Heart of Embers (Thorin Oakenshield Love Story)

Chapter 12

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.