Chapter 1
It's very late when he comes home, long after dinner and though he hopes she might have waited up for him, stitching by the hearth, he is not really expecting it. Indeed, the lamps are all turned down and the fire is already banked. Their small set of rooms is so familiar that he barely needs light to navigate them. He can see the dark shape of her in bed, so he retreats to his room to dress for bed as quietly as he can.
It's mildly inconvenient, at times, to keep his office and her receiving room in the centre of the Mountain, and their quarters so close to the edge. In the half-decade since they wed, they have discussed moving to a suite that better suits their needs, but every time they get serious about it, he remembers how she likes the windows and she remembers how he likes the privacy. Neither of them were precisely born to the stations they hold, and they both appreciate having a space in which they do not have to be Prince and Lady of the Mountain. That's worth the walk, and the occasional missed evening meal. Sigrid's only concern is the added stress to the royal guard, having to man posts so isolated, but the Mountain is at peace, and they have assured her they do not mind.
Fili strips to his linen shirt and leggings, and takes his time combing out his beard. The lateness of his return is the result of a particularly knotty trade agreement with the Mirkwood elves, and even with Kili to serve as emissary, taking most of the pressure of him, Fili is still keyed up about it. There's no point in going to bed and flailing around. If nothing else, he'd wake his wife, and he doesn't want to do that. Thus, it's not until he crawls under the covers, close enough now that he can see Sigrid better despite the dark, that he realizes she is not asleep.
"Sigrid?" he asks. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," she says. Her voice is very thin.
"Are you ill?" He half rises in concern. She still has not turned to look at him.
"No, only tired," she replies. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right, love," he tells her. "It's very late."
He imagines that will be the end of it, except now her shoulders are shaking, and she is holding her breath like she is trying not to cry. He throws the blankets off of them entirely, and turns up the wick on the bedside lamp.
"Sigrid!"
She's still in her day-dress, one of the ones she wears to work in the stillroom. Her hair is coming out of its braids, and her face is tear-streaked, though she is not outwardly crying now. He pulls her into his arms and she stills for a moment.
"Tell me," he says.
"I - " It sticks in her throat the first time, and she coughs. "I'm with child."
For a breath, he is stunned into silence. Then, he can't help it: he lets out a joyous whoop at the news, and bends his head to kiss her. They've been married almost five years now, and while that's not long for a dwarf, it's long for a human. It's not like they haven't taken plenty of opportunities. It's a few moments before he realizes that she is not responding to the kiss, as stiff in his arms as though she were frozen there.
"Sigrid, I don't understand," he says. "These are glad tidings, are they not?"
At this, she truly does cry. Fili is beginning to panic, though he doesn't know the why of it yet. Sigrid is no longer shy of her emotions around him, but she has never been this...vulnerable, and he can't say that he is enjoying it.
"Fili," she says at last. "This is how my mother died. It was Tilda, and she was small. Fili, she was so small."
Understanding, and horror, dawn on him. He tightens his grip on her shoulders.
"I've seen the dwarf babes. I've held them in my arms," she continues. "Fili, their heads. They're bigger than any human child's. What if I can't - "
He lifts her over top of him, twisting, to set her on her feet beside the bed. She's so light in his hands, and usually that is one of the things he loves about her. Now, it frightens him as it does her, because she is right: the slightness of her build that so contrasts with his might be a danger, and until this moment, he had not considered it. He sits up, and takes her hands.
"We'll go see Oin, right now," he says, kissing her fingers. "And I swear it, if I have to send a raven to every elf in Middle Earth, if I have to go to their halls and beg them for their aid in person, I will do it. Do you hear me?"
She nods. There are tearstains on her cheeks, and her braids are loose around her face, but her expression is determined. He wants to take her in his arms and never let her go.
"Get your coat, my love," he says instead.
She kisses him, and goes to fetch it from her dressing room. He takes a deep breath, not that it does much to calm the forge hammer that is his pounding heart, and goes to the door. The guard outside is very surprised to see him; it is the first time in all the nights Fili has lived here with Sigrid that he has come out of his room before morning.
"My prince?" the guard asks, concerned.
"Please go and wake Master Oin," Fili orders, his voice as level as he can make it. "Pray, tell him it is not an emergency, but that myself and the Lady Sigrid require him in his workroom immediately."
It will take longer for Oin to muster himself this way, but Fili knows better than to wake the old dwarrow in his bedchamber.
"At once, my prince," the guard says, and lays his shield down so that he can take the twisting corridors at a run. It's an urgency Fili understands, and the guard doesn't even know the problem yet.
When he turns, Sigrid is there. She's wrapped in a fine blue coat and has tied back her hair in simple coils. She holds his coat out to him, and he puts it on as he searches for the sturdy shoes he wears when his boots are not required. Once they're both decent, he takes her hand in his, and leads her out into the corridor.
They walk sedately, but with purpose. There's no point in rushing, as it will take Oin some time to reach their meeting point, and Fili has no desire to be seen dashing through the Mountain by a late-awake gossip monger, and he doubts Sigrid does either. They do not speak, but Sigrid's hold on his hand is tight, and he squeezes back from time to time.
The lamps are lit in Oin's workroom when they reach it, and Fili can hear the hiss of water sizzling off the side of a hastily filled kettle. He holds the door for Sigrid, and then follows her inside.
"Princeling, my lady," Oin says, nodding to each of them in turn as they sit.
He's never been the sort to let Fili forget that, once upon a time, he was a scrappy badger with somewhat limited common sense. It's something Fili is grateful for, particularly when he feels the pressures of the Mountain bearing down on him. He's also glad that Oin is too practical waste time remonstrating them for waking him: he knows there must be a reason.
"Out with it, then," Oin says, slightly too loud as always, and Fili hesitates, looking sideways at his wife.
Sigrid makes a vague gesture with her hands, and he nods. She'd have to shout to get Oin to hear her, and Fili understands that that would be better avoided. As quickly as he can, he signs the details to Oin, who lights up at the news, as Fili had known he would, and then quickly becomes solemn when Fili explains the issues they fear.
When they are done, Oin gets up and comes around the table to sit next to Sigrid on the bench. This way, she can speak directly into his ear.
"My lady," he starts, and then remembers not to yell at her. "I apologize, but I must ask you some direct questions about your mother."
Sigrid nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fili wraps his arms around her waist.
"When she died, did the midwives have any ideas as to the cause?" he asks.
"Sh-she," Sigrid stutters, and then takes a breath. "She seemed fine, at first. I remember that, because she nursed Tilda. They said it would help stop the bleeding."
Oin nods, and the kettle begins to whistle. Fili presses a kiss beneath Sigrid's ear, and get up to see to the tea.
"There was a lot of blood, the midwife said, but not so much that they were worried," Sigrid continues. "But then the next morning, her fever was so high. She could barely hold Tilda, and couldn't nurse her at all. Da was out on the barge, because the midwife said it was safe. I held Tilda, but I couldn't feed her, so she just wailed and wailed, and Mama cried because she was so ill."
Fili returns to the table with three cups, even though he is sure no one is actually interested in the tea. He leaves his on the table, in favour of putting his arms around is wife again. She leans back against him, and he sighs into her hair.
"I couldn't leave the house because there was no one to mind Tilda and Bain," Sigrid continues. "No one came, even though there must have been quite the racket. When Da finally came home, I thought he would fix everything, but even though he went for the midwife again, there was nothing to be done."
His brave girl is still not crying, but Fili rather thinks he might. They've not spoken much of their deceased parents, but it hurts him to imagine her, not more than eight years old, stuck in the house with an ailing Ma and two siblings she wasn't yet old enough to care for.
"She d-died two days later," Sigrid chokes out. Fili kisses the back of her head, and she moves further into the circle of his arms.
Oin takes her chin gently in his old hands, and makes her look directly at him.
"Lass," he says, his voice softer than Fili has heard it in years. "I can only imagine what that was like, to lose you mam so young, and have to take charge as you did."
"You lost a Mountain," Sigrid reminds him.
"Aye," he says, "but I did not lose as much as others did. I still had my whole family, and most of our trade was outside Erebor. Others were much worse off."
He shudders briefly at the memory, and releases his hold on Sigrid's face. She doesn't look back down.
"Lass, this is good news," Oin says, coming out of his memories. "Hard as that is to hear, I am sure. But it's true nonetheless. Your mother didn't die from bleeding, nor because your sister was too big for her to safely bear."
"She didn't?" Sigrid sounds confused.
"No, lady," Oin says. "She died of an infection. On the battlefield, wounds can take poison and carry it into the blood. The same can happen in childbirth. That's what she died of."
Sigrid says nothing, and Fili breaks his silence.
"I'm sure I understand, cousin," he says. "Won't there still be a risk?"
"There is always a risk," Oin says, eyes still on Sigrid. She straightens in Fili's arms. "But we are better equipped in Erebor than they were in Laketown."
Sigrid bristles, instinctively coming to the defense of her homeland, and Oin lays a hand upon her arm.
"Peace, lass," he says, the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his weathered lips. "In Dale, since the rebuilding, there have been fewer deaths from childbed fever, and far fewer babes have perished in their first year. We all learn together."
"What if the baby is too big?" Sigrid asks, her voice quiet. "I'm no healer, but even I can see the difference between my hips and a dwarrowdam's."
"That is my chief concern," Oin says. He takes a long drink of his cooling tea. "If there is a danger, we can always induce labour early."
"Won't that put the child at risk?" Sigrid asks.
"It will," Oin tells her frankly. "We may have to make some hard choices, my lady, but we will make them together, and ask for help if we need it. Have you an idea of how far along you are?"
"Eight weeks," Sigrid says softly.
Fili does the tally automatically. Eight weeks ago, he left for the Iron Hills for a month and a half. He remembers that night before his departure with astonishing clarity.
"I'm sorry, Fili," she says, turning. "I wanted to be sure. And I was afraid."
She's carried this alone, and never let him see her fear. Or maybe he, preoccupied with the elves since his return, had simply failed to see it. No more, he promises her silently. He will bear as much of this as he possibly can, to spare her and to share her worries.
"It's all right, love," he tells her, and she nestles back against his chest.
"Tomorrow I will do a proper examination," Oin says. "Do you think you'll need something to help you sleep? The teas I have won't harm the baby in any way."
"No, thank you, I'll be fine," Sigrid says.
The three of them manage to extricate themselves from the bench, leaving two untouched tea cups behind them. Fili thanks Oin, and apologizes for waking him, and then he and Sigrid set out for their suite again. The guard is back at his post when they return, and opens the door for them. He doesn't say anything, but Fili nods at him, half in thanks, and half to assure him that the situation has abated, for now.
That, of course, isn't much comfort. The wait will be next, and he's not sure how exactly they are going to manage it. Once the door is shut, Sigrid wavers on her feet as though all the strength she projected in Oin's workroom has left her at once. He peels off her coat, and carries her to bed as she kicks off her shoes. Leaving his own coat in a pile on the floor next to hers, he crawls under the coverlet with her, and pulls her back into his arms.
He's not entirely sure what he expects, another storm of weeping or perhaps quiet breathing until they fall asleep. He does not anticipate the ferocity with which she turns in his arms and presses her mouth to his.
She is trying to provoke him. He can tell that, even has his body reacts. He rolls over, pressing her between his weight and the mattress, and she goes to work on his clothes. He is trying to process too many things, too many feelings at the same time, and it takes him until they're both naked to reason it out.
She has not kissed him like this since the cave-in. He'd lost control, then, both of them so desperate for assurance of the other's well-being, and he had hurt her, even though she'd denied it afterwards. He has not allowed himself to do so again, and once he realizes what she is doing, he shifts tactics.
He slides his hands down her arms, pulling hers off his back so he can link his fingers with her own, and bring them up on either side of her face. She moves under him, trying to regain her leverage, but he is relentless in denying it. He ignores her teeth, biting at his lips, and sweeps his tongue into her mouth. She moans, and stops fighting him outright, but she knows him as well as he knows her. She turns to subtler movements and sounds, and he wants, more than anything, to give in, but he won't. He won't.
"Sigrid," he says, releasing her mouth. He looks down at her as they pant for breath. "Please."
He has not said it in their bed before, not once in five years. Usually, she is happy enough to give him what he wants without his having to ask for it. She has said it often, though, when he has pushed her to her breaking point, and all she wants is release. She knows what it means, to say it now.
She softens instantly, and he kisses her as though they are only beginning, and he is not already hard and near delirious with want of her. Lips, eyelids, brow, and then her neck, her breasts, and he does not loose his hold on her fingers. He kisses her until he trusts himself again, and when he finally pushes inside of her, it is more deliberate than ever before. She whimpers in protest, and he allows his second thrust to be harder, and his third harder still as they find their rhythm together.
It takes every bit of his control to bring her to climax before he spends himself, but it is worth it to hear her soft cry, and to feel the way she curls about him when he would have got up to get her some water. He is beginning to wish that he had taken Oin up on his offer of sleeping tea, when Sigrid stirs.
"Fili?" she asks. Her voice is small, but not thin as it had been.
"Yes, love?" he replies. He has no idea what she will ask of him, but knows that he will grant it.
"I need you to pretend that I am strong," she says.
"You are strong, lass," he says, without thinking about it.
"Fili," she says, and winds her fingers into his beard, "not like that. You can't coddle me, or wrap me up and leave me in this room for the next seven months."
He'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind.
"I'm not sure I understand, love," he admits.
"I need you to pretend that I am strong. That I am safe," she tells him. "Because I won't be able to. And if I see that you don't..."
He tightens his arms around her as he understands.
"I can do that, my brave girl," he tells her. He is surprised to find he means it with every fibre of his being; he's not pretending at all. "I can do that for you."
They sleep then, at last, and they neither of them dream.
