A/N: Thank you, oh glorious Dopamine07, for this idea! You are a genius! Once you asked about another woman being interested in our Grumpy and coming at him, this fic exploded in my head :D I had four chapters in my head immediately, and here is the first one :D One woman per chapter! Some more might happen :)

A/N#2: For time reference for this chapter use "Thorin's Morning After", somewhere between Chapter 7 and 8.

"My King?" She has a melodic voice, and the smell of her perfume hits your nose. You turn around and survey her. An elegant opulent attire, apparently according to the latest fashion, all this golden embroidery on the top, heavy copper strands in braids around her head. Her cheeks are flushed, from boldness of approaching you no doubt, but also probably from all the wine she was sipping through dinner.

"Lady Irsa," you nod and try to walk around her, but she makes a step in front of you, and you have to halt. She exhales sharply and makes a step ahead, his small hand lying on your chest. You frown, such a strange liberty from such a proper noble lady. She straightens up and looks directly into your eyes. She is definitely more daring from the wine but the determination and certainty seem to be coming from the heart.

"My King, I will be direct," she has dignified air around her, features noble, proud lines of thick dark brows, strong line of her mouth, "Everyone says you are not seeking amity or marriage," your brows jump up, "but I decided to make my desire for you known." You have no words. Your jaw might be slacking. Such boldness!

"You knew my father, you know my family. I possess all virtues required from the Queen, and I will be a good wife for you." Her hand is still on your chest. Her face is calm and proud, but you notice her taking short shallow breaths in. It makes you feel a little bit less of a fool. You are so flabbergasted that you still have not said a word.

"There are rumours, my King..." She wrinkles her prominent nose to show that she condemns gossip, "And you have never shown any inclination to enter a marriage. So, I decided to be blunt. While others might hope for a change in your attitude, I think you need encouragement to consider the possibilities in front of you. But firstly, is there another?"

You swallow with difficulty. Your mind is suddenly flooded with the images of another hand on your chest, small and slender, and another copper mane, in a demure braid going around the back of the head, small stubborn runaways curls on her delicate neck, and then your memory goes on a full frontal assault on your senses, and you remember the shoulders, the breasts, the taste of the skin and the soft little moans.

"There is not another who wants to be my Queen, Lady Irsa," your voice is thick, and she lifts her eyes at you, previously having lowered them. Even for such a self-assured and sought-after woman, such speech was not easy to make. You see light of hope in her eyes and decide to be kind. "Neither am I looking for one. But I thank you for your honesty and I would like you to know I am flattered."

And then the poised facade wavers, and some dangerous fire lights up in her eyes. "My King, you have no doubt spent your life caring for your people and ensuring its prosperity and peace," if she is trying to flatter you, she is succeeding, "And perhaps you have not even considered it, but a man cannot be alone all his life. You are an able-bodied and robust man, you will enjoy marriage and will soon father heirs for the throne of Durin." Her cheeks are furiously burning but she tries to keep her chin proudly lifted and her shoulders square.

You take a moment to ensure that you understand her right. Judging by the shaking hands and blush spreading down her cleavage, you do. You know your mind and your answer, but as a mental exercise you decide to imagine the prospect she is offering. Wedding a daughter of an old respected Dwarven family, bedding her, conceiving healthy strong sons, being the King your people desires and would be proud of…

The temptation does not come. You look into her dark brown eyes, and all your can see are strange ember irises, slanted eyes, long lashes and freckles peppering a narrow turn-up nose, delicate collar bones and a frail slender body, full red mouth, perpetually turned up corners of strange curved lips, surprisingly strong small hands, and the overpowering fire burning in the eyes of the slight sarcastic healer from Dale.

You sigh and bow to the Dwarven maiden standing in front of you. "Forgive me, Lady Irsa, but my answer is no. As honoured as I am with your proposal..." That seems to push her patience to the limit, and she makes a scornful noise. Your brows hike up. Is she forgetting that you are the King? Her face is exasperated, and she lifts her hand haltering you. "Do not continue, my King. Let us not make it more awkward for either of us." She turns on her heels and starts walking away. You think you hear words "stuffy" and "bore" among her mumbling, and you chuckle.

The voice of the healer from Dale sounds in your head, Cantankerous, conceited, self-assured Dwarf! If only she knew, perhaps she would be more docile and obedient. You have just been propositioned and offered abundant marital carnal pleasures. And then you shake your head and will your thought to return to state matters. There is no sense to linger on the incident. There are sixty two days left till the Autumnal Equinox.