A Willing Heart

Twenty-Five: The Hunt, Part 1

"Pull it taut."

"I know how to do this, Thorin."

"Have you got it in sight?"

"Yes!" I whispered, seething now. "Now be quiet or we're going to scare it."

"Scaring it is the least of our worries," Dwalin said from behind us. "This isn't time for an archery lesson, Thorin. We need to get back. It's getting dark."

"I've done this before," I whispered. "Jürgen -"

But I didn't have time to finish what I wanted to say. The boar reared its head, its nostrils flaring and suddenly it charged. It was fast, faster than any of us had anticipated. It thundered towards us and though I heard Thorin shout for the three of us to run, my feet were rooted to the ground. I could not move now, I thought. And I wasn't about to.

I released the bowstring, drew my hand farther back as relaxed as Jürgen had tried to teach me every time, my fingers touching the neck of one of the five remaining arrows nestled inside the quiver behind me and pulled out another one. Without thinking I nocked the second arrow, pulled the string back and released, each time drawing my hand back, my fingers reaching for another arrow from the quiver on my back till there were none left.

But Dwalin was right. This was no time for an archery lesson. I knew enough about shooting arrows as it was. Avoiding an enraged boar, however, was something Jürgen hadn't had time to teach me.  But what could he have taught me that one's mind, recognizing danger, already did not know?   From here on, all I needed to do, had to so, was run.

Even with arrows sticking from its flank, the boar continued to charge. It was not slowing down and I turned to run, wishing I had acted sooner.

Whether the boar reached me or I moved away just in time I couldn't tell. The ground came rushing before my eyes.  And as blackness came, the only thing I could think of was how I would have been safer had I stayed back at the camp.

~~~

As always every morning for the last two weeks since we'd left Fennhill, I awoke snuggled in Thorin's arms. He'd lie behind me, one strong arm cradling my neck and the other draped over me. I never could tell when he would join me inside the little tent we'd set up as soon as we all stopped for the night. But after spending a few hours with Frerin or Dwalin as they kept watch over the camp, Thorin would crawl in and nestle himself behind me, draping his coat over both of us before falling asleep.

I loved the feel of his broad chest against my back, the way his breath ruffled my hair, and the weight of his arm over my waist. A few times in the night, when I'd move too far away from him, Thorin would him pull me back against him and he'd bury his face in my hair, his breath warming my neck.

"Never leave me," he'd say, sometimes in his sleep. "Promise."

"I promise," I'd say right back and his arms would tighten around me and I'd forget that we were nothing now but wanderers without a home, traveling down the Rhovanion, skirting along the edge of the forest south wards, and learning to sleep wherever we could. We'd gotten so proficient with setting up and breaking down the camp that it had become a game even for the children like Kili and Fili.

Most of all, they loved helping in setting up the tents, pulling the ropes taut the best they could even though their short little legs left the ground as they hung on to the ropes as the dwarf men pulled them taut, laughing as the tents went up like magic in their eyes. Everyone did their share.  Women got the fires going, readying everything for whatever meal was about to be cooked, water to be heated for tea, and if we planned on staying more than one night, some of them kneaded and shaped dough, covering the oval balls in ash and then burying them in the ground before covering them with a clay lid so in a few hours' time, we had freshly baked bread.  The men scouted the area, securing the perimeter while others gathered firewood and water in a nearby spring.

It was during these times that Thorin, Frerin and Dwalin would leave camp to hunt, returning home before dark with whatever game they caught. Deer one day, wild boar the next. There would be much feasting and laughter then, and even the king would curl the corners of his mouth upwards in a smile, though his eyes longed for the glory of Erebor. Always.

The days spent at camp were always busy. There was always something to do. And for Thorin, when the madness descended upon his grandfather, he and his father Prince Thrain would keep to themselves in the king's tent, hoping the madness would pass. It was during this time that I made a cup of tea from one of Inge's herbs, handed it to Thorin and begged him to let the king drink from it.

"It will calm him," I said. Or at least that's what Inge wrote among the notes she'd passed on to me, handed over by Jürgen himself. I remembered the look of anger on Thorin's face, his wish that I'd leave them alone though he grabbed my hand before I turned away, pulling me around to face him.

"Thank you, " he said softly and let go, disappearing back into the tent, staying till he was certain the king was finally asleep.

That night, as Thorin crawled into our little tent and settled himself behind me, I rolled over to face him and hold him, feeling his body soften. As I caressed his face, I knew it was but a brief escape from the world outside of our little private world, a place where Thorin sound show me how he truly felt.  He was tired, and not just in body. His heart was weary, almost broken by the trials laid bare before him. Yet Thorin knew he had to remain strong, if only to convince himself that he was as strong a leader as his grandfather had been, though the fear of the king's madness haunted Thorin from behind his blue eyes.

"How I wish I could take you home, lukhudel," he said.  "You deserve so much more than this."

But I am home, I wanted to tell him.  I held Thorin instead, kissing his lips gently as I ran my fingers through his hair, knowing he was too troubled to do any more that moment than tell me to go back to sleep. And when he did murmur in my ear, urging me to go back to sleep, I felt his arm against my body grow heavy as sleep claimed him, and soon, myself as well.

But this morning I felt Thorin stir, his arm tightening around me, his fingers slipping between the layers of my tunic till he found what he sought. His hand cupped my breast, squeezing it as I ground my hips against him, awakened by his burgeoning desire for me. His breath was hot against my neck and I shivered in anticipation as his other arm, the one cradling my neck, bent at the elbow, turning my head towards him. My lips met his and I moaned.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips claiming me hungrily.  It was still early, the sun barely having risen in the horizon but I knew that most of the camp had begun to wake.  Yet the need in him was great, as was mine.  I tried to turn towards him but he held me in place, his hand moving down to unbutton my tunic all the way down, his hand pulling my chemise up above my hips.

When his mouth left mine, I muffled my moan against his forearm for his hand had found the molten heat of my sex, his fingers dipping into the wetness he found there.  I wanted him, there was no denying it.  And as I ground my hips back against him, Thorin stifled a groan as he buried his face against my neck.

"I want you," he whispered, finally turning me around to face him and this time, we devoured each other hungrily, the unspoken need for one another taking over despite reason telling us that though we had chosen a secluded section of the camp, we were still surrounded by dwarves who could hear us.  But did it really matter?

Thorin sucked on my neck, the feel of his tongue against my skin causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin as I arched my back against him.   Mornings like this I reveled at his passion for me, when I could see with my own eyes the hunger in his.

"Thorin, please," I breathed, welcoming the weight of him over me as he claimed my lips again, his tongue tasting me, slipping between my teeth but I caught him and sucked hard.

But our moment together wasn't meant to be.  Someone raged in the distance and Thorin's body stiffened over me.  The king.  He did not even have to say it.  He pulled away and exhaled, cursing under his breath.  He rolled over onto his back, groaning.

For a few moments we did not speak.  I buttoned my tunic and smoothened my chemise.  We were both breathing hard, the moment now gone, replaced by a palpable frustration that seemed to linger over us and between us.

"Go," I whispered. "He needs you."

"No, he doesn't," Thorin breathed. "He needs Erebor.  He needs his gold back."

I sat up and began smoothing my hair, braiding sections along the temples so I could pull it away from my face.  Thorin brought his hand up along my back, and I closed my eyes as he ran his fingers up and down my spine.  "And what do you need, Thorin?" I asked.  "Do you need Erebor and its gold, too?"

He sat up and drew me close, his mouth planting a kiss along my shoulder.  "You know what I need, Frigga," he whispered, his blue eyes boring into mine as I gazed at him, as if transfixed by his words.  "You know what I want."

The king's voice raged again and this time, Thorin called out the name of the gods, buckling his belt and reaching for his boots outside the tent and pulling them on.  I could only guess how long he'd stay with grandfather, doing his best to hide the king's madness from everyone else.  By the time he left the tent, I was ready to start the day as well.

There was no point going back to sleep when the whole camp had awoken from the king's ranting over Smaug's attack and his hoarded gold.  The dwarves went about their chores as if nothing was happening, some preparing breakfast while others walking towards the nearby creek to fill the water jars and bladders, collecting more firewood and gathering berries that they found scattered along the path, their sturdy boots protecting them from the thorns.

When Thorin found me again, it was late morning and I was practicing shooting arrows at a tree far from camp.  Besides the sword he forged for me, the bow and a quiver of arrows had been one of the things Jürgen had left for me the last day he came to Fennhill.  He'd taught me how to use it before, crafting a bow that was almost as tall as I was though it was of normal size to someone like him.  It had been difficult to wield in the beginning, but after much practice, even I had to admit that I was getting slightly better.  My aim may have needed help, and I still hardly relaxed my drawing hand when I let go of the string, but I was still better that I was when we started.

"Dwalin and I are going hunting," Thorin said as he pulled the arrows from the soft bark of the tree.  I didn't have much arrows to spare, and hated having to practice on hard woods, hence finding a young tree of soft wood had been a blessing.

"Can I come along?" I asked and Thorin looked at me, surprised.  "If you're hunting, I'd like to come along.  Jürgen taught me how to hunt."

"Hunting is not for a woman," Thorin said slowly.  He slipped my arrows back into the quiver along my back, his face close to my neck.  "It's best if you stay here, Frigga.  It's safer."

"I don't think safety was my concern," I said, feeling annoyed.  "I was thinking more along the line of hunting actual game, instead of shooting arrows at trees."

"And what if I say no?"

"Then I'll follow you," I said.  "Or I'm going to go off hunting by myself."

Thorin grabbed my arm, forcing me to look at him.  "You know how I feel about you going off alone by yourself, Frigga," he said through gritted teeth.  "Do not go against my wishes, woman."

"And I wish you'd at least listen to what I want," I said, aware that his hand still gripped my arm.  "I want to spend time with you, Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror.  I want to do things with you other than whatever it is we do together when we're on the road, which is hardly anything.  When you're not working as a smith in town, you're too worried about your grandfather to see me and be with me.

"What are you saying?" Thorin asked, anger flashing on his face.  "I do everything I can to fulfill my duties to my people and you."

"Not until we sleep do you see me, feel me," I whispered, not wanting Dwalin to hear me.  "But I want to be with you while I'm wide awake.  I just want to be with you."

Thorin stared at me and did not speak for a few moments.  He frowned.  We'd been traveling for two months, Fennhill nothing more than a memory.  The trek down the Rhovannion had not been easy, and our supplies were dwindling.  Were it not for the stream of clear water along the edge of the forest and a steady supply of deer and wild boar that roamed the southern part of the forest, the people loyal to King Thror of Erebor would have starved out in the wilderness.   And already, a few more of them had decided to settle in the last two towns we had stopped at, though only the men went to town to work while the rest of us set up camp outside the town.

"Is that how you've been feeling all this time?" Thorin asked.  “Is all that I do to keep you safe not enough to show you that I do see you — every day?”

I looked away from him, ashamed of my boldness.  Thorin did his best to take care of me, just as he took care of his father and his grandfather, and his nephews.  He was there for everyone but himself, and the only time he came to me was after a long hard day when he had nothing left to spare for me but a kiss and the warmth of his body against my back as he held me close to him through the night.   I should be grateful, I thought.

"Have I really been ignoring you, lukhudel?" He asked, pushing a braid that had come loose along the side of my face.

How could I tell Thorin that all I wanted was to see him free from his responsibilities for even a short while, not when we were making hurried love under a flimsy tent in the middle of the camp or stealing kisses under the starry sky, while Thorin would tell Kili and Fili the story of how Dis, their mother, watched over them from among the stars each night and kissed them all a good-night?  And if it meant that I had to watch him hunt with Dwalin, the one dwarf with whom Thorin always let down his guard with, then so be it.

"I only want to see you happy," I said, sighing.  "But if me staying behind at the camp while you hunt will make you happy, then I will."

~~~

That was hours ago, when the sun hung high above us and the land was filled with light, when Thorin went against his own intuition and acquiesced to my wish of coming along.  Maybe we wouldn't find anything, he reasoned to Dwalin who protested the moment he realized I was joining them.  Besides, Thorin added, hadn't they'd gone hunting the day before and had brought back the carcass of a young buck? 

"Surely there are still a few things we can teach young Frigga, Dwalin," Thorin smiled even as Dwalin scowled at his good friend.  "For we dwarves hunt differently from men like Master Jürgen."

Now the sun was slowly fading and as I opened my eyes, I knew Dwalin was right.  It was a mistake to take me along.  And now, we had to hurry for darkness was approaching.  And worse, I'd managed to put myself in front of a charging wild boar, too stubborn to move when I was told to move, and too arrogant to believe I could hunt as good, if not better than, both of them. 

In trying to avoid the boar, I had turned away from the direction Thorin had ordered us to go, forgetting that we were atop a slope.  And as I forced myself to wake, I found myself looking up at Thorin and Dwalin rushing down towards me.  Something foul stank so close to my face, steam clouding the space in front of me.  The coppery smell of blood hit my nose as the creature moved, grunting.   I groaned, too stunned to move yet my mind was screaming for me to get up and run for danger was so close. 

The boar! Suddenly I was sitting up, pulling myself away from the boar that was lying on its side, Arrows stuck from its flank.  Four had hit their mark.  Two had not.

Blood poured from one of its wounds, but it was not dead.  It was far from it.  The boar pulled itself upright, its breath clouding the air in front of its snout and its sharp tusks.  I held my breath as its muscles grew taut and it struggled towards me, its head down and its tusks ready.  I tried to pull myself up but couldn't.  I looked down at my legs, fearing the boar had gored me after all and I had lost use of them. 

But my leg was caught, trapped between the twisting roots of tree that had stopped me from rolling down off a steep embankment.  I lay between the tree and the boar - the same wounded boar now raging with pain, its snout steaming with its breath as it lowered its head to point its sharp tusks towards me.  It was wounded but it was not done with its vengeance just yet. 

I stared at the boar as it struggled to keep itself upright, seeing the muscles beneath its bristles ripple as it moved.  I began to unlace the leather straps from my boot, hoping it would loosen enough so I could pull my foot out, but my fingers were too clumsy.  I was shaking too much.

Suddenly as if it had collected whatever strength it had left, the boar reared back.  And then it charged.