Chapter Text
Sigrid was no stranger to seeing men without their shirts on. Many times during the summer months, mature men and young men around Sigrid’s age would often shed their shirts to keep cool as they worked. It was no different now as dwarves and men alike were working on restoring Dale, or even when they would visit Erebor and saw them doing the same there.
However, the first time Sigrid saw Fíli, heir to the King under the Mountain, without his shirt on as he worked alongside his brother and other members from Thorin’s company, she felt her blood thrum in such a way that she had only read about in her romance stories she kept hidden in her room. She couldn’t help but stare at the muscles shifting beneath flesh as he moved large rocks, or swung a pick axe during rebuilding.
It was Tauriel who caught her staring, and she had flushed almost as red as the elf’s hair. She had murmured something about needing to head back to the estate that was now her home, hiding away whenever she could. She tried to get the visual out of her head of Fíli half-naked. She soon started to wonder what he would look like without his trousers as well, especially when she had brought drinks to those working and had seen him bending to lift a heavy object and she saw how the fabric stretched across his backside.
Sigrid made herself scarce very quickly when her thoughts started going in a direction she knew they shouldn’t. She didn’t know what she was feeling beyond lust, but she certainly was feeling something. She had to be stupid to think she should feel *anything* for the dwarf heir. They were from two different races, two different lives. What could she ever offer the dwarf?
It didn’t stop her from taking a blanket late one evening when she heard his brother saying Fíli had fallen asleep on the soft grass near one of the walls they had been working on. Kíli had sounded amused, as if it was pretty common.
Sigrid snuck out with a light blanket, making her way towards the wall she knew they had been working on. She thought maybe she had the wrong one, until she saw Fíli’s blonde head lying on the grass. The rising moon was shining down and glistened off his skin. Sigrid bit her lip before draping the blanket over Fíli as gently as she could. She pulled back, staring at him a moment, before turning to go.
Her name on his lips made her pause. “Sigrid,” he murmured, still asleep. She looked over her shoulder at his sleeping form. A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she tiptoed away. Maybe fantasies weren’t such bad things after all.
