ijgbegv;wjbvrcbou...BADPENNY CURLS INTO A BALL AND CRIES HERSELF TO SLEEP.

Branwen

Thorin kicked off his boots and gently set them by the door, balancing a brown paper package in one hand and his winter cloak in the other, he pushed open the newly painted blue door. Rook Hall was pleasantly silent, the fire cracked in the hearth, and a gentle wind rattled the wind panes.

The air was filled with a peaceful silence that encaputalet the tranquillity of the house over the past months. The fire crackled in the hearth, popping every so often, herbs dried from the ceiling and lavender pots had begun to blossom in the corners of the room. Maps, papers and books were piled high on every service- Lif had asked him to raid the Durin library as she steadily progressed with her study of the mountain and its histories. She had even started drawing the mountain itself, getting Dwalin and Dis to make detailed notes for her, she that she could chart them accurately.

Well, she did like to be kept busy, Thorin noted in amusement as he thought back to one of their first meetings in the library: causally studying one of her latest inventions that lay on the kitchen table. It appeared to be some type of egg warmer, made out of a frying pan and a teapot.

She could no longer do the manual labour that was involved in her day to day care of Roäc and his flock, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try. After she had started to show; Thorin, Dis, and Dwalin had each started taking it in turns to join Lif with her daily tasks. However as the months had passed and her back began to ache and her belly grew, she begrudgingly had accepted the help, providing them with detailed instructions of how each task should be done. For example the exact ratio of vinegar and water she used to scrub out the raven wall, or the mixture of herbs she used monthly in the hay of the Rook, not to be confused with the hay recipe she used for the nests.

Thorin glanced over to Lif lying on the sofa by the fire, a newly completed list sat beside her under a mug on the floor, the title on the top of the paper read "the best method for cleaning feathers, page 1 of 34." She was fast asleep, her mouth slightly open, one arm draped over the edge of the sofa and the other laid protectively over her distended belly next to an empty mug that was balanced precariously.

Lif had taken to wearing Thorin's cotton summer night shirts and his woollen socks around the Rook because she was always either too hot or too cold. So when Thorin gently laid his hand over her warm belly, he swore that he could almost feel his child's heart beating.

His child- it was still an odd thought, but a nice thought. He kissed the bump lightly as not to disturb Lif's sleep, pulled the sofa back from the fire and covered over her legs with a blanket.

With a warm glow bubbling over in his chest, he turned away from his love and contented himself with pottering around the Rook for the evening. He made neat piles of books and safely pushing them back against the walls, laying her paper work out on the table so that she didn't slip. A few months ago, just as her bump was beginning to show; Dwalin and Dis had been sat on the sofa enjoying the seedcake that Lif had baked fresh to satisfy her cravings, when she stumbled over a ball of wool and almost crashed bump first to the floor. If it hadn't had been for Dwalin's quick reflexes, Thorin couldn't bear to think what would have happened.

But he pushed this put of his mind as his eyes settled on what Lif had affectionately named the "Dwarrow's corner,"- which currently consisted of a few crotched blankets that Lif had made over the summer, a woven reed basket that had turned up on their door step on morning {though Thorin had a suspicion that Dwalin had been too shy to give it to her himself} and small pile of Dwarrow clothes. Thorin let his eyes fall on a pair of booties that were so small they wouldn't have fit on his little finger and cast his mind back to when Lif had fist told him the news.

"Tell me what?" Thorin asked anxiously, studying the face of the woman he loved more than anything. All the blood drained from Lif's cheeks and lips, giving her an almost other worldly glow, her eyes searched his face as Thorin took a step towards the bed: waiting with baited breath for the bad news that was to come. "What is it?" He asked his voice was hard and void of emotion, he knew it was too good to be true: Thror's blessing, the peace treaty, Karis' engagement to Lord Vanir; all good things must come to an end.

Lif looked away from his gently probing eyes, she looked at the floor, the walls the window, everywhere but him. Then sucking in a determined breath, she turned her body towards his- tears pooling in her eyes.

Nausea squirmed in Thorin's stomach and a painful fist sized lump formed in his throat as the seconds ticked by- he dreaded the bad news to come. He sat by her side on the bed and took her calloused hands in his. "Are you sick?" The words that escaped his throat were hoarse and rushed, as was his breathing which was verging on panic. But Lif let out a noise that was half a sob and half a laugh; tears began to spill freely down her face. Thorin brushed her hair away from her face and wiped the tears away with his thumb. She chuckled and kissing his palm before getting off the bed and kneeling before him, resting her hands on his knees in a businesslike manner.

"Thorin, I need you not to get over excited," she began in a warning tone. "Remember when you gave me this?" Lif lifted her hand and indicated to the ring on her left hand, it winked in the bright midday sunlight. "And with it you promised me that you would always but the mountain before me, always not matter the situation."

"I remember..." Thorin said cautiously, wondering with trepidation where Lif was going with this.

"Well, you have to place me third for there is someone else for you to love," Lif said simply as she beamed up at him, studying his crinkled brow as he puzzled over her words.

"If you mean Dwalin, it's more of a friendship..."Thorin began but Lif snorted with laughter.

"No, you idiot, not Dwalin," Lif stood up and wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she lifted his hand and placed it on her belly- her skin was hot and almost feverish- Thorin looked from her, to his hand and back to her. "Thorin, I am with Dwarrow..."Lif spoke softly, memorising the war of emotions that ran glorious riot over his face.

He opened his mouth but no words came out, it was as if the cogs of his brain had slammed to a stop, he looked from his large hand that nearly covered all of Lif's stomach and back to Lif. She let a slow smile creep over her face and she beamed encouragingly at Thorin as realisation dawned over his face.

"I'm going to be a Father?" He whispered under his breath, barely able to believe his own words. Lif began to laugh loudly and fresh tears poured down her face, but Thorin now knew they were tears of joy. He pulled her gently by the hips towards him and laid his head against her stomach, touching her as if she were made of glass. "We're going to have a Dwarrow," he said quietly, pressing his lips against her warm skin.

Lif cupped his head and smoothed down his hair, a few minutes ago she had been lost; a mother, her? No, she couldn't see it, she was too distractible, too careless- but then her eyes had met Thorin's: strong, unyielding, he was her sanctuary, her other half in every sense of the word. Whatever life had thrown at them and whatever trials they faced, they faced them together and overcame them. So, why not this one? Pulling his head up she kissed his brow and wrapped her arms around his neck as she sat on his lap, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"We're going to have a Dwarrow..."Thorin whispered again, obviously still dealing with the shock. Lif pulled back to regard his face, his skin was flushed and his eyes were feverishly bright.

"Now, I don't think we should get excited, I mean my mother had two miscarriages before me and then she died in child birth when I was born. It nearly ripped my Father apart, so that means no thinking of names for your son..." Lif began sombrely but Thorin cut in.

"How do you know it'll be a boy?" He completely disregarded all she'd said about not getting excited and laid a hand on her belly again, basking in the warm glow that burned brightly in his heart. "The Dwarrow's half me and half of you after all, so it'll be twice as stubborn and therefore be a girl." He beamed at her, not smiling but radiating a warm tranquillity and love.

"Oh, really, well it will do as it's told," Lif chuckled and looked down at her tummy, "do you hear that bump? I want you to be a boy, now hop to it!"

As it was Thorin did completely disregard Lif's words about getting excited. The world seemed a brighter place than it had been the day before, everything was shiny and new; new hope, new start a new life coming into the world- it took his breath away to think of it.

Thorin had held Lif close to him the rest of the day. Held her like he had held nothing in his life, so precious she would disappear at a moment's notice, so fragile she was shatter and fly away on the wind- In the end Lif had pressed her body into his side and pulled them both down onto the bed. And they had held each other, simply chatting about what was to be and revelling in each other's glow.

However as late afternoon fell, he covered her with blankets and threw another log onto the fire. He kissed her lightly on mouth, savouring her sweet scent before Thorin pulled reluctantly away. Closing the door securely behind him, he then went to deal with a very perturbed flock of ravens, who hadn't had anything except worms all day.

It was difficult to explain to Roäc about Lif's pregnancy, eventually Thorin had to revert to a simpler method of communication.

"Lif is making an egg. An egg that takes a long time to hatch." It was a crude analogy but it was the only way Thorin could think of to make The Raven king understand.

"Thorin will have his own flock, I will send word if anything happens, may the chick grows feathers and fly strong," Roäc had bobbed his head in approval and given his blessing and it warmed Thorin's heart to hear it from the beak of his oldest friend.

He then went to check in with Balin and apologise for his abrupt disappearance but Balin simply shrugged and said, "No need to thank me, it's what I'm paid for."

Although he could be a know-it-all and something of a stuffy beaurcrat, Thorin was actually growing fond of Balin. Thorin asked if there was anything he needed to do for tomorrows meetings, Balin said assured there wasn't, so Thorin made a quick exist.

His feet carried his away; his mind was still curled up cosily next to Lif, and before he knew where he was Thorin arrived on the Craftsman's Level.

Designated especially for Blacksmiths and carvers; Stonemasons, jewellers, carpenters, tinkers, toymakers, builders, joiners, welders, the Master of Arms and the Forges: the Craftsman's level was the beating heart of the mountain, where every diamond was polished and every ounce of gold melted. It was a busy hubbub of tapping and clanging hammers, Thorin made his way down the long street like walk way in the middle of rows and rows of workshops, which pressed against either side on the long cavern.

Thorin pausing as sparks sprung from a whetstone in front of him and then continued walking. It brought back memories of his own internship with the Blacksmith Otter so many years ago. He looked back on his time with fondness, but he was not there to be nostalgic.

Pausing outside a carpenters workshop, he glanced about to check no one watched him, and then darted into the slightly smaller workshop next door.

Written in swirly red lettering was a sign that read, "Big Bofur's bounty of fun stuff and things." The toy workshop certainly looked fun, the door pillars were carved into an ugly green goblin with his tongue sticking out and an elf looking dim-witted and crossed eyed.

Thorin hadn't been in a toy shop in years, looking at the intricate carvings of animals and little movable figures brought back found memories of when he, Frerin and Dis were still young enough to play together. They would run about Durin's hall on hobby horses while one would wear a dragon or troll mask, they would take it in turns being the great warrior and tell tales of what they would do when they grew up: they had been good simple times, which Thorin would always look back on with fondness. He hoped that his child would know the same happiness.

His child… A nervous tension squirmed in his belly. What if it didn't like him? What if Lif preferred it to him? What if he dropped it? What if it had his nose? All these thoughts were running wildly through his head as Big Bofur entered the work shop.

"My Lord, what an unexpected honour, what can I do for you this fine bright day," Big Bofur exclaimed in welcome. He was a large Dwarf with a round belly and round rosy cheeks, his dark eyes shined like polished lumps of coal and matched dark swaths of curly black hair. His black beard was braided into a tight plait that was hung with four tinkling silver bells and he wore a simple white cotton apron that was covered in wood shavings.

"I…I am looking for something for the lady Dis. One of her ladies maids is having a Dwarrow and she wanted to get her a gift but she is so busy of late that she asked me to look instead," Thorin said quickly, unable to think of any excuse that sounded more plausible. Big Bofur bounced on his heels and glanced about peevishly.

"Not wanting to offend my Lord, but I was just on my out. Ya' see Embla is expecting again and she gets agitated if I don' check in on her," at the thought of his unborn child Big Bofur got a dreamy faraway look in his eye, and stared absently of into the distance. Thorin wondered if he too would look like that one day.

"Oh I see how many does that make it now? Three, four…"Thorin asked politely, Big Bofur's Dwarrows had always been running about the Workshops while Thorin had been working on his internship, he had enjoyed watching their play and hearing the child's laughter cut through the monotonous tapping of hammers.

"Will be five in a months' time, she won't quite until she's got a girl see, but mustn't tally. My eldest, Little Bofur, will see to your needs. Good day to you my Lord," Big Bofur bowed and with a click of his heels, strode out the workshop and Thorin could hear him whistling down the street as he went. The door closed and the bell tinkled as Little Bofur pocked his head around the door to the main workroom.

"Oh do forgive me, I thought Big Bofur was taking care of you," Little Bofur called as he darted back into the little workroom and the came out wiping his hands clean on a rag. Little Bofur was in fact taller than his father and slightly leaner, he had the same rosy cheeks and shiny black eyes, but his hair was tied into two matching plaits and his unruly fringe tucked behind a leather throng: he had a set of pencils stuck behind each ear.

"No not at all, he said he had to check on Embla," Thorin reassured the young Dwarf, though he didn't know Bofur personally, he heard good things from Eitri and knew his reputation as an excellent carver.

"Yes, she is famous for her bad temper when she's with Dwarrow…" Bofur's face gained the same faraway look that Big Bofur had when he thought of his new brother or sister, but he snapped back into the present. "But it'll all be worth it in the end. Now, what can I do for you?"

Thorin told him about toys for Dis's fictional chamber maid, Bofur looked at him a little sceptical but didn't question him, instead turned and cast an expert eye over the shelves.

"Boy or girl?" Bofur asked in a business like tone, looking between a moving figurine of a horse and a bear.

"She doesn't know yet, she's only just found out," Thorin said in bewilderment, never had he really known anything about these…things, he was truly lost. The joyous after burn had carried him but he hadn't really thought of what he was looking for. Toys were just something he thought the Dwarrow would need.

Bofur turned and studied the Prince for a moment, his shiny black eyes studying his face, hands and body. Thorin was a Dwarf with a faraway look in his eye that Bofur knew all too well. Dragging in a sigh, he pulled the throng out of his hair and retied it, then gestured that Thorin should sit on a work stool that was tucked under the bench. He too sat and leaning on his fore arms as he spoke to Thorin quietly and carefully.

"You know, I've actually had seven siblings," Bofur said quietly, judging Thorin's expression as he spoke. Thorin's brow furrowed slightly.

"Really?" Thorin was truly confused about where this conversation was going.

"Yes, but only four of my brothers made it full term; it just happens that sometimes…. I would maybe advise waiting in case..."Bofur didn't need to say the words for Thorin to know what he meant, but he refused to think what could…what may happen to Lif and to his child.

"No, she is strong." Thorin's words came out harsher than he had expected, it was his commanding tone he saved for battle or when his temper got the better of him. Bofur recoiled slightly and inclined his head in apology.

"Very well, was it just a small gift that Lady Dis would like to give or was she looking at a larger…" Bofur turned from serious to merry in a matter of seconds; he sat straighter and leaned eagerly towards a sketch pad to make notes of the orders. But again Thorin was truly lost…

"I don't really know, large I would expect, yes: just make up a hamper of Dwarrow things," Thorin shifted awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortably hot in the workroom with Bofur looking at his expectantly.

"A hamper… of things?" Bofur said quizzically, cocking his eyebrow in half amusement and bewilderment.

"Yes," Thorin got up quickly, intending to make a quick escape though the door, Bofur humbled with his own stool, blocking his path.

"I know, I'll get my Mother to make up a list and I'll let you approve it, than make it up for you," Bofur said cheerily, proud that he'd come up with such a shroud business deal.

"Very well," Thorin said curtly, he strode through the workshop than paused at the door and turned back to Bofur. "Send the list to Dis directly and would it be possible to store everything here, my Father can't tolerate clutter," Thorin thought quickly, he wanted it to be a surprise for Lif. She said not to get excited, technically being prepared wasn't getting excited. He was being practical.

"We have storage in the back…" Bofur said quickly, fearing that the prince would take his business elsewhere if he didn't say.

"Very good then Master Bofur, I shall look forward to seeing your work," Thorin bowed and made to go out the door but Bofur called to him.

"My Lord, take something for Lady Dis to give to her friend now, like a good luck token, many She-dwarves do," Bofur said in good faith, proud with himself that he had sealed an important and profitable deal. Thorin stepped back into the workroom and cast his eyes about the shelves. Nothing really stood out, there were animal carvings, little painted houses, wooden weapons and cribs, he was about to say "No thank you," when his eyes settled on two little figures hiding a the back of the shelves in the corner.

The figures were very dusty but Thorin could see the intricate paint work underneath. A stag and a matching doe, their elegant necks pressed affectionately against each other in a loving embrace, with flecks of gold and bronze on their fur, they caught the light perfectly but both had simplistic beauty: The Stag King and his Doe.

"May I?" Thorin asked in a hush tone, not pulling his eyes away from the beautiful creatures.

"They' was the first things I ever made, never felt right in sellin' em…." Bofur said unhappily then turned and beamed at Thorin. "Then you shall be the exception."

Thorin patted Bofur's back warmly and assured him that he would be paid well for his crafts. Bofur grinned broadly and said that it was his honour. They passed a few minutes talking about Bofur's cousins Bombur and Bifur. Bombur had made quite a name for himself as the best cook in the mountain and was now in high demand by all the wealthy families having private functions. The famously dashing Bifur too had just arrived back from a long expedition to the north, bringing back with him a precious stone that apparently didn't come from the earth but from trees instead, he called it Amber.

After making his excuses, Thorin hid the figurines deep within his cloak and made his way back to Durin's hall. He hid the figures under his bed and glanced at himself in the mirror. He straightened his back bone and tired to look stern and fatherly... he let out a long sigh and covered his mirror with his cloak.

Thorin Thetisson Durin, Prince of the Erebor and father. Prince he could carry and the people he helped rule he could burden their weight and well being, but a new heir to the Durin line, a life that he had helped create shape and mould: it was a daunting task even for him.

Over the months that passed Thorin came to terms with his new role. Father-to be was just like being King-to-be, though it would happen hell of a lot sooner. He visited Dis frequently on the days when she was working in the House of Healing and asked gently probing questions about funding and whether there'd been any influxes of patients, all the time secretly gathering information about different types of herbs and something called a "gestation period." He'd been too young to really remember Thetis when she was pregnant with Dis, so all this information was new and alien to him.

And it was also good to secretly get a second opinion. There were times when Thorin worried that Lif tried not to make him anxious by saying she was alright when she wasn't. Like that time Thorin had to carry her to a chair when she'd had a dizzy spell and then was sick in the toilet for almost an hour, or on another occasion when he'd got her set of matching clasps for her hair and she'd burst into tears. But the Mistress of the House of Healing stilled his fears as she listed these as symptoms of pregnancy in a lecture he had attended on the subject.

He found this much easier now that he had more time on his hands, some would call it divine intervention, but Thorin would call it Thror's intuition. In the late spring Thorin had run into Thror going to speak to the Head House Keeper in the servant's quarters, his mind had been so far away that he collided with his Grandfather and almost knocked him down. Thror had caught him by the shoulders and looked at him up and down, his eyes so wide Thorin could see the whites, then Thror had silently studied his face until a giant smile had erupted on his face and he pulled his grandson into a hug. Pulling away, Thror had laughed, slapped Thorin on the back and continued to walk down the stairs without so much as a word.

Thorin was bewildered by the whole event until the next morning when a note from his father Thrain had been delivered and read thusly:

Dear Thorin,

Thrain has expressed a wish that you are to begin historical studies in the Durin library every morning until lunch time. Now that it a time of peace there was no reason to become lax of your historical studies. The King would like you to pay special care to take into consideration the ancient founding legends like Stag and the Raven. After lunch you will train for two hours, eat and hold a meeting with Balin daily.

Thrain.

It was in his Father's stoic style and at first it had bewildered him, until he read it more closely: the legend of the Stag and the Raven, his raven, Lif. To this day Thror knew things that no other Dwarf could, under the guise of study Thorin was free to spend his evenings and morning with Lif, without having to worry about people asking questions. And meeting with Balin meant he'd never fall behind in the running and management of the mountain.

It was in late autumn a few hours before Durin's day, Thorin and Balin were sat either side of the desk in the Durin library discussing the day's events.

"Frerin is due to send a rider in the next few days, so we should let the patrols know they will be a strange Dwarf in the area," Balin said, ticking off the matter on his list and taking another sip of wine.

"Unless he sends one of his entourage, we should also probably prepare a couch and four, in case he requests anything sent back to him. You know how he can be," Thorin said ruefully, smiling at the thought of his dandy younger brother. He had missed him secretly, for it was Frerin Thorin had to thank for pushing Lif and him together in the first place.

Balin was about to make a note of this when a great clatter hit the window behind the curtains, they both stilled, Balin with his quill hovered over the paper and Thorin with his glass halfway pressed to his lips. "What in Aüle's name...?" Balin exclaimed, setting aside his quill.

But Thorin was already on his feet; he leaped over the desk and dragged the curtains aside, nearly ripping them from the wall. His heart seized in his chest as his eyes settled on Roäc, flapping and scratching on the glass. Adrenaline surged through him, making him fumble with the window latch, letting out a snarl of frustration Thorin eventually got the window open and the Raven king soared into the library and settled on the mantel piece, shaking rain off his feathers. Thorin left the window wide open and darted to Roäc's side, resting his hands either side of the king.

"Is something wrong? What has happened?" Thorin's voice was clipped and harsh, raw with adrenaline and anxiety, for Lif's date drew very near: without a certain date, she could give birth any day now. Roäc looked at Balin and cocked his head, then stared pointedly at Thorin.

"There is an emergency with the flock," Roäc said in a sharp cawing tone. Thorin felt his heart stop and his body turn to stone.

"What type of emergency?" Thorin heard himself say, his fists clenched so tight his nails were drawing blood.

"The Priestess requires help with hatching," Roäc bobbed again and flapped his wings as if trying to help Thorin understand without Balin knowing, but Thorin knew what he meant alright. He swallowed, then breathed and then swallowed again.

"Roäc would you be so kind as to send for my sister and the Dwalin?" Thorin fought to keep his voice level, though even he could detect a tremble in his tone.

"Dis is already there, Priestess sent for her when sun was just covered," Roäc bobbed again and then leapt off the mantel piece and then out the window, presumably to get Dwalin. Thorin swallowed again, his mouth dry and turned to Balin you looked bewildered.

"The ravens are used to me and find my presence calming when the Priestess has to help with difficult hatchings. Are we done here?" Thorin said through gritted teeth, his muscles trembled with effort as he kept himself routed to the spot.

"Of course but I..." Balin shook his head in bewilderment but Thorin didn't wait to hear what he had to say. He was sprinting, leaping up stairs, dodging people, knocking people over but he couldn't care less. He had to get to Lif, he to make sure she was calm, make sure she was alright. She was terrified of giving birth, she had told him often enough, terrified that she would die like her mother had.

Thorin skittered to a halt and shouldered the secret door open and made sure it was closed behind him, and then entered the hall with the raven wall.

It was eerily quiet. He heard nothing, except the raging winds outside, there were no birds in their nests and Roäc was not yet back. He had no one to steady his nerves. He calmed his breathing and slowly made his way behind Roäc podium and in the Rook hallway, pressed his head against the cool wood of Lif's door.

What would be behind it? Two lives or one, one life or none. It was a game of chance that Thorin had never mastered. All their good fortune, all the trials they had overcome, would fate be a cruel mistress. Fate was a bitch but would she favour him today.

Thorin pulled himself together and turned the door handle. They fire was built high casting long shadows over the walls but the garden doors were slightly ajar to let in a cool breeze. No candles were light but even so Thorin could make out a figure propped up with pillows on the bed.

Lif looked pale and weak, fire light reflected off the sweat on her brow and her bare arms, making her wispy hair stick to her face. She looked exhausted, she trembled slightly, but she sparkling eyes never left the small bundled held carefully in her arms.

Thorin sagged against the door frame as relief washed over him, he didn't trust himself to speak. But as the gently thud against wood, Lif looked up serenely and beckoned him toward her. Thorin shuffled forward, not knowing what to do or say, but feeling completely overwhelmed. Lif smiled at him and shifted awkwardly so that Thorin could sit next to her on the bed.

"Do you need to sleep?" Thorin whispered almost too quietly after he had kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of the bed.

"And miss this, not for all the diamonds in the mountain. Do you want to meet your Father?" Was the only response Lif made, leaning gently towards him and placing the newborn Dwarrow in his arms.

It was a tiny thing, barely bigger than a loaf of bread but so strong. Dark curly hair covered its head and framed its rosy face like a cherubs. The Dwarrow yawned and opened its eyes. Jade like Lif's eyes, Thorin's was the first face it had ever looked upon. Silently and intelligently it watched him, before reaching up and placing a tiny little hand on his cheek.

Thorin opened his mouth to say something but no words came, his mouth was dry and his eyes began to itch. And for the first time in his life he let tears spill down his face and onto the Dwarrow's woollen blankets. He glanced up at Lif; she leaned in and pressed her forehead against his and they both cried tears of joy.

Should probably mention that gestation period for a dwarf is 12 months, so that means... Yes, the dwarrow was concieved on Durin's day and we were all there.

I almost don't want to tell you but the next chapter will be called "The Final Curtain."

On a lighter note, please check out Lost Past and Hidden Destiny...