Author's Note:
Bory68 - Oh, maybe I should go back and rewrite it so that its clearer? Basically, Dori is a mothering hen. Balin kinda passed the older-brother baton to Dori when Balin left, so Dwalin and Malin are terrified of Dori coming over and fussing over them. Dwalin especially does not want Dori to know he hurt his arm.
sandy JS hashtag - No kidding, some of the fanfic writers here have like 180 chapters. I hope you enjoy the story :) Unfortunately, its based on a copyrighted movie based on copyrighted book, so no chance of it ever being a movie :) I would love to write movie scripts, but hey, maybe one day. That'll be awesome, a dream-come-true for many fanfic writers. We write fanfic so that we can express our appreciation of the subject as well as hone our skills. I'm sure there are fanfic writers out there who have made it really big.
Okay... *drumroll*... so fifty-two chapters have passed. Today, this chapter is not chronological, it stands alone. Here is a glimpse, one of many, of what I have constructed as Malin's past. It perhaps will lead to more questions than it answers, but here's a reward for you guys. Its a pretty important development, because in this Fic-world, there is just as much to cover in the past as there is to develop in the future. And in this future, there is no happy ending.
Warning: it is a dark, sad and traumatic chapter. I hope I do the storyline justice, because I'm sure the topic can hit a few buttons for most folks around the world. With total respect to all readers, I hope that it deepens the storyline and makes Malin a deeper and more complex character. I don't just want "Malin of the Iron Hills" to be another "Tess of D'urbervilles" either, but someone with a story of her own.
Chapter 53: The Life that Never Lived
The life that never lived,
The breaths never breathed,
Tears never shed,
Hands that never grasped,
A heart that never felt,
Never knew what it means to feel,
Happiness, love, sadness, pain,
Or any other emotion.
A spark full of possibilities,
Extinguished before its time.
Twenty years ago in the Iron Hills...
Malin ran her hand over her belly, feeling the small life inside. It had begun to kick a lot recently. Malin could have easily become depressed, shut in the room, feeling the four walls close in around her. Dlysi, Dena and the others came daily at first, but now they spent less time with her as time went on. The vomiting stage was over, thank goodness, and Malin was now into her sixth month.
The healer had suggested terminating the child, something very rarely done amongst dwarves except in the gravest of circumstances, but that was not something Malin wanted to go through for her own reasons, notwithstanding the stigma of killing such a child was heavy, and, it was extremely risky and more often fatal than not. She didn't want to risk dying of infection.
Malin had thought things through carefully for the past six months, and decided to give the child away in secret, never to know its mother. She knew she would never want to marry, not after what happened, and she could not cause the child to suffer the stigma of an illegitimate child. Malin resented the fact that she was pregnant, that she had to carry this life within her that reminded her of its... father... and the circumstances of its conception.
Malin still hurt. It pained her every time the memories came back. Her heart was pierced, and she felt like retching, or even hitting her head on the blasted stone wall, walls she had memorized every inch of due to months of confinement. It was awful, this imprisonment. The loneliness and weariness of it hurt.
She waited for the infant's kick that came quite often.
"You've done nothing wrong, little one," Malin said, "Soon, you will go to your new Ma and she will take care of you. Its better that you never know."
All Malin wanted is for the baby to come quickly, and then for her to forget about the whole matter. It wouldn't be easy, no doubt, but she felt a lot better about it now than before. It was strange, this life growing inside of her. Malin never called it "my baby", simply, "the baby". It didn't belong to her - it would go to someone else. She couldn't be angry at it, or blame it, but she knew she could never face it either.
Malin waited and waited for hours but the kick never came. Feeling odd, she drank a cup of herbs and went to bed - it being mid-afternoon.
She awoke in the evening and felt feverish. It had been a long and restless sleep, and even though she dozed with her hands on the baby bump, she had felt nothing for hours, strangely.
Dena was sitting by the bed.
"Malin, dear," Dena said, "I've sent for the healer. I was feeling the child, and there's no heartbeat."
"It hasn't kicked in hours," Malin said slowly, "What does this mean?"
"Perhaps," Dena leaned forward and grasped Malin's hand, "Perhaps the child does not live."
"Oh." Malin registered the fact slowly.
"Be strong, my dear," Dena said, "This will not be easy. Perhaps it is for the best."
"No doubt you are right," Malin said, bracing herself.
The healer came at that moment, and an examination showed that no heartbeat could be found. She shook her head gently, glancing at Dena.
"It does not live?"
"No, my lady. It may take a few hours..."
"But the child will be birthed?"
"Birth?" Malin asked, "A dead babe?"
"Aye..."
"Will it be like a ordinary birth?"
"Perhaps more difficult," Dena said quietly, "We'll prepare some herbs for the pain. Get it over it sooner than later.. that'll be better."
Malin lay on her bed and readied herself. She would have to deliver a stillborn babe. Her, Lady Malin, the unmarried, the once-accused traitor, was going to bring forth a child who would never see the light of day.
She had some time to herself, to think. To prepare. It seemed to wasted now, the months of agony, of pain, of loneliness, of trying to forget the trauma. She felt quite silenced and dumbfounded, so unprepared and unready.
An hour later came the first wave of pain, bleeding and water.
"Please, " Malin begged Dena, "Help me, Dena. I'm not ready. This can't be happening. Please, please..."
Dena looked steadily in her eyes, tears falling slowly. Malin's started to cry,
"I can't, not yet... the pain..."
Malin braced herself pain unceasingly washed over her. She felt so trapped, so crushed by own body, and she felt suffocated. There seemed to be no end to it. Dena and Dlysi stayed by her side as she laboured into the night, weak and pale from the bleeding, until finally the still form emerged.
The healer swept it up, wiped it and shook her head. It was lifeless, still and cold. Malin's eyes were closed in exhaustion, her breath short. She continued to hiss and breathe heavily, moaning.
"Here she is," the healer handed the child to Malin to look at. Malin should rarely raise her hands, but she stopped to admire the beautiful, still babe.
"You are lucky, little one," Malin said in a weak, dull voice, "You will never have to see the light of day, never have to live through the endless misery that is the life of a dwarf."
Her hands swept over the tiny, tiny features of the babe, the little nose, the little wee mouth that would never breathe or taste or speak, the eyes that would never see. Its tiny hands were clenched, it looked so at peace and at rest.
"A boy," Dena was looking at the child, holding her hands over her mouth to stop from crying.
No matter what, it was a beautiful babe.
"I will not forget you, little one," Malin said, taking one last exhausted look and handing him slowly to Dena, where the child was quietly taken away to be buried. Malin's last touch was on its tiny little head, covered with a shock of brown hair so like her own.
I may never have a husband or a family, but I have had a son.
Hours later, Malin had been cleaned and left to sleep, a healer watching over her. The child was gone forever, and she was left alone to heal and to continue with her life. Dwarves being strong, hardy creatures, Malin found it easy to rest after she had said goodbye. Perhaps this was better; she would feel better tomorrow, the ache and sore would gradually go away and she would never have to feel them again anymore.
In three days Malin was persuaded to get out of bed and walk a little, her steps careful and slow as not to incur any more pain. In a month, she left the room for the first time in seven months, but not as a same dwarrowdam. The toll the whole affair had had on her body was drastic - her eyes were covered with darkness, her neck and chest with scars. She walked unsteadily and slowly, daring not to look at people, frightened at the merest shadows -she was not the carefree exuberant maid she once was. Rather, it would take awhile for her even to be able to greet those she loved with an embrace. Malin dressed like Dena, like an old matron, covering her neck with a thick, dark and heavy veil as the older women did, dressing in shapeless, dull and severe dresses to hide the signs of pregnancy that were left behind. She returned to her work, taking little interest or pleasure in anything else, seeing no one except those closest to her. During the day, Malin dreaded the looks and whispers of strangers at she passed them in the corridors; at night, she dreaded the far worse nightmares that returned, especially when she was tired.
