A/N: Though I read my fair share of fanfics, this is my first time posting one, so any feedback would be most appreciated :D
Disclaimer: Obviously, Bard (unfortunately) doesn't belong to me. Nor does his wife or Tilda. All rights go to Professor Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
Fatherly love. What did he know about fatherly love? Or even about fatherhood? Not much. It was only a vague, obscure notion for the young, dark-haired bargeman named Bard. His father had died when he was just a boy, and Bard barely remembered him. He had, of course, had a few men in his life that might be counted as father figures to him. Ivar, the man who taught him his trade, and also his uncle (who was a bit of a ne'er do well), his father's brother, who taught him how to survive in this harsh town. But other than that, the idea of fatherhood was a completely foreign concept to him. But now, here he was, married to a woman whom he had loved almost since the first time he had seen her and about to become a father. Often times at night, after she had gone to sleep, he would lay a gentle hand on her womb and think about the child inside and how his life would change because of it. One night, his wife happened to wake and see his troubled face, deep in thought.
"Bard," she said through a stifled yawn, "Bard, what's the matter?"
After hesitating a moment, he replied quietly, "I was just thinking. Perhaps it was wrong for you to have married me. Perhaps it would've been better if you had married somebody else."
His wife sat up, and with shock and little bit of amusement in her voice asked, "Marry somebody else? Why on earth would it had been better if I had married somebody else?"
Bard sat up, too and replied, "It would've been better because I do not know how to be a father. I have no experience. I don't know what to do. What if I do wrong by this child? What if I hurt it in some way? What if I can't provide? What if-"and before he could utter another word, she quietly shushed him with her finger to his lips.
"You do not need to worry, Bard, about any of this. You will a good father. I know it."
"But how can you be sure?" He asked earnestly, moving her hand. "How can you be sure I won't hurt this baby? I've never even held a baby for longer than a minute. How am I supposed to know how to care for it as it gets older?"
"Bard," she said again as she moved closer to him, "There is much more to being a father than just knowing how to hold a child. You are a good and honorable man and I know you will do your utmost for this child and for all the other children we will have in the future. You couldn't do less. You will tend to our daughters, and nurture them. You will teach our sons a trade and lead them to become strong men. You will dry tears, and nurse broken hearts and scraped knees, like all good fathers. And I will be right by your side all along the way."
Seeing his still downcast face, she leaned over and gently laid a kiss on his lips. "And besides, there is no other man I wish to marry. And I do not care whether or not you know how to hold a baby. I love you too well to let you go over something so simple. You are the only man for me. Even if," she continued with a small smile, "Even if you do smell of day-old fish some of the time."
He finally smiled at this and said "Then I suppose…I must trust your faith in me."
"Yes, you must. Unless you wish to stay up all night discussing fatherhood when we are both in desperate need of sleep." She was smiley broadly now, and looked even more beautiful in the soft darkness.
He then returned her kiss and whispered, "Thank you."
With that, they both laid back down to sleep. With his wife's small form pressed against him, Bard gently wrapped his arms around her. Soon he could hear her even breaths as she drifted off to sleep. But he stayed awake, long after, thinking about her words. "Perhaps," he thought quietly to himself, "Perhaps, being a father won't be so hard…as long as she is with me."
In the years to come after her death, he would often think back to this conversation, especially on days when his duties as a father overwhelmed him. On one particular night, after a long day of teaching Bain how to tie various knots he would need as a bargemen, and an even longer evening of tending to a very sick Sigrid, the words his wife had spoken to him refused to let him sleep. He lay on his back and stared at the low ceiling for a long while; remembering. "She had so much faith in me." And though there were tears forming in his eyes, he chuckled lightly to himself "How did I ever imagine this to be easy. It has been hard. So much harder than I ever-"His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a tiny knock on his door.
"Da?" He sat up and saw Tilda's small figure in the doorway, wrapped in a heavy quilt.
"Da? I can't sleep. The wind is howling so much and it's so cold…Can…can I please stay with you tonight?"
Bard sighed a little to himself and ran his fingers through his hair, but replied, "Yes, of course."
But Tilda hesitated for a moment in the doorway. Seeing this, Bard pulled back the covers on the bed and said with a small smile, "Well, come on then. You don't want to stand there and shiver all night."
A wide smile spread across her face as she eagerly ran to the bed. She hopped in beside him and promptly fell asleep, but not before she whispered, "Thank you so much, Da."
Bard sat up some time after and watched as his youngest daughter slept peacefully. His mind eventually drifted back to his previous train of thoughts.
"Yes, it has been much harder than I expected it to be…especially without her." He rested the back of his head against the bed frame, closed his eyes and sighed "But it has been altogether worth it."