The clash of weapons rang from behind the closed door as Arien shoved her hair out of her face. After the treasury, Dis had shown her the smithy, where the dwarves made their armour and weapons, the mines, the forges and the armoury. The last room had been magnificent, the weapons and armour gleaming. Now Arien was stood outside the training room, where the dwarves, as the title suggested, trained. Dis had been called away by her father before she could actually show it to Arien, so she'd just told her to go explore by herself. And to test out some of the weapons. She was slightly apprehensive, considering she had no idea how skilled the dwarves were, and how she would match up to them. But she pushed open the heavy stone door and found that, to her surprise, there was Thorin, sparring with Dwalin.

And he was bare-chested.

He wasn't the only one. Some of the other dwarves were topless too, but... She tried to ignore the fact that compared to the other dwarves, his body –– shit, his body –– was... was magnificent. His chest wasn't tan exactly, but riveted with muscle, honed by training and the battlefield. His skin was peppered with scars, big and little –– and he seemed to wear them like some men wore their best suits. Arien couldn't help watching, slightly transfixed, as a bead of sweat trickled down through the spattering of dark hair on his chest and wound its way down the muscles on his torso. No better than the other dwarf women ogling at him, she told herself. She wondered if they had come here only to do that. And if Thorin was currently contemplating the deaths of every dwarf staring at him. She didn't blame him.

She forced herself to turn away from him and make her way to where weapons were set on the ground. She picked up a bow and quiver of arrows, having no desire to spar against a complete stranger. The bow of the dwarves was shorter and stiffer than what she was used to, but it suited her size far better. Arien gave herself a couple of shots to get used to it, then set herself up at the target.

Draw, aim, inhale, exhale, release.

The arrow leaped from the bowstring, spinning relentlessly, a sliver of winged darkness edged with steel. The thud as it hit the target echoed around the room, but not one dwarf paused. Apparently, it wasn't that rare for the arrow to land bang in the middle of the target.

Arien loaded another arrow, aimed and fired. The wood of the first split all the way down the centre as the tip of the second hit it. Arien nearly growled when no one seemed to notice, though she honestly had no idea why she was getting so annoyed.

"That's very impressive, but there's no need to show off," said a deep voice behind her.

Arien turned, a jolt going through her as she saw Thorin standing so near her with that sculpted chest.

"What do you want?" she asked as she unslung the quiver and propped it and the bow against the target.

"To spar with you," he answered, sweat still gleaming on his skin.

"I don't have a sword," she said, even as she thought just how pathetic she'd be against him.

Thorin wordlessly chucked her a short sword, which she caught by the hilt. It was surprisingly heavy. He gave her a nod of approval and inclined his head towards the sparring ring.

He turned to walk to it, and Arien made to follow him.

And froze when she saw it.

The freshly healed cut that ran from his shoulder to his hip. A whip mark. Deep enough that it looked like it had been laid into again and again. Tearing flesh to the bone.

Three blows, Dis had said. Three blows in punishment for what he'd done for her. She hadn't said it had been with a whip.

Arien put a hand over her mouth.

He'd endured that, borne the pain of it, for her. And he hadn't once complained about it.

"Thorin..." she whispered.

He turned. Saw her expression. Where her eyes had been.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I am so..."

He was right in front of her in an instant, his eyes searching her face.

"Don't," he said. "Don't apologize. It was in no way your fault."

He was so close to her, his body almost touching hers, and she felt her breathing pick up, she was...

"If you want," she said. "I could help it heal faster. If... if that's what you need."

He shook his head, taking a step away from her.

"No," he said. "It will heal fast enough on its own."

She swallowed her objection –– after all, he was a Prince –– and nodded at the ring.

"Shall we, then?"

He gave her a hint of a smile and stepped up onto the sand, extending a hand to help her up after him. Part of her was tempted not to take it –– she could get up there just fine by herself –– but she swallowed her pride and gripped it, letting him haul her up.

He moved to the other side of the ring, flipping his sword as they began to circle each other. Arien wondered what the hell she'd been thinking. He'd obliterate her in ten seconds, with the way he prowled around her, that warrior's gaze watching, assessing how she moved, shifted her weight. And hard as she tried, she could spot no weakness, nothing she could use against him, save perhaps speed. And trickery.

So she moved.

Feinting to the left, wishing she'd had time to get used to the heaviness of her blade, Arien thrust the sword at him. Right toward that bare chest and the heart that beat beneath it.

But Thorin moved backwards, deflecting her blade and sweep-kicking her legs out from underneath her. She landed with a grunt face first on the sand.

Thorin stood back to let her get up. Arien winced at the sand grains now embedded in her skin as she picked up her sword.

"Patience," Thorin told her. "Or the lack of it, is often what determines a fight."

She snarled. "Maybe you should take a leaf out of your own book and shut up."

Thorin only smirked. "Maybe we should try again."

She growled, but took a step back. But this time she took his advice and waited for him to attack.

And when he did, when he slashed his sword towards her with uncanny speed, Arien was able to dodge it, to twirl out of the way and try to slam her blade down on his shoulder. But he met it with his own, and though she was able to dodge the next blow he tried to land with his sword, she was unable to avoid him when he gripped her wrist and spun her round, moving so fast she could hardly see, and pulled her against him, his forearm encircling her chest.

"Better," he whispered in her ear, his breath a warm push of air against her skin. "But you still lack discipline."

His arm crushed her against his chest, and she could feel it –– the steady beat of his heart against her skin. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his body was warm and solid...

Arien struggled to control her breathing, struggled to keep her heart at its normal rhythm as she felt Thorin's black hair spill around her shoulders, felt the hard muscle of his torso pressed against her back.

Thorin released her and she stepped away, bending to pick up her sword from where it had fallen to the ground by his feet. And when she turned to face him, those dead eyes were bright. Were glowing with something like need. Pinning her with a stare so intense she almost took a step back.

"You look a bit worse for wear."

Arien started in surprise as Dis came up behind her.

"Did my brother beat you up?"

Thorin's face relaxed into a smile as Arien realised they'd been so lost in each other's gazes they hadn't heard Dis's approach.

"What did Father want with you?" Thorin asked. For a heartbeat Arien wondered how he knew, but she supposed Thrain had told him at some point.

"Oh, just to ask me a couple of questions," Dis said airily. She looked down, and Arien thought it might have been the first time she hadn't met someone's gaze. "Thorin, I... There's something I have to tell you."

"What?" Thorin approached her and gripped her shoulder. "What is it, Dis?"

"It's just... Thorin, I'm pregnant."