A/N: Notice the warning at the beginning of the previous chapter! Slightly graphic content ahead! :D
You take a deep long breath in and try to straighten up. Whatever is happening, it is happening fast. You need to ensure that the King will be able to help you. He is staring at the liquid on the ground. "That is the fluid that the babe lived in for the last fourteen months. It is leaking, which means he is ready to come out." The King makes a funny choked sound.
"Thorin, look at me," he tears his gaze from the puddle and looks you in the eyes. You see sheer terror in his eyes, and you grab his shoulders. You have little time till the next wave of pain. "You will help me to deliver this child. You will do everything I tell you." His jaws clench, and there is a pause. To you it seems endless, but perhaps it lasts less than a second, and then he nods. "Tell me what to do."
"If everything is alright, it will happen on its own. But I need hot water and clean sheets. There are some in the..." The contraction hits, and you are slumping. He picks you up and holds you to himself. You bend in half and hiss. It lasts longer than the previous one, and you momentarily panic. Too close, too much. He is supporting your arms, you press the crown of your head into his chest, and then you stomp. It helps to ease the pain, and you can lift your face to him. He looks pale but composed.
"Help me to the bed. Bring the sheets from the waggon. Hot water, rugs, and noone in this house except you!" You are barking orders. He nods again. The knots of muscles on his jaw are white, but his hands are not shaking.
You know for certain none of the warriors outside has ever been present at a delivery. They are of no help. You have delivered their sons and know that they were allowed to the rooms when the babes were bathed and swaddled in immaculate blankets. You also do not wish them to be familiar with their Queen's nether regions.
You breath through three more contractions when the pain reaches the level when you cannot control screams. You grab his hands and in a short moment of relief you look into his eyes. "I will be screaming, a lot, it is natural, it is just pain, it has to be here..." You clench your teeth, and he squeezes your hands. "I might be swearing and cursing you… Do not take it close to your heart..." He nods. He so far did not say a single word since the waters broke. You have no time to let him adjust. "Talk to me, Thorin, I need you to keep on talking…"
"What about?" His voice is raspy, choked. "Anything..." The next one is coming, and you brace yourself. You mewl from the first tense spasms and then scream. He grows even paler, and you yell at him, "You are supposed to talk! Aid me, curse you! I am birthing your child!" Two of the Khuzdul swearings you add are probably not suitable even for a brothel.
They seem to shake the King out of his stupour though. He grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes. "We are going to be alright, kurdu. I will help you. We will do it..." "It is all your fault, if you did not have all this wide build, you thick-skulled oaf…" He suddenly chuckles. "Haven't heard this one in years." "Oh curse you! You will not hear it again! You just could not keep it in your pants! You just had to give me another one! I am not bedding you ever again!"
"Do not be dim, kurdu. Six weeks from now you will be tearing clothes off me," if he is trying to distract you from pain, he is succeeding. "Oh you just watch me, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of..." The pain overwhelms you, and you scream, biting into a pillow. "Take the cursed armour off me!" He helps you and sheds his own as well. You grab handfuls of his tunic and whine. He rubs your back, and you mewl gratefully. And then the new wave of swearing erupts from you, and he hikes up his brows. "Where did you even learn these, my gracious Queen?' "I attend to your citizens in all parts of the city, you dimwit!" You are still pathetic when it comes to swearing in your native tongue. In Khuzdul you feel liberated.
You count time between contractions. You predict you have no more than two hours before the babe is ready for birth. You need to prepare the King. "Thorin, you will have to deliver him." The hands holding you jerk. "It is not hard, you just need to make sure the cord is not wrapped around his neck or he will suffocate. And you need to make sure he breathes… And afterwards there is the placenta, the sack where the babe resides, it has to be delivered afterwards… And there is the cord connecting the babe to me…" You lift your eyes and see that the King is close to fainting. His eyes are unfocused, and his breathing is shallow and irregular.
You slap him across the face, and he blinks. "The cord, the breathing, the sack," he repeats, and suddenly his blue eyes are sharp and calm.
"I will help you, kurdu. We will bring him here together." You have no time to proclaim your ardent love for him as you are screaming again, clenching his arms and cursing his ancestors to the seventh generation. "Never again! I am not letting you touch me ever again! You can parade naked in front of me, and do your purring and looking under you cursed brow, no more of that!" He is making gentle shushing noises. "Oh do shut up with your comforting! It is all your fault!"
The pain cuts you across, and you are wailing. A small part of your mind is cold and professional, and you observe your own torment from outside. You have less than an hour and a half before the babe comes. You know you will not have to push. Quite the opposite, you will need to try to slow him down.
"Why did I even let you put your hands on me? You and your prolific Dwarven semen!" He is rubbing your back. You are standing on all four and curse his member. And then since you do not feel you got your point though, each of his testicles separately. He decides that humour is his only salvation at this stage. "I remember that is exactly the position that got you into this predicament, my lady."
"Curse you and all the positions you took me in! And no, it was on the window sill..." Your loud screams interrupt your recollection, and you start crying. The pain reaches the levels when you stop understanding where you are.
You are weeping and sag on the floor from the edge of the bed. He picks you up and pulls you to himself. You are screaming and wailing, the periods of rest become shorter, and you have a few moments left to talk him through the rest. "I will lie down and you will have to look there… If you can see the crown then it is time…" "The crown?" "The head, you oaf! The head of your son… When the head comes out..." You are talking short spasmodic breaths. The King is seemingly doing the same. "Make sure the neck is not choked… You need to support it... The babes' necks..." ""I remember that part. What else? You have little time."
"Do not order me around! I am the midwife here, you cursed fecund Dwarf!" "And I have just gained the new appreciation for your profession, my lady, but you need to haste." "The body will come out too. You need to help him… The shoulders..." The pain chars you, and you cry and hide into him. Your body is quaking. "Please, please, help me… Stop it… I cannot anymore..." You are sobbing, and he is holding you to him. "What can I do?! I will do anything! Just tell me..." "Nothing, just hold me..." He cannot do anything, it has to take its course.
"And then there is the cord… It connects him to the sack, there will be a lot of blood, do not worry… Then some time will pass, and the sack will have to come out too…" He is nodding. "If I am not conscious, you will have to pull it out, gently…" "What?" "As long as there is not too much blood, even if I am faint, it is alright..."
And then you realize something. You are not preparing him for any of the many possible unfortunate outcomes. "If I do not breath or something does not seem right with me..." ""No!" "Thorin, you need to swear to me now, our son is all that matters..." "No! Do not speak of..." "Thorin!" You are yelling at him. "Show me I can trust you! Swear to me! Our son comes first! Swear to me!" He is shaking, his eyes livid, lips white. "Prove to me I am right to trust you! You will make the right decision!" He takes a few short breaths and then nods. His voice is hollow, "Our son comes first." You breathe out in relief, and then the new wave of pain comes.
Two and a half hours later you understand it is time. Both of you are exhausted, and you can see blood on the King's lip when he bit exceptionally hard into it when a terrifying convulsion was wrecking through your body. You also have bitten his arm, twice. You have insulted his member endless amount of times, professed your undying love for him even more abundantly and cursed each and every of his ancestors dating back to Dain I.
You feel the familiar pressure at your pelvis, and you rasp, "It is time." He kneels in front of the bed, and a ridiculous thought comes to your mind. One of the midwives you served under in Gondor claimed that the one reason why men are not allowed to be present at birth is that seeing their wives in such circumstances forever kills in them any desire to bed them. You momentarily feel relieved, it means you will never have to go through this again. And then you immediately start crying harder. Your dress is bunched up around your hips, and you call your husband's name.
He looks at you from behind your bent knee. His eyes are widened and black from the dilated pupils. "I can see the head." His voice is shaking. And you suddenly blabber, "But you will still want to bed me after that? Promise you will still bed me after that!" You know he would probably promise you the Moon at this moment but you need to hear it.
He stares at you in shock, and then suddenly his face is serious and sincere. "I swear to you if you accept me I will bed you every night from now till the day I die. And now let us deliver our son." You nod and clench your teeth.
The King receives his third child in his hands, first the head, and then one shoulder after another, and the whole lean body of the second prince of Erebor is in his father's palms. You lift your head and rasp in anguish, "Is he breathing?" Dain's scream is piercing, full of life and anger, and golden sparks spray from where his skin connects with his father's hands, they hit the King into the face, run around the room, light up the small house, and then Dain's second scream is even louder.
The walls of the building start shaking from the surge of his magic, it feels the small house will collapse any moment, and then the King speaks in a calm voice, "Dain, look at me. It is I, your adad, it is alright." The vibration stops, and you see the King's face light up with a smile. They are looking into each other's eyes, and the King is laughing, tears running down his face. And then he lifts his eyes at you.
"What do I do now?" You fall back into the pillows and talk him through cutting the cord. You desperately want to hold your son, but you have to wait. Then you feel the last contraction, and you know he needs to help you with the sack. "Give him to me, Thorin, and I am sorry for the next part." You accept a warm little body in your hands, and the King kneels again. You pray that the healer in Gondor was wrong.
And then you eyes finally fall at your second son. You are looking at each other, and you smile. "Hello, my ghivasha, my treasure, my boy." You feel the placenta is out, the King sighs in relief, and you can finally lower our legs. You cannot take your eyes off your son and stroke his cheek. You both are covered in slime and blood, and you ask the King for warm water.
The next hour passes in washing, the King endlessly helpful and gentle with both of you, and putting the babe to your breast for the first time. The King is astonishingly curious. He has previously observed the nursing but it was in your chambers, when the days were specifically chosen when all the participants were in a good mood, special dress with lacy collar on you, pillows and cloths arranges around. Right now you are nursing your child on a makeshift bed, in an abandoned farm house, in the middle of the storm that none of you noticed, all of you disheveled, though clean, exhausted, and entirely and utterly happy.
You are wrapping Dain in a blanket, his strange green eyes already closed, when you feel a surge of your own magic in you. The King is half-lying near you on the bed. You tap the end of his nose and a golden spark jollily jumps from the tip of your finger to his skin. He hikes his brows, and you chuckle. "So it is back," he feigns grumpiness, and you chuckle again. You gently touch Dain's forehead and a vague imprint of his sensations floods your mind. "It is back. I can hear him now."
The King gazes at his son. "And what is he saying?" "That he loves his adad," the King's blue eyes fly to your face, "And that he wants to go home now." The King smiles to you, and you lean in and press your mouth to his. All is perfect in the world, and the three of you settle to sleep. The rustling of the rain outside lulls you, the fingers of your hands intertwined, hearts beating in accord, the small body of your son between you two.