He came to bed late that night, but Rían was still awake, sitting on top of the covers with her knees pulled up under her chin. Huor sat down beside her, gathered her up in his arms, and asked, "What's the matter?"
Rían relaxed slightly in his embrace, though the worry on her face remained, and she looked tired - too tired, he thought, for someone so young.
"I'm pregnant," she said finally, looking up at him with wide eyes as though unsure how he would react.
"What?" It was a stupid thing to say, Huor realized the moment he'd said it, but he couldn't seem to think of anything else.
"I wasn't sure whether I should tell you," Rían went on, nervously twisting the fabric of her nightgown in her hands. "You're leaving in a week, and I didn't - I thought knowing might make things harder for you."
"Oh no." His heart seemed to twist inside him. "Rían, no. I'm glad you told me." He kissed her gently on the lips. "I am so, so happy, truly."
At least she'll have a child to comfort her, if I do not return.
She smiled shakily at him, seeming a little calmer now. "I know, it is good news. I've wanted a child for a long time, and I know you have, too. I just wish you didn't have to go."
"Rían," he said, but she would not look at him. "I can't promise I'll come back." My father and my grandfather and my uncle all went off to war and never came home. For the men in his family, dying in battle was practically tradition, something he'd taken for granted since he was a boy - though he hoped it wouldn't happen quite so soon. "There's a chance I won't survive this battle, even if we win. And if we don't -" he stopped, and took a deep breath. They had to discuss the worst-case scenario sometime. "If I don't make it back, or if we lose, you have to take care of our child. Promise me you won't give up hope, for both your sakes." She kept staring down at her lap, saying nothing. "Please," he begged, taking one of her hands and entwining his fingers with hers.
At last Rían nodded, rather half-heartedly. "What should we call the child?" she asked, looking up at him, and he recognized the unspoken meaning of the question. Better choose a name together now, while we can.
"Well..." he said, a bit embarrassed. "Ever since Túrin was born, I've thought of Tuor for a son." He was blushing, he knew, but he felt less silly when Rían actually smiled.
"Of course. It's perfect," she said. "And for a daughter?"
He considered this for a moment. "What if we named her after your mother?" he asked tentatively, hoping he had not said the wrong thing. Now hardly seemed the time to bring up dead relatives.
But Rían looked thoughtful, and though the smile she gave him was slightly strained, it was still a smile. "Yes, I like that," she said, reaching up to gently touch his face. "If the baby is a girl, she will be Hanil."
He kissed her again, and there was desperation in the way she pulled him towards her, winding her hands through his hair. Doubt gnawed at Huor for a moment - they ought to think of a plan now, work out an escape for Rían if the worst should happen - but he pushed the thought aside. There would be time for that later.
Notes: The title of this fic is part of a line from "Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin," in Unfinished Tales.