Frerin paced around the fire while a small group of others huddled around it. They were tense and anxious but tried to make conversation, half to pass the time and half to cover the uncomfortable sounds of childbirth coming from the hut nearby.

The night would soon turn into the wee hours of the morning and still they waited. The fire had had to be rekindled twice already.

"What do you suppose they'll name the little one?" Balin asked.

"A noble name, certainly," Bifur replied, "Maybe an ancestral name."

"Look!" Frerin bellowed.

A figure stood in the doorway of the hut. As he approached the fire, it was clear he held a small bundle in his arms.

"Well come along, lad," Balin said impatiently, "let us see the wee'un."

The dwarf smiled and held up his newborn. "A son," he announced, "and he shall be called Fili."

The crowd cheered. Thorin and Marryn grinned at each other. In all the long years they had endured together, Thorin hadn't aged a day. Marryn, however, was older. Her skin, once fair and fresh, was beginning to crease. Her eyes held the memory of a lifetime of smiles.

"And what of Dís?" Frerin asked.

"My wife toiled admirably and is resting now," the new father assured everyone with a smile.

All in attendance were eager to hold the new dwarf.

Thorin cradled him, beaming. "He looks a bit like you, Frerin," he said to his brother, "Poor lad, perhaps he'll grow out of it."

Frerin chuckled, taking his turn holding the newborn. "I can definitely see our family's nose."

He passed her to Marryn. Little Fili looked curiously out at the world with wide eyes. She offered him a finger to grip while she admired the beginnings of his wispy tawny beard.

"Quite the handshake," Marryn chuckled as she passed the baby along, pulling her finger from his grasp.

Thorin placed a hand on the small of her back. The whole group of dwarves buzzed excitedly, each taking their turn complimenting the new addition.

"It's late," Thorin said, "we had best let the new family get some sleep if they can. Heaven knows it's the last they'll get for a while."

The rest of the group laughed and agreed. The fire was extinguished and they each went their own way.

Marryn sighed and rested her chin on her husband's shoulder.

"I'm too old to be staying out so late," she said with a yawn.

"You're not old at all," Thorin assured her.

"To you, maybe," Marryn said with a laugh.

The two walked along in silence until they reached their home. It was a small, drafty little cottage with a termite-bitten wooden door.

The fire they had started in the stove when they left was now only embers. Thorin skillfully brought it back to life to warm them as they slept.

"Any news of the king?" Marryn asked, undressing and getting into bed.

"None," Thorin said, "He has not been heard from since he left with Nár."

"Where would he have gone?" Marryn asked, wrapping her arm around Thorin's strong body as he joined her.

"I could not say," Thorin replied, "Poverty has been unbearable for him. I imagine he would go wherever he could find some wealth."

The two of them lay in silence for a while.

"My heart aches to know that my nephew will never get to see Erebor. He will be raised in squalor, never witnessing his proud heritage because an accursed dragon grows fat in our mountain," Thorin said quietly, a slight growl to his voice.

"Do not be discouraged, my love," Marryn whispered, "All is not lost. You may indeed lead your nephew back into the mountain someday."