'AZGHZARSLAWZ- Acorn
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"I find I have not felt so exhausted in all my life." Meisar settled back on the pillow with a long sigh, Freyda across from her, cradling Brundin to nurse in her drool-spotted green tunic and long skirt. "Is it like this, Freyda? So... draining?"
"It can be." The blonde dwarrowdam adjusted her child against her chest, ever the dwarf in regards to mealtimes. Freyda's truculent posturing had gone in those days, rewarding the child's acquisitiveness with more than tenderness. That love could melt a warrior's heart, Meisar imagined to herself, watching her. She wondered if it was the same for Dwalin.
The four or so passing days since Eda had regulated her to bed had been misery and a throbbing lance of pain centered at the small of her back constantly. Her head swam from dangling over the side of the bed so often to yark. Not even the plainest of morning porridge had retained itself in her stomach. The other dwarrowdams called it a morning sickness but hers lasted all of the day, and the confinement had become a comfort as much as a necessity.
Her eyes red, she blinked at Freyda through acidic tears after another round of heaving in which nothing came except a thin bile in her throat. "Perhaps I lack your vigor as well as your youth, Freyda."
"Nay, had the feelin' I was dragging boulders 'hind me ankles every step I took them first weeks, dinna know it though then," Freyda answered. "Aye, though, mayhap yer not so young as I am, and after all this trying... I think some magic was at work, no?"
"Yes," Meisar leaned over to tickle Brundin's wriggling foot, loose from his swaddling. "Some magic indeed."
"Ye'll be jutting outta yer clothes before ye know it," Freyda said, considering the deflated bulge at her own belly carefully. "He's only a wee bean now. But how he'll grow, yours."
"If mine is as big as yours I think I should not survive the birth," Meisar fretted aloud. Brundin withdrew from Freyda's breast to pout toward her dramatically. The child had Dwalin's suspicious eyes and Freyda's surly mouth. At four weeks he was a stout lug of a boy, the grasp of his tiny hands an impressively solid thing. He made fists and batted them around.
"Ye will," Freyda rebutted, patting Brundin's back after his fill was had. "If yers is a lad, him and mine shall be the best o' friends. If ye have a lass, I think Brundin might marry her someday. How about that, little one? Would ye like a royal bride?"
Brundin responded to the notion with a arc of bright yellowish regurgitation, splattering on Freyda's tunic and running in sticky rivulets through the little one's beard. He blew bubbles on his lips with it until a second surge welled up and christened his shirt and swaddling.
"Oh dear..." Meisar twisted to the side over the bed, heaving when the smell hit her. Her own sick hit the empty basin with a harsh "glack." Above, she heard Freyda issue another repellent moan through the pounding in her own head.
"Stay down there, m'queen. He's put it out the other end too," Freyda warned. Meisar craned her head around to catch Freyda hustling toward the bath chamber with Brundin held at arms' length. Rising upright, she found the bedding unspoiled from either of Brundin's outflows. Niva came and she requested some urgent rosewater perfumes. The maidservant was only starting to purify the air when Thorin entered unexpectedly.
"My king," the girl mumbled and curtsied, leaving the rosewater on Meisar's bedside table.
"I brought some company," Thorin announced. Her absence in the everyday of governance had made his days all the longer, and wearier, and it showed in his face, when he thought no one was looking. For her though there was only mirth.
"Company?" Meisar repeated, her nose twitching for any lingering unpleasantness in the air.
"It is only Dwalin and Balin, and Ori," Thorin said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her, kissing her head. She closed her eyes and rested her head into the smoke-imbued fur of his outer robe, glad to be in his arms again.
"I could not bear for you to be so bored here all day," Thorin murmured.
"Oh but Freyda is here. She is the bath chamber. Brundin got them both rather messy." Dwalin gave a proud smirk behind Thorin, slipping off to the bath chamber then to greet wife and son.
"Oh I suppose," Meisar sat up and shirked the covers against the sharp ache in the base of her back once Dwalin was out of sight for her scant dress, adjusting the pillow behind her. "Will you bring my dressing robe though?"
Thorin helped her to slip it on from behind over her bare arms in her sleeveless nightdress. A queer fiery heat inside had bothered her since afternoon, so sweltering inside she was keen to have gone naked entirely, but for the presence of her ladies, and the chambermaids coming in and out to replace her basins when she was sick. She sat heavily then in the chair beside the bed, dogs in her lap.
A few minutes later, Dwalin emerged with Brundin laid against his shoulder in a clean shirt and swaddling, Freyda in her under-gown and Dwalin's sur-coat.
"We must see to some business still anyhow, but I thought it better to come to you," Thorin continued, urging each of the dwarves present to come sit about the fire and relax, the maidservants bringing ciders and cold mint tea for Meisar. "The ravens, Balin. Let them carry messages of the queen's conception to each of the kingdoms, our brethren and our neighbors."
"Ori and I shall dictate when your majesty is ready," answered Balin.
"Give me a moment to think of what shall be written, or if your thoughts are swifter than mine, dictate as you please. Meanwhile, the bells in Erebor, shall they ring at eventide tomorrow night and the criers make announcement of it?" Thorin rested his hand lovingly against Meisar's stomach, comfortably seated beside him with feet propped on plush footstool from an Eastern furniture merchant.
"Yes, and forget not that as is tradition, the news of a coming heir is greeted with much flowing ale, free to all the peoples of Erebor. There should be a public banquet as well, which the king ought to attend," Balin explained.
"Very well, but let there be a public celebration only when the queen is well enough to join me," Thorin insisted. "It is her labors the people ought pay homage to, more than my own in this doing."
"Indeed," said Meisar, tight-lipped. "But it does take two."
"Your mother much preferred the quiet of her chambers to the commotion of a great hall when she was with child, my king. Old Queen Lotte forbade appearing outright," Balin recalled. "Then again, it is a new time now. Things do change, and for the better I suppose."
"When I may eat comfortably without keeping an empty pot by my foot, I would gladly join my husband," Meisar agreed, ducking her head in self-deprecation.
"The ravens then," Balin enumerated once more. "To all dwarven clans they go, even the Ironfists; Gondor's steward house and Arnor, the Lady of Lorien in her realm and Elrond of Rivendell, and to Mirkwood… oh perhaps I think not that one. I fear a dwarvish bird might meet an arrow there, or any unfamiliar bogie for that matter."
"Thranduil has closed himself to all the world it seems. Except the Dorwinion vineyards," murmured Thorin with a pip of satisfaction. "I suppose he shall learn in time then."
"Let us consider the horse lords of Rohan perhaps? We labored once at anvils in their lands, and shooed their horses after all."
"All kingdoms mean all kingdoms, Balin, great and small," said Thorin. "But kingdoms aside, you mustn't forget Master Baggins in The Shire. I would have him of all be regaled with this news of ours."
"Naturally," chortled Balin agreeably. "It shall be done. Pray that the ravens shall find their way to old Bag End without much difficulty. Well, less than you encountered anyway."
"Make haste with one to the Iron Hills of course, perhaps one for our dear kinswoman Alfhilde's eyes alone," Meisar reminded with sudden glee.
"Yes, perhaps a special notice for our Lady of the Iron Hills," Thorin conceded.
Balin thought on it a moment and laughed to himself. "How be this, my king? To my dearest kinswoman, I write with the joyful news that the queen has conceived of an heir, that will be mine to the throne of Erebor. I hold with unchanged affection, and in the line of succession yet save for the heirs of my own body, my beloved cousin and namesake, your son. The Queen Under the Mountain sends her..." Balin stopped and curled on his finger the left fork of his beard with a sarcastic pip of a smile. "Most tender regards."
"You overestimate my good heart, my darling," Meisar smirked. "Alas, for the cause of grace, tender regards it is."
"I'll give 'er a tender regard, make 'er face tender with a good slap," Freyda grumbled.
"M'lady's strengths have recovered themselves well enough," Dwalin egged on. Brundin slept against the safe, strong hulk of his father's shoulder, so tiny and safe in Dwalin's big hands. Still the babe's breath rumbled like the hitch of the mining carts on a rough track on inhale, the buzz of a horse's lips on exhale. He eyed his son proudly for it, patting the bulk of his well-swaddled bottom every few moments with a nervous eye.
Balin ignored them tactfully. "She carries as worthy a descendant of Durin as has ever been in her womb now," Balin went on, as Ori copied at pace. "I give Mahal all due praise that we shall be soon joined again in kinship, unbroken, and wrought with ever more joy in the days to come."
"Excellent," Thorin affirmed.
"Shall we send them on their way at first-light tomorrow?" Meisar inquired.
Balin grinned knowingly. "Binbudzu, your majesties."
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With the scrolls rolled and sealed with Thorin's signet ring and other matters tended to, rest was welcomed just as old friends were in the chamber, freshened with rosewater, new pillowcases put down by the chambermaids. Thorin shrugged off the heavy robe and doublet with relief and undressed to his tunic quickly, removing the belt at his waist and stepping out of the breeches and boots.
"You will allow your queen this privilege, if nothing else," Meisar insisted, teasing at the braid that hid at the back of his head, always managing to snarl somehow. She kissed his head and began to work through the rest, calm enough in her stomach finally to manage a lighter task. He leaned back against her, tired.
"I love your hair," she sighed. "Do you remember when we first met on the Great East Road? When you sat beside me and a lock brushed my cheek in the wind, I ached for you then. As I do now. That has not changed."
"More things have changed than I ever expected," he murmured, a dark, wistfulness about it, as he rubbed a heavy palm over her cheek. "Some obviously for better."
She urged him to lie and rest, held his hand beneath the coverlet. It snaked to caress the soft flank of her, timidly approaching the tiny podge in her center.
"Eda says he is only as big as an uncut diamond now. A very big diamond, but small, you see. So small," Meisar slid from her dressing robe and reclaimed the tender round of her stomach in her own hands. For its appearance, still too early to show, her belly felt different inside already, the child inside a precious little enigma. Were his little fingers and toes formed? Did he have a beard already? The thought made her laugh to herself.
"A mighty fat head one supposes, in comparison to the rest," chuckled Thorin. He circled the rim of her belly more contentedly.
"Oh but Eda says he has the shape of a little bean mostly, if that. They take time to form into fat heads and full beards, my treasure."
"An acorn," he whispered. "Planted. How delightful to see it grow."
"A planted acorn? Shall I bear you a tree then? Is it a dwarf or an Ent?" Meisar laughed, finishing the end of her night-braid at last.
"Rayadu Durin," Thorin whispered, his breath puttering through the light fabric of her shift, over her stomach. "The light of this world."
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He woke to retching. Before he had the time to roll over, there was a final agonized hocking and Meisar was bent at the waist next to him holding a pillow hard to the lower half of her face, eyes bright red and tear-crested.
She inched her way to the edge of the bed and carefully deposited the pillow onto the floor, shooing the dogs from investigating it too vigorously.
"I shall call the chambermaid at once," Thorin sprang efficiently out of bed and toward Meisar's antechamber. Niva slept there nights on a cot since Meisar's pregnancy was confirmed. The past mornings had seen her needed, rather distastefully, and sent off to the laundresses in a hurry.
"In a bit. I am so... tired," she groaned, out of mind, swimming inside. Rejoining her, the heels of his palms circled the throbbing backbones; the considerate slowness of them soothed her. He rubbed her back a long while as she lay on her side in a fetal position, groaning. The dogs begged their way up to lie beside her eventually, Niva graciously carting away the splattered pillow and setting an empty basin down for her again. The whistles of the forges, the bells of Dale, were sounding above, announcing the start of day.
"I would not leave you like this," Thorin worried out loud. The ladies-in-waiting were arriving outside, their chatter constant like the clacking pitter of their shoes. Emli lead the delegation as always, prim and coiffed even at daybreak. Gyda was her lackey today aside from Virta and Eda's constant vigil, yawning into her hands. Meisar quickly washed her face in the basin and patted it dry.
"I am well cared for, fear not," Meisar assured with a smile. "Besides, a king's duty is... well, a duty."
"We will see to her, majesty, her every need and comfort," reassured Emli. The serving girls ducked their heads in unison behind her, unbidden. "As a mother-dwarf myself I assure you this is only a natural part of the process, unpleasant as it is, and it shall not linger long."
Meisar smiled into the clean pillow, imagining Emli crouched over an empty chamber pot with strings of drool down her coiffed and bejeweled beard, if Gloin in all his stiff decorum would have held her hair for her as she yarked.
Thorin retired to the bath chamber to ready for the day's work, the dwarrowdams already versed in their morning tasks. They dressed and braided Meisar's hair for her, clinching the ends in green velvet ribbons, helped her to wash and dress anew.
"You are resplendent. I see it in your cheeks already. You glow with life, mizimel," Thorin offered with a proud beam of a smile, that smile that had shown itself so rarely. "Are you feeling any better now?"
"Hamumul," Meisar murmured groggily. Griet was setting out melon wedges to break their fast on the nearby table, exuding the ripe, sweet smell.
Eda barraged between Thorin and Meisar and shoved the empty wash basin under her face with animal instinct. She retched into it hard, enough to make Thorin flinch, she braced her hands on the vessel to stop herself from flinging full-bodied into every wave of illness.
"My king, we will look after her vigorously," Eda assured, her head giving Thorin a stiff nudge toward the door.
"I must stay with her," she heard him insist in a harsh murmur. "In this condition I will not depart."
"You must arise and be king," countered Eda. "This is a natural course. It will do her no harm, only a bit of discomfort. We will see to her, my king, I promise."
Meisar upheaved into the basin again, reeling against the acid sting of it; there could not have been anything left in her stomach at all. It burned, and more sulfuric belches echoed in the tight, porcelain chamber around her face.
"Well, there's that," Eda chirped when she had finally run her course, rising groggily, Emli shooing Gyda in with a warm, wet towel to help wash her face.
"He is ever so devoted, my queen. Eda almost had to drag him out!" fawned Gyda, dabbing the flush of her face with the cooler water from the basin.
"See? And you wanted to go off traipsing to the gardens my queen, just yesterday," Eda admonished, joining her.
"Had I realized, I might not have questioned your wisdom so," Meisar admitted miserably.
"None of us ever realize until we get there," soothed Eda. "You my queen, will find your strength. In the meantime, tell the chamber girls no more melons."
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Thorin returned at noon time when the councils broke for midday meal to share a refreshment with her in the chamber. Donbur had sent his rich stew and bread for them, with fat slices of sausage and green peppers in a tangy bisque. It had been a favorite of hers; he hoped it would not repel her.
By the bedside he found a quiet, resplendent Dis, propped in her chair with the dogs in her lap, and the morning tea untouched. She rose, her finger at her lips, and Meisar resting fitfully in bed. The other dwarrowdams were nowhere to be found.
"Your know how the first months are, brother," Dis said softly. "I would leave that stew out in the antechamber if I were you; I can smell it through the door. She's been nauseous all morning. I only just managed to get her to sleep now."
Both withdrew into Meisar's antechamber. The dwarrowdams sat with their heads together over their embroidery works, Emli at her papers, and Siv's impressive book of swatches spread out over the entire table. Gyda pretended to be interested in her ideas for maids' dresses at her nuptials, silver-and-purple patterned damasks or poppy-red velvet; Nori wanted to be married at Yule Tide time after all she was babbling on, when Dis shooed them all out. Eda and Virta were sent back into the bedchamber to keep their vigil.
Thorin kissed Dis lightly on her cheek when they were alone, her skin no longer cold. "How is she otherwise, sister?"
"Shukûb," Dis answered cheerfully. "Her love for this child surpasses all."
"Aye, it does."
"You have a mirthful look about you, Thorin. I have missed that," Dis remarked. Her own blue eyes were animate, her long black hair loose as if she were again a girl, with only small braids joining in the back, and her gown was a rose-colored linen, with a lace-edged half-cape.
"It is, my sister, the truest I have known," he kissed Dis's hand. "I owe you such love for the care you have shown her. The healers tell me it will not last long, though, these discomforts of hers."
"You owe me nothing, Thorin," Dis assured gently. "Your trust in my good heart is enough."
"Truly, I have known few hearts as unspoiled as your own."
"Oh Thorin," Dis held her pale hand to his cheek. "We are ever indebted to each other for one thing or the next. It is our nature as dwarves. But this I assure you: a child of your own is the doing of a greater power, which knows your heart, and grants what is earned."
"We have long paid our debts in blood, little sister."
Dis's eyes shrunk in their pupils, edgily, but she smiled again, her comma of a smile. "We have. In blood, and stone."
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"Council must have run over," Freyda observed later, a pile of sewing in her lap, Brundin asleep in drawer from Meisar's armoire, cleared of its linens, lined with soft knitted blankets of Freyda's own. Meisar had been out of bed only for a light wash and fresh attire since morning. Her head still felt light, her throat irritable from the constant sickness. Laps around the chamber on uneasy feet relieved her restlessness but the pain in her back urged her back into bed. She had sent the other dwarrowdams off when suppertime was upon them and Thorin not. Eda remained, consistently, and Freyda. Dwalin after all always came with Thorin in the evenings, eager to greet his son.
"Shall we send one of the serving girls to fetch supper?" Meisar asked. "You must be famished, you two."
"Already arranged, my dear," said Eda. "An old friend is bringing a cure for what ails you. You must nourish yourself." Eda perked up at the precise moment as the knock at the door came. "Ah, and I imagine there she is."
In waddled Bira, lugging behind her a lidded soup-pot on one of the wagons her grandchildren played on. Her red cheeks flared with relief at the chance of rest, her daughters peeking out from behind her skirts behind her.
"Bira!" Meisar beamed with all her might, merriment surging through her for the sight of the big, warm-faced dwarrowdam in her bright kirtle and apron.
Bombur's wife sidled up cheerfully to greet and kiss her, Anbur and Lulia waiting their turn. "I know the early stages all too well. I have what ails you, my little runt."
"I have kept nothing down for days," Meisar groaned, guiltily. Anbur crawled on the bed next to her and snuggled against her side.
"Shârasu khatâd," Bira announced, lifting the lid from the steaming pot, the smooth jacinthe soup rising placidly into the air in fragrant wisps of steam. "With a bit of fennel added to the broth of course, and ginger too. It is very good for the early days of pregnancy in my experience."
"You are too kind, Bira. I shall try to imbibe," said Meisar tiredly.
"It's a good nourishing thing. It'll feed your strength. The little one needs it now," Eda insisted, sitting her up in the bed. "Try to retain it as best you can, my dear."
Bira shooed Eda from the seat beside the bed. The seat groaned under her weight precariously but it held firm. She wore a woolen mitt upon her hand, cradling a warm ceramic bowl, and bringing a hearty spoon of it up to Meisar's lips as if she were a sick child.
"Bombur made it especial," trumpeted Bira. "For me when I was with child, so many, many times. It soothes the gut, I tell you. Try the broth alone first, then see if the carrots are palatable."
Anbur and Lulia distributed hearty helpings to the other dwarrowdams and when the spoons ran out, they sipped it from the rims of their bowls. Bira had brought warm bread with garlic butter and dried meats for the others too.
Meisar clung her tongue onto the empty spoon, full of memory, and warmth. The broth coated her throat in something more precious than the soothing sensation of the acid being run over with its warmth, though there was no word that came to her for it. "He used to make it in Ered Luin, when the meat ran low. I remember. I was never hungry in your home," Meisar sighed gratefully, laying her hand across Bira's plump white fingers when she put the bowl down and laid her hand gently across Meisar's stomach, no more puffy now than when water bloated her during her cycles. "I wish I had never left, Bira."
"You had to, my dearest," Bira cooed. "You had to, or how would you have come to our king's side and given him cause to live again? And now you will carry on this line, avoiding certain death, and Alfhilde of the Iron Hills."
"What's the difference?" grinned Meisar placidly, the pain in her back starting to ebb a little, at last.
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-Rayadu- Heir Of
-Shukûb- high spirits
-Binbudzu- Without Delay
-Shârasu- Broth Of
-Khatâd- Carrots
-Hamumul- A little bit