WARNING: Not terribly graphic (I don't think by I'm medical so I don't think I count) depiction of childbirth in this chapter.
Over the following weeks Thorin and Bilbo took many picnics to the clearing and Bilbo slowly adapted to the change in the number of residents of Bag End, coming to even appreciate the extra hands as they freed him up to work more on things he wanted to do rather than things he had to do. But then winter fully set in and such excursions would be ill-advised if not outright foolish. There was nothing more that could be done for the preparations of the settlement until spring thaw, and little more to do at the forge, so, Thorin, too, was spending most of his days in the home with the others. Though he would be the last one to admit it, he enjoyed spending his days relaxing before the fire with his unconventional family.
Despite his continued need for a bit of peace and quiet, Bilbo, too, was content. Peony and Dís truly were unobtrusive when he wasn't going out of his way to be put out by their presence. Frodo genuinely enjoyed their company and for the first time since he'd adopted the lad—partially to spite the Sackville-Bagginses—he felt a twinge of regret at taking him from the companionship of Brandywine Hall. But as he'd long since learned, regret did nothing. All he could do now was move on and allow Frodo the company he'd been denied as Mad Baggins' heir.
About a week into the cold snap, Peony was standing in the kitchen making biscuits for breakfast when a strange expression crossed her face and her flour-covered hand drifted to her massive belly. Before long it passed and she returned to making biscuits, shaking her head at the strange things babes did. She was only mildly concerned when it happened again, the same strange tightening as if the baby was stretching despite the lack of space. She let out a small hum as it passed as well and placed the biscuits in the oven, not wanting to alarm anyone unduly over a stretching babe.
Dís, however, noticed. She took a mental note of the time from the clock on the mantle and vowed to keep a close eye on the lass. She would wait until she knew for certain before alerting her brother and his hobbit to the lass' situation. She knew from personal experience how men were about these things and it wasn't as if they could do anything to help especially if her suspicions were true.
ooOO88OOoo
By lunch, it was apparent to everyone that something was going on. Dís alone seemed unperturbed by it. Peony, especially seemed distressed. What she had taken as an odd twinge was proving to be a recurring thing. Panic was beginning to set in as she looked from one male face to the next, knowing that none of them could either confirm or deny her suspicions. It wasn't as if they were trained midwives or old mothers. And she doubted Dís could help either. She didn't even know if dwarves had children the same was a hobbits.
Seeing the fear in her eyes, Dís pulled the lass aside and handed her a cup of tea. Peony took a sip of it before setting the cup down with a disgusted look on her face. It had been beyond bitter. Sheoffered the dwarf dam a small smile, attempting to mask how terrible it was. After all, Dís had only been trying to help.
"Drink it, lass," Dís said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "It tastes awful but it will speed what is to come."
"What?" Peony breathed, not liking the knowing look on the dwarf dam's face. "How will that help?"
"The herbs strengthen what your body's already started," Dís replied. "Nothing can stop it so we may as well help it. It's time, lass. I've just set Frodo for your cousin. If she doesn't arrive before the babe who do you . . ." Dís trailed off. The usual questions weren't needed here. Not only was the lass not a dwarf, and thereby more likely to survive, Dís wasn't sure if Thorin and Bilbo were going to allow her to name the babe or if they would do it themselves. And whether the lass survived or not, they knew to whom the babe was going.
"What do you mean, it's time?" Peony asked, her stomach sinking at what she knew Dís was saying. If she was honest, she'd known since the first twinge that morning. She just hadn't wanted to admit it.
"It's time," the dwarf said, her voice holding an odd finality that set Peony's already queasy stomach to rolling.
ooOO88OOoo
It turns out "time" was a relative thing. Even with Dís' tea, nothing more was happening when Lobelia arrived with a pale Frodo a time later. While Dís understood that Thorin would want to make himself scarce for the comfort of Peony's cousin, Dís had thought that he looked a bit too eager as he bustled Bilbo out the door to go to the Green Dragon shortly after her announcement that the hobbit woman was coming.
"Thorin, I'm not going out in the cold for a pint!" Bilbo had protested as Thorin had nearly forced him into his coat and pushed him out the door. "Especially not just because my cousin is coming over. She's run me out of my home for the last time."
"Trust me," Thorin had muttered, hoping his sister wouldn't hear. "You don't want to be here tonight. I'll buy the room." Bilbo had looked from the miserable face of Peony to Dís' knowing smirk and even his curly hair seemed to deflate as he realized what was happening. Not only did he offered no further protest, he busted out the door so quickly he forgot his pipe and walking stick.
As she had watched them flee, she laughed softly at the paradox that were males. A fire-breathing dragon and they would march across the world to face it. The birth of a child and they flee. The valar had chosen wisely when they elected to have women bear children.
"Your uncle's gone to the pub," Dís told Frodo, the statement both a dismissal and an invitation. "The Green Dragon I think they said. You might take him his pipe when you join him."
"I'll stay," Frodo said, still looking a bit faint, his voice thinner than it should have been.
"There's nothing you can do to help," Lobelia said. "You'll just be under our feet. This is women's work. Go on."
"I'll stay," Frodo said, his voice stronger. "Someone has to be able to run for things while you do . . . whatever it is you do."
"Go on, lad," Lobelia scoffed. "We know where everything is kept. This is one thing that we don't need you for." Dís was about to speak for the lad, tell Lobelia that among the dwarves many a male had attended a birthing room when females were unavailable but she was stopped by Peony.
"He can stay," she said. "Dís doesn't know where we keep everything yet. He'll be useful."
"He can't," Lobelia countered. "It's not proper."
"Cousin," Peony snapped, her face contorting as another wave hit. "We've long since thrown what was proper out. It's not proper to have a child out of wedlock or to give it to two males. But that's what I'm doing. Nor is it proper to . . . Hang proper. I say he can stay if he will so stay he shall."
Lobelia pressed her lips into a thin line but said nothing else against Peony's plan. Instead she turned to Frodo and said, "You heard the lass. Be useful. And no fainting. We can't be caring for the both of you."
Frodo nodded and set to brewing more of Dís' tea, as instructed. However in the back of his mind was the question of just why his cousin thought he would faint. It was just the birth of a babe.
ooOO88OOoo
He soon understood. Things rapidly became less than fine in the house. A few more cups of tea had Peony, who was walking through the den with Dís and Lobelia on either side, laying he head against Dís' shoulder sobbing.
"I can't do this," she kept muttering."I can't."
"Should have thought about that a long time ago," Lobelia snapped. "Now save your air. You'll need it."
"Let her talk," Dís snarled. "If it makes her feel better, let her do as she will. It won't matter. Things will be fine or they will not."
"What do you know of it?" Lobelia demanded. "I've delivered one of my own and many more besides."
"I bore two sons," Dís said, standing to her full height and glaring at Lobelia over Peony's head in a way that reminded the hobbit woman, quite disconcertingly, of her brother. "I have delivered more babes over my years than I can even remember. Some tragically but many successfully. And dwarf pregnancies have many more complications that do hobbits'. No dwarf enters the birthing room without a will and a name for the child in writing. I am more than capable of delivering this child. Without you if need be for her comfort."
"It's fine, Dís," Peony said tiredly leaning against the dwarf. "She can stay."
"If you change your mind," Dís promised, stroking the hair back from the hobbit lass' brow.
Through this entire exchange, and many like it before, Frodo had hung back, silent waiting for a command to follow. He was rapidly wishing that he would have taken the escape when it had been offered rather than insisting on staying. He wasn't sure why he had wanted to be here. Lobelia had been right. There was nothing that he could do to help. Then, the command came.
"I need a basin," Dís snapped over her shoulder. "Now." Frodo nodded and brought the basin she had requested he dig out and placed it on the floor by them. "Towels," she instructed. He left to get them as well, shocked to see the dwarf dam looking up Peony's dress when he came back.
"Last chance, lad," Dís said, positioning Peony over the bowl and placing the towels around it. "Leave or be here for the birth."
"So . . someone should tell my uncle," he muttered, heading for the door.
"Go get them then," Dís said, pulling over a foot stool for Peony to lean against, stroking the hobbit's hair. "You can do this, lass. It's almost over." Peony just sobbed, pressing her forehead into the fabric as another wave passed over her.
"Almost there," Dís muttered. Lobelia stood off to the side, attending in silence ever since Dís' outburst, seething a bit that the foreigner had taken over her cousin's birth. Even so, she couldn't deny that the dwarf knew what she was doing.
"That's it, lass,"Dís said. "Just one more push." As the infant passed from its mother to Dís, the dwarf woman could not stop the wave of sorrow that washed over her. The babe in her hands, though crying lustily was such a wee thing. So short and thin. It couldn't be meant long for this world. Holding it in one hand, she assisted Peony to lean back and she silently laid the babe on her mother's chest, knowing that no words, no matter how sincere could help the pain that would come when she passed. Her heart broke for the young mother, and for her brother and Bilbo, already so dedicated to that little life. It always hurt to lose a child but to lose a girl.
"She's perfect," Lobelia whispered. "You did well, Peony." Dís could barely contain her sob at the words, knowing how such praise would only make it ache more when the inevitable came. As she lay down fresh towels to collect the afterbirth, she prayed to Mahal that it was a slow process, knowing from past experiences that every pulse of life from the mother would sustain the doomed child just that little bit longer.
"I'll go get her a dress," Lobelia chipped. "You two get her cleaned up. And for pity's sake, cut that cord!" Dís felt as though lobelia had doused her with snow. How could someone be so callous?! And a mother herself no less! There would be time to bathe and dress the child after she was gone. She was about to step out and give that overbearing she-hobbit a piece of her mind when Peony spoke.
"Will you please pass me that rag?" she asked, her voice weary.
"It can wait," Dís replied, keeping her tone gentle. "Just . . . love your babe. Hold her while you can."
"They're easier to clean wet," she replied. Dís didn't have the heart to argue and passed the lass the damp towel. The way the child squalled as the cloth was passed over her skin broke her heart anew. Such a little fighter. It was only when Lobelia returned with a dress as tiny as the babe and tisked before tying and cutting the no longer pulsing cord that Dís realized her mistake.
The child was tiny, but so was the mother. While impossibly small for a dwarf babe, it truly was a perfect hobbit. This was truly the start of a new life rather that a tragedy. With that realization, she turned her attention to care of the newborn and mother.
"What will you name her?" Lobelia asked, setting out a bit of cloth for a diaper.
"I won't," Peony said stroking the squealing babe. "They will."
"If you ask," Dís began only for Peony to cut her off.
"No," she said shaking her head. "She's their babe. They should name her. I should feed her." Dís nodded and took the bowl from the floor wondering if hobbits had any traditions for it like dwarves did. Just in case she set it aside for Peony and Lobelia to do as they would and set to cleaning the remainder of their mess.
ooOO88OOoo
When Bilbo, Frodo and Thorin arrived some time later, there was no sign in the den of what had taken place. Dís was in the kitchen cooking something, Peony was resting in the window seat staring out at the snow and Lobelia was nowhere to be found. The only difference was the small basket on the table where previously none had been.
"Don't wake her," Dís said without turning around. "The lass is tired."
"A rest well earned," Thorin replied.
"Your daughter is on the table," Dís said, her tone giving no indication of her opinion on the matter, something Thorin knew from long practice meant that she disapproved.
"It wasn't my idea, Dís," Thorin said softly, going to her side. "The hobbits, they're not dwarves. They don't place the same value on the mother's rights that we do. It . . . it was implied that the babe would be . . . gotten rid of, regardless of whether we took it or no. This is better that that, no?"
"She wept, Thorin," Dís muttered, her own eyes filling with tears. "When she was holding it. She just keep whispering that she didn't know what to call it because the babe wasn't hers and weeping. You can't tell me that's better."
"Than death?" Thorin countered. "She will be part of this child's life, Dís. I won't have it any other way. I've already told Bilbo—"
"Let her name it," Dís said, her words not a request. "It is bad enough that they won't let her keep it but give her that right. Let her name her child."
"Then I have to wake her," Thorin replied. "We need a name to present it." Dís nodded and Thorin went to the basket, lifting the blanket and revealing the tiny child. With his pinky he inspected her fingers. Tiny, perfect fingers. He carefully lifted the child, lighter than a baked pie, and moved to Peony's side.
"She's beautiful," he said by way of greeting, stroking the downy brown curls on the babe with one finger as he held her in his other hand.
"She is," Peony agreed, opening her eyes tiredly.
"What's her name?" he asked, his tone the gentlest that Peony had ever heard from him. "What shall we call her?" he asked again when it was clear that Peony wasn't going to answer.
"I've always liked Poppy," Peony said softly.
"Then Poppy it is," Thorin said with a smile.
