Loving Gin

A/N - if you have NOT read 'Clamps' - now would be a good time to read it.

http://www.openscrolls.net/fanfic/story.php?no=4419&chap=28

[i]Human Age Equivalent - 36


He was dreaming of her again.

He jerked awake and decided this bothered him.

He was dreaming of her again.

He was certain it was because he was traveling, that he was moving closer to home. When he was tired, bringing the season cycle to a close, she-

He was dreaming of her again.

- would invade his deepest, weakest spot and churn his memories up all over again. It made the dwarf to not want to sleep, fight it, which only made the problem worse. Despite all, everything, he could see her face, smell her, her perfume, the taste of the glistening of her perspiration between her breasts.

He gazed to the right, searching for his pony. Very quietly, the small equine stood, her head low. The Rohirrim knew horseflesh, their eye for leg lines and stout hearts was legendary. They knew the blood lines of their horses as well, if not better, than their own. Thorin hated working for others, but his people needed food, clothing, farm animals of their own, a home of their own, and while the Blue Mountains would eventually make do, they needed to rebuild it now that they had reclaimed it.

Much like they would eventually have to reclaim Erebor. But that time was not now. For now, he had to swallow his stubborn, dwarvish pride and do what was necessary to see them through the winter.

He discovered the Rohirrim were an honest people. He would have to tell Dwalin, the smiths, to head towards the south in the spring. He would also tell them to be prepared to look up, up, up at these tall, blonde giants. They were also generous with what they had. They paid well, if one could tolerate forging horseshoes day in and day out. And swords. They had a love for swords. And stirrups and bits.

The pony snorted; obviously Thorin's half awake thoughts were disturbing her. Blósma. Thorin snorted in response. That's what The Marshal said her name was; Blósma. Blossom.

He didn't expect the additional gift of the equine. He had been paid well, double his asking price, openly welcomed back in the spring, if he so desired.

Considering the weight of the pouches he kept on him at all times, he just might so desire. Thorin Oakenshield had a niggling inkling that the fact the Marshal knew he was the heir of the exiled King Under the Mountain, of the line of Durin, might have had something to do with it.

What was that saying the Rohirrim had? Do not look a gift horse in the mouth. He supposed he better not. Thanks to the gift of... Blossom... Thorin would return to Gin's arms faster than he expected.

The sun would be up to soon. With a sigh, he rolled over, one ear tuned to unnatural sounds, the rest of his body wearily demanding sleep.



It was well past dark when Thorin arrived at the entrance of Tumunzahar. The doors should be shut, he actually expected to beat on the door to gain entrance, but instead, Thorin found them open, the way lit.

"Have you no sense?" he growled at the guard, as he trudged up the outer corridor. "I could be an orc, a goblin,"

"Or an old friend we have been watching for for days." Balin's voice rang clear through the night, the outline of his silhouette bold against the light. "As if we would lock you out, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Besides," Dwalin's voice came from behind him, "I've been shadowing you, watching yer back all day." The hearty dwarf clapped Blósma on the rump, causing her to snort. "An' a good thing, too."

"Orcs?"

"Thieves."

The two made their way into the mountain, the pony's steps picking up as she walked into the warm light. As soon as they were inside, the gates and great doors were shut, the sound echoing through the caverns. Thorin dismounted, gave orders to a young dwarf to take the pony to the stable, after he, Balin, and Dwalin removed his packs. "Why didn't you tell me you were following me?" Thorin made his way towards the cavern designated as his and Gin's. "We'd have walked together, passed the time." Balin joined them, quietly listening.

"Aye an' paid not so close attention t'theives on t'road." He slugged Thorin good naturedly on the arm. "How'd y'fare in Rohan?"

Thorin grinned. "Well enough. I would suggest any of our people who do not mind making horse shoes, horse tack, or swords, nonstop and daily, barter for work in their larger garrisons." With this, he pulled two large coin pouches from beneath his coat. "This was for one sword. Special for the Marshal's son." He nodded at his shoulder. "There are seven more just like it in the bottom of one bag, four in the other. Rohirrim are a generous, honest people."

Dwalin grinned. "An' their women?"

Thorin turned his back on his friend, winking at Balin, and smiling quietly. "I did not pay much attention."

Dwalin's hand clasped him on the shoulder. "Thorin, yer married, not dead."

"They are tall, like their men," Thorin softly admitted over his shoulder. "Very tall."

"Eh. They're all th' same height when yew lay 'em down," Dwalin guffawed. Now Thorin's shoulders were shaking with mirth. "But do they bake good cookies?"

"I have supped at the Marshal's table. Their fare is hearty enough." He stopped and turned to look at Balin, who had said nothing. "How fares the mountain?"

Now it was Balin's turn to smile. This Son of Durin was growing into a fine dwarf. The qualities Balin saw on the Battlefield of Azanulbizar, continued in his concern for his people. "Much of the cleanup from the flooding is complete." He dipped his head. "The miners are anxious to begin digging; see what lies down in the rock. Gloin found a large seam of iron last week. The main forge is ready to be fired up. We waited for you."

Thorin stopped. "Why did you wait for my return to fire up the forge? The sooner even one is lit, the sooner our people will return to their livelihood, their lives."

"Your father. The king wanted to wait for you," Balin whispered. "Truth be, had you not returned by the end of the week, we would have tried to light them, but he desired to wait, for you to be here." He tapped the saddlebags on Thorin's wide shoulders. "So, you have done well?"

"Well enough. Have the others returned?"

"Aye, you were the last."

Thorin kept moving, his aim - to get to his wife - clear. "Get them and their earnings together. We must purchase food, herbs, necessities for the winter. Animals. Until we get the forges working and can fully access the mines, we will have to purchase what we need. I hope we have enough." Continuing to move deeper into the mountain, he nodded to Dwalin. "How did you fare? Any caravans needing protection to their destination?"

"Aye. A group of us found good work. Several would like our services before the first snowfall. Good pay an' no, yew'll not join us!" The dwarf stuck a thick finger up before Thorin could say a word. "Yew've been gone from yer wife long enough and she needs yew."

Thorin's heart immediately stopped. "She is ill?" Gin had never truly recovered from her miscarriage when Smaug ransacked Erebor. Twice more, in their travels, she miscarried. Thorin vowed to not touch her, but she was having none of that. She refused the midwives herbal teas, remedies to keep her from becoming pregnant. The only argument he had had with her since their marriage was over the herbs and roots to prevent such from happening. She swore once she was settled, she would be fine. Traveling was not good for carrying a babe, regardless of how tough the dwarf was. Even the midwives and healers agreed with that logic. It was part of the reason why Thorin took work so far from home. Much better he soil the furs than lose his wife.

"Gin... is Gin." For the first time in ages, Balin weathered an angry Thorin stare. "Give me your packs and go to her. You can unpack tomorrow. She isn't dying and she hasn't wasted away." He did not tell his friend that she was still pale, still weak, still thin for a dwarf. Even a dwarf-lady.

Quickly the transfer was made and Thorin rushed off, making his way to his personal chambers. On his way, he took notice of the halls, the caverns. Much had been done in his absence, the dried mud, the dried seaweed. The Blue Mountains had been flooded by the sea during the War of Wrath in the end of the first age, killing many of the First Dwarves, the few survivors running to Khazad-Dûm. 'Funny,' Thorin thought to himself, 'the First Dwarves ran from the this home to begin anew and now we return, running from another home, to begin anew again. How many times will we be forced to begin anew? Run in circles?'

Soon Thorin was at his home, his chambers, the caverns set aside for him and his wife. He entered the main living area, to find her sitting in a chair, needlework in her lap, dozing lightly. He took the quiet moment to look at her, drink her in.

His Gin, his beautiful Gin, who was pale and too thin...

"Are you a dream to taunt me or has my husband returned home?"

Thorin held out his hand, lifting her from her chair and into his arms. "I have returned home to taunt you."

She kissed him once. "That sounds about right." She crinkled her nose. "You smell of man and smithy and..." her sniff was audible, "horses?"

Thorin shrugged as if this were an every day occurrence.

Gin was studying him, much as he studied her moments before. "You are tired and hungry, I can see it. Let's draw you a hot bath, I'll heat up some homemade stew," Thorin was now growling in pleasurable anticipation, "and we'll talk about your adventures and where the kingdom of Erid Luin stands. Aye, I have sat in the meetings next to Thráin and your mother. I am well versed as to what is going on. Go," she pushed him towards the bathing chambers. "Get out of those clothes and naked into the tub!"

"Are you sure bathing me is your only desire?" Thorin allowed her to push him towards the bath.

The chambers echoed with her laughter. "Not on your life! I have many desires; all which you will meet tonight, if you are not that tired."

With a whoosh, Thorin turned and lifted her over his shoulder. "Tired? I do not know the meaning of the word, wife," he lied.



Truth was, Thorin was exhausted and Gin knew it. As he leaned back in the wrought iron tub, the sigh he emitted was pained, worn out. He allowed her to sit behind him, take down tangled braids, and pull a boar's hair brush through it before washing it again and again. Thorin reveled in the feel of hot water drenching him, Gin's hands on him, his back, kneading tired muscles. He gloried in the gentleness of her touch as she caressed his neck, fingers wandering to his jaw line.

"When are you going to allow this to grow back?" Gin's fingers grazed his beard, the chin and jaw close clipped.

"Soon."

"How soon? Why do you trim it anyway?" Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but he heard her rise. "Oh, wait. The stew must be rolling by now." Closing his eyes, he could smell it; roasted meat with vegetables. He had not eaten well since he left Rohan. Thorin leaned back, sliding down further into the tub, his head back, hair, draping the outside of the tub. He heard her, the smell of the stew strong. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she scooted the stool to the side of the tub, before she settled into it, a large bowl in her hands. "Oh damn." Thorin's eyes widened at the rare usage of a curse word coming from his wife. "I forgot the eating knife!"

"Do not worry with it." He reached across and dipping his fingers into the hot food, picked up the first thing his fingers grasped - a chunk of meat, tender and malleable. It was sizzling and he put the meat and fingers quickly into his mouth, burning not only the digits, but his tongue as he inhaled and swallowed it whole.

Gin watched him with amusement while her husband hissed and sucked air, trying to cool his mouth down. She set the bowl on the floor. "Why don't we let that cool for a few moments." She reached across and took his face in her hands. "Why do you keep it trimmed? You are a prince and should have braids and carved runes and jewels woven in, chevrons of mithril and gold, befitting your station."

"I would have been beaten and robbed on my trip home had I had such in my beard."

"Thorin!"

He now stroked his wife's face, his own fingers fondling the braids at her jaw line. "You more than deserve sapphires that match your eyes for your beard."

"Balin found a horde of sapphires in one of the lower trenches last moon," she grinned, those eyes Thorin adored lighting up. "And you are changing the subject!" She turned and picked up the bowl, blowing across the top. Seeing it was still quite hot, she set it back down.

"I made a promise, Gin. I took an oath. You know that."

Eyes that had been sparkling in mirth a moment before were now dark. "Thorin. We have a home here in Ered Luin, here in Tumunzahar. There is talk of going up into Gabilgathol, seeing how far the tunnels between the two cities are still open." Her words were like water falling on stone. "Thorin! You have avenged your grandfather's death at too great a cost."

"The Pale Orc cut off-"

"Yes, I know your grandfather was beheaded and his death had to be avenged!" she interrupted. "And you avenged it! Thorin," her voice dropped into a hoarse whisper at his name. "At too great a cost. It is done! Let it be done!" She bit her tongue, almost telling him how relieved she had been when he had survived the Battle of Azanulbizar and thanked Mahal for taking his brother Frerin, rather than her husband. She looked down, squelching the desire to tell him how much she enjoyed his taking of her while still in a battle fury. Somehow... "I remember when we were small dwarflings, you would brag that one day, you would have a beard as thick and jewel-laden as Thrór's. It is time!"

"Megin," he began softly, "I will decide when it is time-"

"On occasion, your father is lost within himself and your mother worries!"

Thorin sat up, the sound of the water moving in the tub, loud in the room, his voice a low, if controlled thunder. "You complain about me changing the subject, when you interrupt me at every turn." He turned, leaning powerful arms on the side of the tub. He nodded towards the bowl in the floor. "I am newly home and I do not wish to argue or have any sort of disagreement with you. Perhaps next week we can have a rousing fight, if you wish, but not now." His eyes rose, the fire behind the two of them reflected in his irises. "Right now, I am hungry."

Gin recognized that look. "Really?"

"Really." He jutted his chin towards the bowl. "Feed me."

Slowly, so as not to spill any of the cooling stew, Gin leaned over, taking hold of the bowl. "Do you want me to feed you?"

"Aye."

"Hmmmm." Placing the bowl in her lap, Gin dipped her fingers in, grasping a large carrot. She allowed it to drip, turning it so the juices from the broth covered her fingers.

"Giiiiiinnnnnn..." It was a growl.

"Is my favorite dwarf hungry?" Her voice was a low croon.

"I'd best be your only dwarf," Thorin retorted, but not angrily. "Do you want your dress wet?"

Now the smolder that was in Thorin's eyes, was also in Gin's. "Not particularly. Why?"

"Take it off and join me." Again, he nudged towards the bowl. "Bring the food with you." He watched eagerly as she stood up and began to peel her clothing off. "Is there enough for two?"

"We'll find out." Her shoes and stockings were being kicked to the side and her dress went over her head. As she struggled with the ties over her face, Thorin took the moment to peruse her body.

Dwarf women, were short and stocky; built close to the ground, like their male counterparts, but Gin was thought to be petite, even by dwarven standards and Thorin was considered quite tall. Only one other dwarf came near him for height and that was Dwalin. Dwarves were also compactly built, thick with muscle and brawn and very agile.

But Gin was thin for a dwarf. She was fragile and while Thorin gazed upon the love of his life, he came to the conclusion that she was not taking in enough nourishment and that he best stay home this winter at least, and feed her. Dwalin was right. Elves might like their females thin and delicate, but a dwarf-

"You are looking at me as if I were a kvistr."

His eyes drew slowly up, heating her, inch by inch. "You are no elf-maid, thank Mahal. Feed me."

Grabbing the bowl, she stepped over the rim of the tub, mindful of her husband's body, which was so much wider and thicker than hers. As she settled on his thighs, she wiggled to make herself comfortable. "Get me with child and I will fatten up quickly."


Thorin was occupied, his attention on the bowl. He dipped in, found a chunk of meat with dripping fat. "I wish to speak to the healer first." He held the roast in front of her mouth. "Open up."

Realizing if she opened her mouth to speak, he would simply shove the food in, she did as he bid, enjoying the fare and licking the drippings from his fingers. "My turn." She then dipped her own fingers and fished out a large chunk of potato, relishing the feel of his teeth on the tips of her fingers. Thus they continued back and forth, nipping and sucking, sharing the meal, much like they had the day they truly married.

And when the last piece was removed and placed in Gin's mouth, Thorin set the bowl on the stool, kissed the juices from her lips and chin and thrust upwards, setting her firmly on him. In the steaming heat of the fire and the tub, his mouth found her ear, he nipped, teased along the edge of her beard. "I have missed you, wife." His hands moved down her back, his fingers confirming what his eyes told him; his wife was too thin, not as healthy as she would like to pretend. As he pressed onwards, glorying in her heat, his hands finding her hips, his fingers finding the cleft, digging in, finding her, finding them.

He waited, listened for her to come to the mountain peak, her fingers clinging to his shoulders, crying out in his ear. He waited hard within her as her cry tapered off, before pressing up, moving her hard against him and as he himself, reached his peak-

"THORIN! NO!"

- he lifted her up and off, spending himself in the bathwater, while his wife cried her frustration attempting to climb back on. He released her, cupping her with one hand, using the other to cover, press himself against his torso, feeling his own throbbing release.

He waited until his breathing returned to normal, became aware of her crying in frustration.

"Why?"

He set her back, hating himself for what he had done, but knowing deep down, it was for the best. As he lifted her up, he himself stood up, the cooling water now uncomfortable. With his foot he turned the knob, setting it to drain.

"Why?"

"Because," he picked her up and set her over. "Because I love you."

tbc

kvistr - twig