Here's a snippet of Jewels and Daggers between Thorin and Runa:

JEWELS AND DAGGERS - IN WHICH "NO" REALLY MEANS "YES"

"Where's my hammer?" Thorin asked slowly, head turning from side to side and glancing at the workbench.

"No idea…" The redhead murmured from her own workbench about twenty paces opposite of his. But he could see from the pull at the corner of her plush lips and the gleam in her eye— which could barely be seen through the wealth of curly red hair— that she knew exactly where it was.

"Runa," He grumbled. "I'm already behind; I don't have time for games today."

"Says the dwarf who forgot his leather apron." Her thick accent trilled.

Thorin rolled his eyes. It was true, he had forgotten his apron. "It was unintentional. I've been distracted lately."

"Distracted?" She smirked, turning to face him, one eyebrow raised and her lips puckered. "What on middle-earth could be occupying your mind?"

With his arms crossed, Thorin leaned his weight against the worktable and faced her, sighing, "I think you know exactly what I've been distracted with. Now, where's my hammer?"

In a rhythmic step, like a slow and bouncing dance, Runa stepped forward, grinning mischievously. "I think you forgot your apron on purpose."

"Runa, the hammer—?"

"I think," she said, inches away from his face, finger grazing his collarbone. "You were planning on distracting me by working shirtless with no apron."

Thorin's blood began to boil, partially in frustration and partially from their proximity with her fingers walking along his chest.

"The hammer, lass." He mumbled, and prayed to Mahal she didn't hear the waver in it.

"Oh, I'll be getting to the hammer soon enough," she said with a playful lick of her lips, causing the wide-eyed Thorin to question whether or not she was referring to the smithing tool.

But the approaching steps of loud boots in the hallway caused both of them to jump, startled. Slinking away to her own workbench, Runa straightened her skirts and brushed her hands together while Thorin let out uneasy breaths and tried not to pant.

"Good morning, students." The forgemaster said with the opening of the door. "Today we check the progress of your current projects, let's start with—" the forgemaster eyed Thorin with a raised brow. "Were you planning on working today, Prince Thorin?"

"I was—yes, I intended to—I seem to have—"

"Where's your apron?" The master glanced around the lad. "And furthermore, you seem to be missing some tools."

"Yes…" Thorin's jaw clenched. He glanced quickly at Runa, who was the image of innocence. "I'm sorry that I'm not well-prepared today."

The forgemaster nodded, a shrewd look on the dwarf's face. "And Runa, you do not appear to be prepared, either."

At this, Runa's eyebrows shot up and her mouth became the shape of an "o".

"You've neither tied back your hair nor trimmed your beard." The forgemaster shook his head in a scolding manner.

Runa ducked her head and held her hands together in front of her. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, forgemaster."

Thorin wanted to gag. He wondered just how much her sweet and blameless charade fooled anyone.

"I was busy helping my forge-partner find his things." She added musically.

You orc! Thorin glared at her.

"M-hm." The forgemaster nodded his head. "I'm sure you were at that. Let's make sure the activities in this forge are conducted with hammer and tong, and not with…" He eyed both of them, "Other things."

It was easy for Thorin to wash away his embarrassment when he took in the red hue appearing on Runa's cheeks. The lass had been caught and he knew now that the forgemaster believed her act as much as the Prince did.

"With that said, I'll leave you to it." And the old dwarf made for the door, slamming it noisily behind him.

At first the two looked at each other silently and then Runa puffed out an airy laugh, snorting and slapping her leg.

"How can you be laughing?" Thorin muttered under his breath, despite his grin, which was more brought on by her blasting giggles than the situation itself.

"Oh, come now!" She said, pulling herself upright and running a hand through her hair. Thorin wondered how she managed to comb her fingers through it without getting them hopelessly stuck in tangles. "I have seen you laugh all of a handful of times since we've met—wasn't any of that amusing to you?"

Runa turned back to her workbench, pulling up her sleeves and repeating to herself a chortled "hammer and tongs" before braiding the left portion of her beard back so that it ran along her jawline and went over her ear and into her hair.

Thorin found himself standing close beside her—he didn't remember walking over to her—and watching her braid the other portion of her beard along the other side of her jawline. She didn't seem to notice him and finished the beard braid so that it, too, went into her hair.

His rough fingers moved without his permission and gently collected her mane at the base of her skull, brushing through it and parting it into three sections.

She froze when she felt the skin of his thumb sweep along her neck as he caught escaping strands, looking to him to be holding her breath.

Only a few moments passed before he'd quickly braided her hair and was coming to the end of it. Runa's hair was long enough that when she turned to face him the action did not pull the braid from his hands.

Her expression was solemn, almost angry, as though he'd offended her and was deciding whether to forgive him or not, although she made no effort to stop him. She seemed to be asking him a question with her eyes, a question that seemed to inquire whether or not he knew what he was getting into.

Honestly, he didn't.

"I was… helping." Thorin defended himself against Runa's unspoken accusations, finishing the braid and dropping it to her shoulder.

"Hm." She replied and it tormented him that he could not read her mind. Runa grasped at the braid, analyzing it and nodding. "It's good work. I'm sure I couldn't have done better."

It was a compliment, but he knew that she was really saying, "Never do that again without my approval."

His hands folded together and he bit his lip, unsure what to do next.

Taking in his expecting expression, she put her hands on her hips and stood, almost defiantly in front of him. "Is there something you needed, Prince Thorin?"

Somehow, whenever she used his name and title it never sounded like a gesture of respect, but an insult. It would have made more sense if she spat it.

"Well, I am still waiting on my hammer." He grinned.

"Oh," Her hands flew to the shelf beneath her workbench. She held out the tool to Thorin but did not look up at him. "There you are."

A hesitant moment passed before he reached out to take it—he almost expected that she would grab it back at the last second and bash his head in with it. The lass looked very put off, but it only spurred Thorin to do what he did next.

He leaned forward, almost unaware of what he was doing, and sunk one hand behind her head and pressed his lips against hers, smelling her sweet scent and tasting what he thought was strawberries. They lingered a moment, mouths locked together, when she pulled back and struck him across the cheek.

"Ow." He said after his head turned sideways with a cracking sound. He'd been hit before, weapons instructors took no pity on him as a Prince, but the snap of her strong hand against his cheek hurt worse than he would have thought. Then again, she was learning to be a blacksmith and one of the requirements was being able to lift so many stoneweights…

"What. Was. That." She said each syllable as though they were poison.

"Your charms working their magic." Thorin muttered bitterly. "Before the forgemaster came you were very—"

"That was a game," She said, wiping her mouth as though he'd left a sour aftertaste. Mahal, he hoped he hadn't. Not that it mattered. But it did. But it didn't. Mahal, what was he thinking?

"And you play it with a Prince?" He asked incredulously. "You have already accused me of being too serious—did you not understand how I might react when you make me feel..."

"What do I make you feel, Thorin?" She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg and raising an eyebrow. As silly as it might have seemed to anyone else, Thorin noted with encouragement that this was the first time she had said his name without disgust. Something didn't feel right, though—aside from the unexpected kiss and her reaction—and he knew there was more to it than just his attraction to her or hers to him.

Thorin mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at her with a knowing smile. "I think the better question is: What do I make you feel, Runa?"

She rolled her eyes at him and snorted.

So lady-like, Thorin laughed in his head. "Why are you afraid of me?"

Jabbing a sharp finger at his chest, Runa stepped forward and sneered. "I am not afraid of you."

Thorin held his hands up in surrender. "No, you're right, you're not afraid of me. But you are afraid of something."

Turning and sighing in exasperation, she began assembling various tools. The Prince noted that one of them was upside down and almost grinned when he realized she was just as frazzled as he was, though she was better at hiding it.

Leaning against her workbench, he stood close enough to watch her face while he pondered the puzzle in front of him. "Runa, I'm going to say something foolish."

"Ha!" She continued to move about, collecting tools—some necessary, some not—and arranging them in a haphazard manner. "That's perhaps the wisest thing you've said so far."

He let the remark pass and continued, "Runa, I want you."

She paused, glancing at him with an amused expression, and then realized she had gathered tools that were not needed and began to put them away.

"And I know you want me." He pressed. "But you don't want to be with me. Why is that?"

For a moment the dwarf lass looked as though she might say something cocky, brushing his admission away as though it didn't matter… but then her tools fell to the workbench and her expression fell with them.

"I'm a lord's daughter," She said as though irritated that she was giving obvious information, "and I have to follow a certain decorum, but I have a lot more liberty than most. If I…" but then she cut herself off and brushed past him angrily, letting out a huff.

It was enough, though. Enough for Thorin to understand. He was the heir of Erebor, direct descendent from the line of Durin, and whomever it was that married him would take on responsibilities as Queen of Erebor—the honor, the elevation, the praise, the glory… but also the restrictions, the high expectations, the stifling courtly procedures…

And none of those were very attractive to any dwarf lass, let alone the beautiful, wild creature standing before Thorin in this forge. As much as he hated agreeing with Runa, the future she must be visualizing with him would kill her spirit. But he wasn't so sure her fears were founded, that what she dreaded would actually come to pass. Still, he needed a moment to think...

"I understand." He said, not a little dejection in his voice. He lumbered back to his workbench and brought out the tools he needed to finish his metalwork.

Thorin wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe Runa's eyes followed him as he walked away. If they did, he wouldn't embarrass her further by turning his head to check.

He removed his tunic and set it in a cabinet, reaching beneath the stove beside the bench and stoking the fire. Tell me your secrets, fire, Thorin mused. Tell me how to make this lass change her mind…

"I was only joking, before," He heard her speak from her own stove. "You don't have to work shirtless."

"Aye," he grinned. "But I have other things to do after I'm done here; it wouldn't do for the Prince of Erebor to be walking around with burns in his tunic."

Standing and reaching for his lost-and-found hammer, he heard an exhale of a sigh behind him, but Thorin wasn't sure whether to attribute it to her impatience with him or the alternative… she liked seeing him shirtless.

"Where are my tongs?" Runa's voice broke the silence. Thorin finally turned to see her standing with hands on her hips. "Thorin?"

Turnabout's fair play, he thought with a grin. "Yes, lady Runa?" He knew she hated it when he called her by her title.

She said nothing, but strode over to his bench and started rummaging through the cabinets.

Thorin stood perfectly still, arms crossed in front of his chest and head swiveling to watch her scour through his shelves. He wore the same mischievous grin now that Runa had worn only moments before.

"You think that's funny, then, Son of Durin?" She tried to push him aside, but he stood planted where he was, entertained by her effort to disrupt his footing. Runa immediately took her hands off of him, though, when her eyes fastened to his chest, seemingly absorbing his muscled stature.

"And not a few breaths ago did you accuse me of being too somber."

"Stop," she muttered with eyes clamped shut and fists clenched tight.

"And then days ago I remember you saying something about my never having—"

Snap! There it was again, that sound of her strong hand coming into contact with his cheek, only this time opposite one.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," She grumbled. "Just tell me where my tongs are. It's as easy as that."

Still somewhat reeling from the blow he'd received, he shook his head and faced her boldly.

"No." came his simple answer.

Runa made as if to strike him again, but the action was not whole-hearted and Thorin grabbed her wrist, showing her that as strong as she might think she was, he was stronger.

"It was only in jest. Let it go." He said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

"A jest to you, maybe," She growled, trying to pull back her hand. Thorin held tight. "Unhand me."

"No." Thorin said again in a gentle tone. She struggled a little against his grip.

"You tempt me, don't you understand that?" She murmured with her head bowed. "Can't you just accept that we can be nothing more than companions and forge-partners?"

"No." He said truthfully.

"Thorin," She spoke his name in a reverence he'd never heard before, as though Runa was pleading with him. "Please. You have a power over me and it frightens me."

He was startled by the admission, but did not release her wrist, though he felt it loosen in his grip.

"I never expected to hear you say something like that."

"It's true," she shrugged, meeting his eyes for a moment and then looking away. "You would have figured it out sooner or later. I might as well declare it and hope you take pity on me. Will you please let me go?"

"No." He repeated. Secretly, it pleased him that a simple hold on her hand caused her to be polite with him. Just that was evidence enough that she was being honest about his "power over her". Thorin really didn't understand it, didn't know what to do with it, but the wheels in his head started turning after a moment.

"Runa, you're going to have to figure out what you really want from me." The Prince said in as sweet a voice as he could muster. His other hand came to rest on the knuckles of the arm he was latched on to, smoothing over her veins with his fingers lightly. The touch seemed to conflict the dwarven lady even more and she pulled back from it at first, looking at him as though she regretted her previous confession, but then shutting her eyes and sighing.

"Do you really think I would let them confine you?" He brought up the captured hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Do you really believe that any of the advisors or ministers has any say in what the Queen pleases to do?"

Now it was Runa's turn to say "no".

"Would I ask you to stop working in a forge, stop you from doing what makes you happy?"

"No."

"And what kind of a King would submit to the wishes of his people before his wife's?"

"You will always put your people before me." She said imperiously, eyes fierce with determination. It was not an accusation, not something said out of bitterness, but a command. "When you are King and you are faced with difficult choices, you do not have my permission to put your Queen ahead of your charge."

Thorin wanted to grin, wanted to point out that she'd referred to herself as Queen, wanted to revel in the fact that there was hope for them… but she had spoken sagely and he could not ignore the authoritative tone that impressed him into believing she was the only lass worthy of being his wife.

Now he was certain. Now he had no fear. Now he released her hand and bent his head to kiss her again, this time being met with enthusiasm.

He burrowed his hand behind her head again, under her hairline. His other hand looped around her waist while both of her hands came up to tangle in his own long locks. Thorin felt her fingers stroking through his hair, grasping and sliding down the braids behind his ears, sending a pleasant icy sensation to his scalp.

"If there's nothing else to be concerned with, will you stop being stubborn and consent to be the future Queen of Erebor?" His lips lingered on her neck, hoping that she wouldn't come to her senses too soon and refuse him.

"No." She murmured weakly against his kisses.

Pulling away from her neck, he peered into her face with confusion.

"I don't care if you're a Prince, I'm the lass," She jutted a thumb at herself. "And I do the choosing around here, eh?"

I'm secretly casting Merida from Brave as Runa in my head-cannon.

Read the story here - s/10670728/1/Jewels-and-Daggers