"Thorin the Third," Sigrid said. She looked up at Fili's face, squinting her eyes against the sunlight. She detected a wry half-smile through the shadows on his back-lit face, and relaxed again, shielding her eyes from the sun with the back of her arm.
"No," Fili said. "I wouldn't wish the weight of that name on anyone, let alone my son. Imagine the expectations. No, something simple would be best, something of his own that he can grow into. Something without so much baggage." He lifted a finger to stroke a strand of her hair back into place, and she closed her eyes in contentment where she lay, stretched out on the blanket with her head in his lap, the remains of their picnic lunch still strewn out beside them. The two puppies lay sleeping just beyond, having eaten their fill, but apparently Fili hadn't. Sigrid felt him reach out for more food, and when he spoke again it was with his mouth half full. "And anyway, it's girls' names we should be working on, love."
"Maybe, maybe not," Sigrid replied archly. "Something simple, you say. How about Nib?"
"Are you saying Nib's simple?" Fili said with a laugh.
"No, you know what I mean," she said, shaking her head, smiling. "It's a simple name, straightforward. And he'd be so pleased to have a namesake."
Fili chuckled again. "He's the only Nib I've ever heard of. I'm convinced his mother made it up. Her name's Himinglaedr, and his father's is Mjothvitnir. I'll wager they were tired of such long names by the time Nib came along."
Sigrid laughed. "I thought it must have been short for something, Nibingr or Nibolfric or the like," she said. She sounded the name out slowly and deliberately, emphasising the consonants. "Nib. Nib son of Fili. No, I'm sorry my dearest Nib, wherever you are, but it just doesn't have that ring to it." She shrugged the thought away and relaxed in the sun, its warmth, along with the comfortable pillow of Fili's lap and her belly full of food, lulling her almost to sleep.
"Bard Junior," she heard Fili say.
"No, Da has about twenty namesakes in Dale already," she murmured. "Every second lad in the last five years has been named for him. There's even a Barda, if you can believe that – Tryggr the baker's lass."
"Hmm, Barda. I love it," Fili said, the jest in his voice unmistakable. "Opens up a whole new world of names. Thorina. Bilbina. Gandalfa. I could go on all day."
"Please don't," she said with a laugh. "Any daughter we have would never forgive us if we saddled her with a name like that. Da wouldn't forgive us either. And Dis, can you imagine? She would have a fit."
"It would be worth it just to see her reaction," Fili said mischievously. "Seriously though, we'd better come up with something before we get home, or Mother will think it her job to name the bairn. She'd choose Thrain the Third or some such."
"No, no Thrains or Thrors. Like you said, too much baggage." Sigrid fell silent as she let her mind wander, and felt herself drifting off again, warm and relaxed. "Fili," she murmured at last. "Kili, Wili, Nili. Vili. Vili, son of Fili. Vili?" She squinted up at her husband again. "What do you think? Is it too much baggage for it to rhyme with your name?"
She felt Fili's hand stroking her hair.
"Vili, son of Fili. I like it," he said. "Individual, but with the family touch. But mind, if we have another lad, he'll have to have something that doesn't rhyme. I know it's traditional, but it's maddening the amount of times people have mixed up Kili's and my names. I've told you, even Thorin's done it. And if Kili and Tauriel decide to do the same when they have a bairn…"
"Pandemonium," she said with a laugh. "All right, I agree. Vili's on the list, and no rhyming for future siblings." Her laugh turned into a sigh, and she stretched, and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her hand went to her stomach.
"Do you truly think we'll have more, my love?"
He smiled at her, his eyes tender. "I don't see why not. Astrid and Finn have two, don't they? We know now that anything's possible. Who's to say what fate has in store for us?"
He meant it to be reassuring, she knew that. But at Fili's words, a frisson of unaccountable apprehension shivered down Sigrid's spine. There was no reason it should have – she was with Fili, and they were on their way home, all their troubles left behind them in the Iron Hills. In any case, they'd already been through so much that it hardly seemed possible that fate could have anything else to throw at them. But if there was one thing Sigrid knew about fate, it was that it didn't care what you'd already been through.
Fili frowned, noticing her sudden change of mood. "Come, love. Are you right to keep going a while longer? We can stay here if you prefer."
"I'm fine," she replied automatically, brushing off the unpleasant feeling. "Let's go."
They packed away the remains of their lunch and remounted their ponies, and each with a sleeping puppy in a sling around one shoulder, continued their journey.
The afternoon's ride brought them to Will and Walcott's father's farm, at the junction where the north-east road to the highlands and Fili's waterfall came down to join the main road between the Iron Hills and Erebor. Rather than detouring through the northern hills as they had done on their outward journey, they had come straight through on the main road, keen to take the most direct route, the sooner to arrive home. As they approached, Sigrid shifted uncomfortably in her saddle and eyed the farmhouse with a wary look.
"You're safe with me, love," Fili said quietly. "We needn't talk to him."
Fili drew Mindy up at the boundary fence. He held his puppy in its sling with one hand as he stood in his stirrups and dug into his pocket with the other, pulling out a purse that Sigrid knew contained a fair sum of gold coin and a letter from Will and Walcott to their father. He sat back down in his saddle and threw the coin purse with precise, skilful aim onto the porch in front of the door.
"That's that," he said as he turned Mindy's head back towards the road. They hadn't gone five paces before Sigrid heard the door of the farmhouse being flung open, and turned to see Will's father, small, unkempt and glowering, a garden hoe in his hand, striding across the yard towards them.
"Oi! You! Get back here!" he shouted. "Where's my son? What have you done with him?"
Fili gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and looked apologetically at Sigrid.
"I'm sorry love," he said. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. Here." He lifted the sling from around his neck and reached across to hand Sigrid the puppy he was holding, She took it, both dogs now awake and alert, but motionless, their ears pricked up and staring intently at the farmer. In her arms she felt the vibration of a tiny growl.
Fili dismounted and turned to face Will's father, standing his ground just outside the rail fence.
"Where is he?" the farmer shouted again. He brandished the hoe. "Tell me where he is!"
"It's Waldemar, isn't it?" Fili said, his voice smooth. He nodded at the door of the farmhouse. "There's a letter from your sons in that purse over there. I suggest you read it."
"Villain!" the farmer continued, ignoring Fili's request. "Knave! You've done away with him, haven't you! Scoundrel!"
Fili took two steps and with one hand on the rail he vaulted the fence, walking towards the farmer with a determined stride. Waldemar's thin face blanched, and he nearly fell over himself as he backtracked to the door of the farmhouse, his panicked eyes never leaving Fili's face. He stopped at the door and dropped into a defensive stance with his hoe raised and pointed at Fili.
Fili disarmed him without breaking his stride, and threw the hoe aside. He grabbed the purse from where it lay by the door, and pressed it into Waldemar's trembling hands.
"Open it."
Waldemar undid the drawstring with fumbling fingers, and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. A few gold coins fell to the timber floor of the porch with a clatter.
"Read it, Waldemar. It's from your sons. They've been through a lot, but even now, they'd like you to come visit them in the Iron Hills."
Waldemar unfolded the parchment and turned his sullen, fearful eyes from Fili to the writing on the page. As he read, his shoulders relaxed, and he stood upright. Fili took a step back.
Sigrid saw Waldemar's thoughts and feelings clearly shifting across his features as he read, moving from fear and resentment to confusion and incredulousness. He lifted his eyes to Fili.
"You did this?" he said, sounding dubious and looking Fili up and down, slowly, as if for the first time. Before Fili could answer, Waldemar's face hardened again, and he sneered. "Trickery! You wrote this! You want me out of my house so you can rob me! Villain!" He sprang away from Fili and hurled himself through the open door of the farmhouse, slamming it behind him as more coins clattered down in his wake, and Sigrid heard the thudding sound of a bar being shoved into place as he secured it from the inside.
Fili stood and looked at the door for a moment, then turned and began walking slowly back towards her, giving one small shake of his head. He smiled at her ruefully before re-mounting Mindy and reaching out to take one of the puppies from her arms. He settled the sling around his neck and the puppy craned up her neck to give him a solemn lick. He laughed and stroked her head.
"At least you appreciate my efforts, pup," he said, half in earnest, half jest.
"Oh, love. You tried. That's all you can do," Sigrid said softly. "If he's not willing to listen, that's up to him."
"I know. You're right, love," Fili said with a sigh. He gazed at her a moment, his eyes tender and a small, resigned half-smile on his face. Then his eyes narrowed. "The lads will come see him at some point, and he'll hear everything from them. But in truth, they're better off without him." He paused, looking off into the distance as he thought. "Their mother must have been a good woman, or Will wouldn't be like he is. How on earth did she end up with such a bitter old churl?" He frowned and shook his head again, then pressed Mindy forward and they set off up the road.
Sigrid shrugged. "He may not have started out that way," she said. "Time can change things. Hardship, illness… the stress can make you bitter if it goes on too long."
"That's true," Fili admitted. "But it's a choice, in the end, isn't it? You let it make you bitter. You don't have to."
"Not everyone's as strong as you, my love," she said softly. "And Fili – as much as you may want to, you can't fix everything."
Fili rode on in silence for a dozen or so paces, deep in thought. Finally he nodded in rueful resignation and glanced at her. "You're right, beloved. As always. But you know, I'd rather be the sort that tries, even if I fail, than the sort that turns their back on people who need help."
"I know you would," she said. "You are. It's why I love you. Now, let's put some miles between us and the charming Waldemar, and find me a camp where you can hunt some rabbits. I want stew tonight, and it's your turn to cook."
"As you wish, beloved," he replied, his eyes soft and lingering on her face. "If it's stew you want, that's what you shall have."
They made camp early on a rise beside a low-lying creek, upstream from the road and amongst the shelter of a stand of scrubby bushes. Fili brought back three rabbits from his hunt, already skinned and cleaned downwind in consideration of Sigrid's sensitive stomach, and set about turning two of them into the requested stew. Sigrid offered to feed the puppies, but the raw, meaty smell from the third rabbit was too pungent in the end, and she convinced Fili to let her take over the stew while he took care of the puppies, watching as he used a few small tidbits to start training them to sit before they began eating.
"Rabbit bones are too small for these two to gnaw on. Maggie will have some beef bones at the Pick and Shovel, no doubt," he said as he watched the puppies tuck in to their meal.
"No doubt she'd slaughter one specially, if it was you that asked," Sigrid replied, handing him a bowl of steaming, fragrant stew, with some rolls of bread they'd brought with them from the Iron Hills to sop up the gravy. They sat side-by-side on their bedrolls and ate their fill, the ponies grazing contentedly nearby, occasionally lifting their heads to level their patient, bemused gazes at the puppies playing and wrestling by their feet. Fili stoked up the campfire again as the sun disappeared on the western horizon and a chill began to pervade the evening air, and lay back down on the bedroll beside Sigrid and sighed. He looked at her and held up his arm for her to snuggle into his side.
"I'm glad it's just us again, you and me," she whispered. "I love having you all to myself."
"You always have me all to yourself, love, even in a crowded room," he murmured back. He kissed her hair. "What I want to know is, how did I get so lucky?"
"You climbed out my of toilet," she replied. "Who could resist that?" She felt his chuckle rumble in his chest, and he held her, and kissed her hair again.