices are added to the mix. You look at Tunz, who is silently following you. She is pale but her eyes are shining with admiration. You would prefer her reverence for your bookishness as opposed to the blood thirst gleaming in her eyes. You move closer to the door and sneak a peek. There are about twenty men inside, sitting around a dirty table, crowded with jugs and plates, three young women waiting on them. You understand you are not in a tavern as you initially assumed, but in a hunting lodge. Half of the men were your guests in the house of Thorin, others you've never seen before. You clench your teeth when you notice three Dwarves among those sitting at the table. They seem uneasy, but they are sharing the wine. You know the face of one of them. You assume the other two are from the same family. The family whose name you have seen hundreds of times on the family tree stitched into the tapestry on the wall of your Kings' chambers. Whose names are so close to his, on the same branch of the tree, with the words "House of Durin" embroidered on top. Their presence explains the whole story: kidnapping you, leaving traces in the forest, ambushing the King, they probably have an extensive detachment waiting in the woods... A skilled scout as he is, he will find your tracks that will lead him where they need him, then the King tragically dies in a fight, and the closest family with blood of Durin running in their veins is left with nothing to do but to humbly accept the throne. The trade treaty is changed, leaving extensive privileges to the clan of men who no longer than two nights ago enjoyed the hospitality of your melhekh. You look through the window, down in the yard you see a pile of orc bodies. That is the smokescreen, as well as the orc weaponry in the corner of the common room. You prod your magic again. It is completely inert, which is in actuality good news. They do not perceive you as a threat as long as you are bound in the cellar. Also, the King will not start his search for another night, assuming that your hunt just lasted longer than planned. Your captors are enjoying their perceived security, and you can escape undetected.

You pull Tunz's sleeve and slide towards the narrow staircase that leads down to the backyard. At the bottom you hear snoring of two more men. Short, sharp hits with the handle of the sword solve the problem. You grab some bread and meat from the table, shove them into a bag, and swiftly mount a horse recklessly tied to a gate. With a very unhappy Tunz sitting in front of you, you are heading to the road leading back to the castle. Even with your combined weight the horse moves quickly. With one arm you secure Tunz to you chest, her short legs limply swinging on the sides of the animal, reminding you of the bags of flour that the baker in the castle ties to his little mule. With sun colouring the sky in ruby and burgundy, you stop at a clearing and allow your horse some rest. Tunz quickly makes a small fire and you sit beside each other, staring at the flames. Through your ride not a word was said, and now your silence is hanging above the little camp, swirling above mixed with smoke. You are chewing at the food, when suddenly she asks: "What is he like?" You turn to her, your thoughts just a second ago on the nefarious trade treaty that eventually brought you in this forest. You are tired, angry, your clothes are dirty and, honestly speaking, there is a smell. Pieces of hay that you were thrown on crawled in the material of your garments and now scratch your skin. There was stale water on the floor of that cellar. Worst of all, your magic, suppressed and violated, is bubbling under your skin, irritating, ringing in your ears, and you feel the first waves of nauseating migraine approaching. Your headaches are infamous, only the King daring to enter your chambers when they strike and heavy curtains are closed on your windows. You look at her and she is frowning. "The King? Have you not met him?", you are thinking that she should have been to the castle being a servant in the family so close to the House of Durin. "No, this is the first time I've ever left our village, they took me with them to clean after them", she wrinkles her nose, "so what is he like?" You chuckle and for a second you let yourself enjoy the warmth flooding your chest when you are thinking of him. "King Thorin," you let the sweet taste of his name melt on you lips and tongue, "is the most noble, the most skilled and experienced warrior and leader that you can ever meet". You think that these are the qualities that she would want to hear about. "No, I mean with you", she moves closer to you and looks into your eyes expectantly, "not to his subjects, with you… What is he like, when it's just you and him?" You pause and look at her attentively. She is all wide eyes and slightly open mouth, but a strange feeling of uneasiness is settling in you. You still smile at her and go with her inquiry. "Not much more different, just a bit more talkative maybe," you tread carefully. "Does he discuss things with you? Does he ask for your advice?", she asks hungrily. "Sometimes, but his decisions are always his own, child", you cut down the conversation, your scruples sealing your lips and clenching your heart, and say, "We should sleep, Tunz". You take off your cloak and cover her shoulders. You are dressed much warmer than her. "Try to sleep," she nods in agreement and settles on the ground near the fire. You lean back to a tree and close your eyes. Quiet murmur of doubt is crawling in the corners of your mind, and you breath deeply sorting through your thoughts. Your chest rising evenly, your hearing sharp and attentive, you absorb the woods around you, feeling the air with the fresh smell of pines and grasses fill your lungs, in and out, you heart beating evenly, your blood slowing down, warming up your hands and feet. You silently talk to your magic, imagine it circulate in you, not in agitated swirls but following the serene flow of your blood. The headache steps back in the shadows, not gone but docile, allowing you the space to think. You won't sleep but your body needs rest and your mind needs to submit to circumstances. Before the first rays of sunlight, you have your answer.


	4. Chapter 4

You hear birds waking up and you open your eyes. Tunz seems to still be sleeping, wrapped in your cloak. You attentively study the dirty face. She is lovely, straight dark brows, thick wavy hair, strong decisive curve of lips. You spent so much time with the Dwarves you forgot that your own looks used to receive compliments. Now, you are accustomed to be thought too skinny, too narrow and sickly, white and smooth, like an ailing infant… Once, you even heard a comparison to a plucked chicken. Tunz, on the other hand, is a beauty anyone in your house would admire. Strong, wide shoulders, high cheekbones, and, admitting that it would probably be unappealing to men or Elves, a nice smooth beard. Given everything is dirty, with pieces of dirt and grime stuck all over her old, too short dress and over her face, her nails broken and dirty, hair cut unevenly and braided sloppily… Her eyes are closed, features relaxed, and she is snoring slightly. The problem is that you have already made up your mind and nothing will change it.

You jump on your feet and pounce at her. She obviously was not sleeping but evidently, your even breathing managed to deceive her. Using the element of surprise, you use your silken cloak to bind her, securing her arms behind her back. You almost hear your King's voice inside your head giving you instructions. You are very grateful at the moment that though you resisted, he stood firm on teaching you to make knots. You disdain taking lives of any beings, so you refused to learn hunting knots. You momentarily remember practicing on a silk scarf and the escapades it led to when you used bedposts and his wrists for exercise. The advantage is definitely on your side from the start, so she does not even try to fight. She reverses back to frightened look, and starts: "My lady, I don't understand..." You rip a piece from your skirt and pulling it between her teeth you knot it at the back of her head. "I know it won't stop you from making noises, but it will silence you at least partially", you kneel in front of her and look into her eyes. "I need you to be quiet and listen. I hope I am wrong but unfortunately I am rather sure that you are playing with me. As smart as your camouflage was, broken nails and unruly hair, you are still too well-fed for a simple girl from a poor village." You sit on the ground in front of her, keeping enough distance in case she makes a move. "I bet it was almost painful to chop your hair after you had been taking so much care of it all you life. I've spend enough time looking after King's strands to know how much work it is." All pretense thrown aside, her eyes become sharp and angry. Rubbing the intimacy of your relationships with the King was a low blow but you need psychological advantage. You give her an unpleasant smile. "And answering your previous question, he is passionate, naughty, giving and a very, very good shag. And he does listen to me, because I am not an exotic toy or a simple vessel of my magic," you tip your head on one side and give her an appraising look. "So, the plan with an orc ambush wasn't good enough for you? I'll give you that, it didn't seem thought through to me either. But a treacherous attack from a clan of men and King's kin avenging his death is so much more appealing, is it not? Are they already dead or you have a much more dramatic scenario prepared?" She does not answer and closes her eyes. You chuckle. "Whatever they tell about me, I do not possess an ability to read your soul through your eyes," hers snap open, "but I am very good at reading faces. And yours is telling me that we are waiting for something at the moment. What is it?" She looks at you defiantly. You run your hands over her legs, the only part you hadn't been touching when riding together, and sure enough you pull out a long broad dagger from bandages on her shin. "I'm not very good at torturing but I can start by giving you a lovely new haircut. It might be a bit more provocative than what you have now, but we all should be open to new things, should we not?" She looks even angrier, as if it were possible.

At that moment you hear a rustling on the other side of the road. You press the dagger into her throat, commanding her to be silent, and prod your magic. Still dormant. With a dagger and a sword you could possibly take out several men or Dwarves, but that is on a good day, not after incarceration, a sleepless night, your magic bound and someone else's weapons feeling foreign in your hands. You focus your attention on the bushes, you can tell that at least five people are treading through them, noisily and heavily, not hiding their steps. At that moment from the opposite side you hear more loud stomping. The two groups reach your clearing at nearly the same time, people and Dwarves stepping out of the woods. Your King, his warriors, led by one of the traitors, on one side, the men from the River clan mixed with the Dwarves led by the other two double-crossers, on the other, all of them freezing on their way and staring at you, one of your knees pressing on the back of a Dwarven maiden bound on the ground with an exquisitely crafted Dwarven dagger pressed to her throat. You sign and brace yourself.


End file.
