AUTHOR'S NOTE:
A few points this week (since I forgot last time):
Anon who who left review Jan 28 and wanted a beta- unfortunately your address didn't seem to go through so I could not reply to you. PM me and we'll talk. I'd be glad to have a look at what you have going with your story.
Dearreader: If your first language is Polish and/or Hebrew it's a breeze, trust me.
QueenMariaTheresia: Thank you for the wonderful review. I love it when I hear from longtime lurkers. When people tell me this is one of the "best" Thorin stories, it makes my day, truly.
Killthepain62: Fluff I am very keen on. There will be much PG fluff in the chapters to come. I've got a fluffernutter sandwich on deck that you're going to need a glass of milk to go with (if you're not from Massachusetts you might not get this reference, but basically what I'm saying is your wish will be granted and abundantly so).
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The bustle and toil of mans' autumn hummed to a crescendo, and finally, at harvest, penetrated the walls of Erebor the second week of the month, drawing out the merchants and grain-haulers to trade their wares and collect sustenance for the dwarves' stores. The city of men was in heavy demand of chiseling tools and steel wheels, and Bard sent word to request the excess stone from the mines, which Thorin had obliged for a share of grain stores and barley for malt beer. Mannish farmers with carts and wagons loaded in crops lined the roads all the way to Dale, and crowded the marketplaces of the city. From the looks of their condition, they were themselves fed well enough from their plots and farms to sell the excess.
Meisar gazed down from the highest gallery on the city's facade, glad to be free of her bed and the ripe morning illnesses that had kept her there for weeks, until finally, with the onset of the second autumnal month, ebbed and mercifully ceased. The blessedly sun-drenched day had been her first outing.
Her hand had remained protectively guarding her stomach on the entirety of the walk up to the terrace, and Dis had held her arm when they strolled, like a mother whose child was just learning to walk.
"The air is so sweet up here, this time of year," Meisar sighed.
"A westron wind, my dear," Dis cooed, lovingly laying her hand to Meisar's stomach again. "How long could anyone expect you to be cooped up your room?"
"Until the morning ills stopped I suppose," laughed Meisar.
"Naturally, but here you are, past the worst of it in my opinion. Come now, see the gardens there over yonder. They are waiting for the squash and pumpkin to ripen again in our terraces. The Stonefoot women miss you so. Rebka asks nearly every day," Dis smiled into the cool breeze, her eyes tranquil and clear.
"I miss them too. I would go to check their progress," Meisar sighed.
"Nonsense," retorted Dis. "Thorin would throttle me if I let you go up in that bucket lift, in your condition, and you'd get your coat dirty besides."
Her figured green velvet coat with it's hanging sleeves and gold geometric trim was buttoned at the sternum primly but leaving her midsection unhindered. Eda and Virta, thankfully, had already forbidden any stomachers or cinching dresses. Her clothes were the least worrisome, but remembering what happened last in the bucket lift to the gardens, Meisar dropped the subject with a stubborn twist of her lips.
"I told Aroin I would return to my daily walks but that it would be good for you to go also. Dotage does your health no good, nor the child's. Besides, I think your Blacklock there has been restless too," Dis threw a grateful smile back toward Oliada, at her distance.
"Nor the dogs," Meisar blinked and focused her eyes as the sun dipped behind a thick white cloud, clearing so she could see the activity over toward Dale. Redcoat and Raincloud ran ahead and stopped when she whistled for them, running in circles as the two dwarrowdams stood at the railing and gazed out. "What are they doing in Dale?"
"Bard's in want of a new quarter. The city must expand outward, he says," Dis explained, as Redcoat began to nip at her ankles impatiently. "It is Dale's dominion there, those lands, not ours. Thorin hasn't much say or interest in what he does with it. But it would be kind of Bard to write of it, for politeness's sake, and his neighbor sovereign might not hear of it secondhand."
"What of the dwarves in their huts there? Wouldn't we care for what becomes of them?"
"There are places in the mountain for them if they wish," answered Dis. "If you ask me they've squatted there long enough. They belong with their own."
"The crone there told me they would not come. They think the mountain cursed still."
"What cursed it so is no longer anyone's concern, not the least yours," replied Dis, tapping Meisar on her belly lightly. "It is a means to all good things."
"Ought Thorin be told then?" She felt a pang in her stomach like queasiness but it dissipated swiftly.
Dis stiffened in the shoulders beside her, the ears of the two restless dogs perking as she drew closer to Meisar once more. "Nay. We need no disconcert here, especially not you, or the child. When the time is right, it will be done."
Dis drew her closer in confidence. "I have word from Gandalf today. He has passed through Rivendell and is on his way to Isengard to commiserate with the wizard Saruman. This news has been a pleasant sound to his ears. I would say this... new development confirms what we suspected all along."
Meisar gave a small, proud smile to Dis. "I am going to have a child. It is all that matters to me, however it came to be."
"But there are other tidings of goodness here under the mountain. You must feel it, surely?" Dis inquired pointedly. "The mountain is girded in joy, and peace, prosperity. The harvest has been bountiful, the winter set, and by spring you will have an heir. The Arkenstone was a cursed-"
"Ah! There you are my queen!" bubbled Eda. In tow came Virta and her sister Lulia, Emli, Elsa, and Aroin, and finally Siv holding her hair intact against the wind at the height, all of them huffing and puffing along from the long walk up to the high terrace. With a sharp intake of breath, Meisar drew away from Dis.
"I am sorry. I did not know you were looking for me. I thought-"
"When the princess was a young girl, she was very good at sneaking off too," remarked Aroin, crossing her arms, to Dis's silent irritation.
"Gladly, I would have given you time to yourselves for a spell this afternoon," Meisar said with a twist of guilt for their long trudge and Dis's elegantly truculent posturing. "We all need some, don't we?"
"King's orders. We are to remain by your side," Eda chirped. "Just in case."
"All of you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," confirmed Aroin crisply. Redcoat and Raincloud regarded her warily and grumbled in defeat with a stern look from the stodgy old maid.
"I'm to see to your nourishment in my capacity too," Eda added, pulling Meisar's hand out and plunking a green apple into it. "A tart smith apple, from an orchard just south. Good for the digestion. You'll not want to be any more crowded in there than you're wont to be in the months that come."
Virta and Lulia nodded in enthusiastic agreement to that particular point. All the dwarrowdams stood before her, waiting for her to eat it anxiously, as the dogs clawed lines in her coat in want.
"Good to know, Eda," she relented finally, starting the long walk back to her chambers as the sun began to set, and gnawed the apple to its core.
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She was woken from a dream late in the morning next, of lush and shallow green hills tumbling over the west, below a fire in the sky, with the whining and eventual yowling of dogs and the familiar stentorian squawking that tried in vain to shush them. Emli prattled through to the bedchamber with her two maids in two, lugging many bolts of fabric.
"I'm sorry, Emli. I must have slept late," yawned Meisar, emerging from the cover of the fur duvet to shush the dogs.
"I'm to let you get as much rest as you need. I shall leave if you wish," Emli offered. Meisar grinned, taken aback at that, and began to un-plait her messy night hair.
"Nay, I should wake. Dotage is no good. What is it you bring there?"
"The foundations for a lovely maternity trousseau, my queen. You will be needing new dresses as you grow."
"One or two will be fine, so long as I can let them out."
"At least a few gowns, Meisar. I would guide you in retaining a certain elegance through this process. You are the queen, after all. You'll not be walking about in a sack dress or your chemises all of the time, though in a few months I don't doubt you will want to."
"Obliged, I suppose," Meisar conceded. The boredom of her chambers in the long days had made even the prospect of such a dainty pursuit as fashion exciting to her. Emli set the fabric out and began to compare the colors and textures together with studied elegance to her.
"The good news is you won't be with child through the summer. That is quite the misery, I tell you from experience. Dagny, good woman, bring that bolt of purple velvet. Ah, a royal shade," Emli gushed, holding the purple to Meisar's chest.
"What do they say in the kingdom now, of me? Are they glad of this?" Meisar asked cautiously.
"Those who have heard the news through the vine of gossip are most glad and hopeful of its truth. They say it is the pinnacle of Mahal's affinity for us dwarves, that he tests our patience as a means of showing us our true strength. Indeed, it has been a stubborn coming, this heir," Emli disseminated. "I thought Thorin would have had the criers make official announcement of it by now?"
"I thought not. The coming festival will do for that. Some say our pride is our downfall. I would not dare risk it," Meisar shrugged, her hand flying to her belly, protectively.
"They say the shepherdess will be busy tending a new flock," added Dagny. "I'll make you a fine ensemble for the festivities, one that will show the dwarves of Erebor their queen's prosperity of good fortune."
"Thorin calls him, a little acorn. To some a tree, to others a lamb I suppose," Meisar remarked, considering again the wee swell of her stomach under her kirtle, not yet more than a hearty meal's bulge.
"It is a dwarf, a hardy little dwarf you will have, and whether it will be black-headed like Thorin or a Firebeard like yourself is the only question that remains to be answered. But a shepherdess and a mother dwarf are the same. We protect them from the wolves foremost," Emli said. She selected a moss-colored taffeta from the pile and russet-colored ribbons and shimmering threads. "Green. A fertile color, and well-suited to the occasion, and this here, like the shedding leaves. A celebration of a good harvest, and a queen who is to be a mother."
Meisar eyed the velvets, taffeta and brocades on the long table. A fine blue velvet caught her eye, dark without being altogether shaded like midnight. "I prefer the blue."
Emli put out her lip impatiently. "You and Thorin don blue all too often. A little variety wouldn't hurt."
"It is Durin's Line, the color of Thorin's eyes, which I hope our child will have. It is royalty," Meisar protested, her head swimming in a state of bliss for the thought.
"Would that any child have its mother's beauty also."
"My king, what a surprise," Emli beamed, rising and dipping elegantly again to curtsy. "To what do we owe this company?"
Thorin was broad and regal in his dark robes, his crown and rings at several fingers. He gathered Meisar's face in his hands to kiss and dote upon her condition, ignoring Emli altogether.
"I came to see my queen fares this afternoon," he answered, finally.
"The same as this morning, thankfully. The morning sicknesses have passed for good, I think," Meisar assured. His hands, cool as they were, did not change the warmth and pink flush of her cheeks. She felt so small compared to him, in all of his attire, and her still in her bed-robe and shift.
"If it is blue my queen favors, then blue it shall be," Thorin pronounced cheekily toward Emli.
"Blue it is," parroted Dagny. "A regal choice indeed."
"Oh but do keep the gold or russet trim. It is autumn after all. Give the child a sense of the world he shall enter," pleaded Emli.
"I do not think the baby is going to have any notion of season, much less what it has to do with the color of my dress," Meisar protested, amused.
Emli pinched her lips disapprovingly again. "It all matters. It sets your mood. It sets the child's countenance thus, long before the time of birth. Green is a good pregnancy color. It is a fertile color, a growing color. It will encourage a healthy progress. Please, let her make you at least one dress in green."
"Green for Yuletide then, Yuletide or Durin's Day, for they shall fall together this year, no?"
"Indeed," said Thorin. "But we have long received our seasonal gifts, alas. Meisar..."
She smiled into the affectionate cradle of his palm about her cheek again. "Aye, for spring. What a gift indeed."
"Something to warm you through the winter then. I'll not have you catch a chill," Thorin kissed her hand eagerly. "Make her a good fur cloak, Dagny, and some soft gloves."
"Yes, my king, as I well intended," responded Dagny fawningly.
"Good then. I shall see you in the evening, and you will tell me then of your progress," Thorin insisted.
"My progress? Since noon-time?"
"Yes, of course. You must tell me everything," Thorin reiterated with a flint of seriousness in his eyes.
"Then I shall," Meisar agreed.
"He may be less anxious as time goes on and you are out of the earliest phase, always the riskiest naturally," Emli speculated when he was departed and she was back at her business over the textiles again, ordering the maids about. "But do not expect him to be any less attentive."
"Would you think me odd if I told you I would desire nothing less?"
"No," chuckled Emli lightly, holding Meisar's hand in both of hers. "I was once a mother to be, and if Thorin is half as ardent a meddling hen as Gloin was when I was with Gimli, I think you shall not lack."
"Well then, I think not," Meisar said, trying to imagine but falling short of imagining Gloin hovering so. "I hope not."
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II
"A harvest feast you call it? The dwarves of this kingdom will come in droves just to see what it is all about. Until Meisar's gardens, we barely tilled a backyard plot for ourselves, we dwarves," Dis said to Thorin as the afternoon of the celebration started to cool and dark toward evening.
"Before Durin's Day we have no more feast days, and who knows if the queen will be well enough then to attend. I would have a great celebration for this occasion, the luck at the harvest, and of our child to come," Thorin replied, buttoning his elegant silver-and-gray tunic up to the neck, his manservant coming about with his formal doublet, helping him to lace it as Dis sat at the table and pored over her papers.
"I imagine the latter being the main point," chuckled Dis, setting aside her work.
"You look well, Dis. It is good to have your company like this," remarked Thorin. "I thought you would be at the tombs this time of day."
"I take my time there when I need," Dis replied, her eyes dipping carefully. "I have decided to dedicate my energies to the living more oft."
"What a blessing this child is, but yours shall be in my heart where they have always been," he assured. Dis rose and brushed a stray thread from Thorin's shoulder.
"Aye, and willing, my heart shall be filled again for yours."
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Dagny and Griet were working together to help Meisar dress in her room. Over her linen chemise went the russet kirtle with its long hanging sleeves shimmering georgette, then the rich, dark blue velvet over-gown, shortened sleeves embroidered in bronze filigree and dipping in a thick V to her waist. Finally Dagny fastened a matching filigree paneled over-skirt high above her waist and belted it lightly just below her bosom in a thin belt centered with an emerald buckle. A jeweled velvet coif and round headdress completed her ensemble, its veil of white gossamer trailing down her back. She considered herself in the mirror, the russet-bronze furnishes an elegant ode to autumn, just as Emli had promised.
"With all these layers one will never tell I am with child."
"Soon enough not even these layers will conceal that fact," Dagny chuckled.
"Well, at least you've banned those awful laced bodices for the time," Meisar laughed. She rubbed her stomach over the luxuriant fabric. "You and I, my child, shall be free of that one thing, at least."
"Are you ready, Meisar?" asked Thorin from the other side of the door.
"I am, won't you come and tell me what you think of your queen's new gown?" Meisar requested. Thorin slipped in, leaving Dis in the antechamber, and donning his crown already.
"The festivities are not to begin for another hour, my king," said Dagny.
"Aye, that I know. I would enjoy a walk with my queen first. Shall we, Meisar?"
"If you approve of Dagny's work here," Meisar tossed a mirthful side-eye to the seamstress.
"I much do, and quite adore this hue on you," Thorin confirmed. "It is, like you are, royal indeed."
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"I must attend so much in the days past; I would rather be at your side, through all of this," Thorin lamented as they walked, alone, along a gallery high above Thrain's Hall. Lined in heavy tapestries and void of the many guards that patrolled the kingdom's halls, it was the peaceful stroll he had sought. "I think of nothing except you."
"Except early unpleasantness as any woman will endure, I am most happy. You have nothing to worry about, Thorin."
"How miraculous this is. You never gave up, Meisar," Thorin slid his hand into hers. "I have been used enough to losing all hope, but you... you could not."
"Mahal has will it so, Thorin. It is not my doing," Meisar replied demurely. It was not entirely dissembling.
Together they gazed down from the wide balcony to the swiftly-filling hall below. The scent of meat and warm baked apple tarts wafted upward in gentle clouds with every turn of the doors.
"You glow, my queen. Your light is… sacred. Greater than any jewel," Thorin murmured. Her thumb rubbed slowly and intensely over his hand on her cheek. She turned the fervent blush of her cheek against his palm and kissed it.
"Let nothing trouble you, Meisar. I will not have that," he smiled.
She laid her face into the luxuriant fur of his extant robe. His fingers beneath her chin tugged her up swiftly to kiss.
"I would have no sorrow, no bother, come to you at all," he proclaimed, huskily, between waylaying her mouth with eager kisses. "I would live only for your happiness now, for this gift... this, our baby, our-"
The cover of the banner behind them was flung back suddenly and a bevy of chuckles and laughter separated king and queen abruptly, Meisar easing down irritably to the balls of her feet, cramping from standing at her toes so long to indulge at her affections. Thorin grimaced until he caught sight of Dwalin, ever amused, then Bofur.
"There ye are!" the former grunted. He winked at Thorin with a smart turn of head. Brundin echoed the sound uncannily close, wiggling in a little sling at Freyda's chest.
"Aye, caught'cha!" gloated Bofur, however redundantly. "Marrieds always know where t'find the other marrieds, where ye go in these halls. Right that, Dwalin?"
His inked, hard hand waved off Bofur grumpily, and then gathered his squalling son in his arms, less irritably. Gloin patted Dwalin's arm that held his son and rocked him gently, Gloin proud beside his own son, in matching tunics and richly-embroidered doublets again.
Brynja on Bofur's arm beamed wide and squeezed his elbow, her nappy woolen scarf about her neck beneath her elegant jeweled circlet. "Shall we go to Thrain's Hall then? They're hungry down there, and won't start without their king."
"Let no dwarf go hungry then, or soon there will be riots," smirked Thorin.
"Aye, and that would be a costly mess," concurred Gloin.
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At the door behind the dais of the great hall, the head steward in his garish livery bowed dramatically. Thorin took Meisar's arm upon his with regal posture, his pride never so evident, not even at the coronation itself.
"Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and Meisar, Queen," the head steward called out. The drums beat in reverence ahead of them and they took their seats at the dais beside Dwalin and Freyda, Brundin in a little sling at Freyda's chest. Balin escorted Dis after them, her delicate composure not without a small spring in her step, now.
The hall was filled and more lively assemblages of dwarves still spilling in, each table with benches packed and buzzing with laughter, chatter, the hollow thumps of barrels emptying and stewards, guards and serving girls shouting orders. A sweet spice was on the air, and burning wood in the huge hearth meeting cool autumn air. Bofur and Brynja had found their seats on the lower dais, pink-drunk from earlier pints and giggling together. Nearby, Aroin with her brothers sat commiserating with their heads together over some financial point or another, Emli keeping thus to pecking relentlessly at Gimli as he drank and caught foam in his beard.
Thorin, when as many as would be were seated and awaiting on him, at last rose and raised his chalice to the hall. Stewards, guards went about shushing the chatter, serving girls scolding until there was silence in the halls except for the crackling of the hearth fires and the creaks of the benches.
"I give thanks for the successes of our mannish friends at their harvests in the fields at yonder, for it means our nourishment also. I give thanks this night for the bounty of our halls, and for my queen, who carries our child now. In spring, this kingdom shall have its heir."
A hush fell over the vast hall at the announcement. Meisar clutched her fingertips tight in balled fists, digging into the flesh of her palm as the silence fell like a hammer upon all.
"My queen," Thorin repeated. "My queen is with child. I give my thanks, as king, as One, most ardently."
As he sat again the dwarves started to rise and beat the sides of their cups with spoons and knives and ring out in cheers. "Hail! Hail to the queen!" they cried out in variant wavelengths. A chant began in the back of the hall and made its way toward the front, the voices conflating together in one harmonious chorus at last.
"Mamahdûna!" they cried, raising chalices and steins, the miners their mattocks, the dwarrowdams their lace kerchiefs and waved them up in the air, dozens of tiny flags like doves.
"What does it mean?" she leaned into Thorin, starting to tremble for the force of their voices, the elated refrain echoing again and again to the very ceilings of the vast hall until it seemed, almost, the force of it alone could make the lanterns high above to treble and squeak.
"It means, she who has been blessed," Thorin murmured, his smile, that peculiar smile that hid itself except in her presence, chin tilted lightly down, gazed intimately back at her.
"Blessed," she trailed off, holding tighter to Thorin's hand. Tears prickled to life in her eyes' ducts, not of sadness, but a strange euphoria she had never known. Their cheers rang out and were synced with varying success for many more minutes, unyielding.
In sudden realization Thorin rose again, raised his chalice in haste and offered a small chuckle at his own fault. "My dearest apologies my people," he pronounced again, guards and stewards rushing to quiet the halls once more from their merriment. Thorin bowed his head, cup still aloft. "You may eat now."
Hundreds of utensils clanged and rang at once as he sat again, digging into plates of meat and bread, wheels of cheese cut like cakes about the tables and passed along. Cups sloshed in numbers, and the sounds of grousing dwarves as beer and cider splashed down on their heads or laps rumbled in reaction. But as soon as the lot of them had alleviated their immediate hunger, they were back to chanting and cheering once more.
"An heir! An heir! Praise Mahal, an heir!" a rhythmic boom went up in a few voices and than many, pounding the tables with the beat of their words.
"Three cheers for the queen!" came a grizzled voice in the front of the hall below them that was immediately recognizable as Onar's for the cheerful, loutish encouragements that followed from his mates.
"Aye! Aye! Aye!" shouted the whole of the room, raising vessels up and again.
Meisar stood and raised her cup to a quicker silence in the hall. "Perhaps the same for the king then," she requested coyly, nodding affectionately down at Onar, who put his hand to his chest and bowed, stein still in the other, raised toward her in tribute.
The dwarves of Erebor obliged with three more.
"They love you so, my queen," Thorin whispered against the white noise of the merriment afar. "You carried with you the hopes and dreams of them all, the moment you stepped into this kingdom. You are... you carry it now. You always have."
She shifted her gaze down the table to catch Dis's eyes, her knowing turn of glance.
The stewards came to the dais then, bringing plates of fragrant meat, dishes of bread and tarts, even carrots boiled with cinnamon and cloves sprinkled on top.
"Here my queen, venison, good nourishment for the child. It's a dwarf; it has a taste for meat already I do imagine," pecked Eda, coming around from the steward to bring Meisar her plate. The venison had been slow-cooked in a braise of mushroom, onion and garlic. The divine scent was all about the hall, dwarves below lining up with watering mouths to have their fill at the banquet tables. Eda heaped carrots onto her plate from the serving dish of one of the stewards.
"Urdlaug and Bira encourage the consumption of this particular vegetable for the expectant mother, in addition to good old red meat," Eda went on, a sentiment echoed by Virta, also coming around to confirm her mother's wisdom of the matter.
"Enough carrots in you and the child may have your beautiful hair," Virta preened. "Eat up now."
"You must eat, jewel of mine," encouraged Thorin, grinning at the ardency of the dwarrowdams' attentions, their wisdom seldom offered quietly or subtly anyhow.
"Eating for two, suppose I must," Meisar relented coyly. She had never much liked eating with an audience but she cleared her plate steadily as the dwarves in the hall gorged themselves on meat and cider. They would revel in their characteristic zeal, for the final divulgence that the heir was at last on its way. She was well-stuffed and Thorin satisfied before the streams of dwarves started to come up to queue at the dais, offering their respects.
"Athanu men," the dwarrowdams proclaimed especially, clustering and all curtsying before her with tears in their eyes. One offered her a gift of a carved talisman to protect her from sorrow, another a handmade bracelet engraved with tiny axes to help the child grow strong. Freyda was at least as much a draw to them. Dwarrowdams flocked about her to admire the child, two mothers with newborn dwarflings stopping to commiserate and compare their children. Brundin was larger than each by a stone at least, a sight that Dwalin's haughty half-smirk seemed to take much pride in. The mother-dwarfs stopped to offer their hopes to Meisar that her own might be as robust, a pronouncement that Freyda laughed pitifully at.
At the last came the Stonefoot women of the terrace gardens, led by their matron, Rebka. Meisar rose to come about and greet them on the other side of the dais, all embracing her at once in a great klatch, several weeping.
"Shepherdess," the youngest, the lone Broadbeam, murmured reverently, her arms about Meisar as ardently as a child to its mother, though it was Rebka who was the last to draw back from her embrace, murmuring also with bended head. Meisar gently brought the old Stonefoot's eyes up to meet hers, graciously, and watery with tears both.
Rebka kissed her hand still murmuring on the edge of tears. "Gardener queen, plant, and till, and grow with our prince, and bloom, mother of hope."
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It was midnight before they retired. In the bedchamber she let the heavy over-skirt drop the floor in a heap, relieved to be unburdened by its heaviness at last. She stepped out of the over-gown and finally to her shift, that too shed in favor of a simpler linen tunic for sleep. Thorin's overbearing warmth behind her made her sigh, his hands tracing her arms to the elbow and making a sharp turn there to wrap about her from behind. He rested his chin upon the top of her head.
"How are you feeling?" Thorin inquired after a long, indulgent silence.
"I can feel myself changing already," she smiled back. Thorin gently turned her around to face him.
"And our little one?"
"Still only a little gem, see. I cannot feel the child move yet, but… soon. Soon."
He parted her clasped hands from where they rested protectively over her midsection, lifted her long sleeping tunic and found her belly pale and rounded, just beginning to protrude; like a flower lifting from the soil, it would bloom in starts and fits, and then ripen swiftly, and she would be big with their child soon. The very notion was still jarring to him. Among dwarf women scarcely half would bear children, and save for Dis (though he scarcely recalled her rotundity even twice over), he had never seen a pregnant dwarrowdam.
From his beard all the coarseness had given way to something softer against her fingers when she ran them about his chin, ever growing from its cropped beginnings. "By the time this child comes, I will be able to braid your beard. Just as Dwalin has in his beard for Brundin. Wouldn't that be a beautiful thing to behold?"
"I can see no cause to shear my beard ever again, as long as I have you," whispered Thorin. "There is nothing I have beheld more beautiful than you now."
"You will always have me," Meisar stroked the part of his hair on either side, finding the ropes of his temple braids, using them to tug him in to kiss.
"Do you remember what I told you once upon the road?" he asked quietly.
"Many things, not the least that you found me stubborn, strange, and distant."
"Stubborn, yes, but distant, not so much now," he answered, prodding his nose upward against hers. "But strange? Yes, I think so. It takes one of some peculiarity to do as you do now, to bear my child. I think most would lack the courage."
"You think me strange for loving you enough to do so?"
"Yes. Very much so. But I trust it. I trust in you, and in this," he said, feeling the sides of her belly around the podge. Her skin was soft still in the places that were meant to be so, even after a lifetime of hard living. Kneeling, he kissed the tiny hollow that was left above her hipbone, a soft sinewed line flanking her belly, traced it with his fingertip, kissed the side of her swell.
She drew back and laughed softly as his beard tickled her skin, all the more sensitive to any sensation for its condition there.
"I am amazed, still, of how-" Thorin muttered. "Out of all this loss could come such a perfect thing as this."
"The one who wills it, Thorin, is just," she said quietly. "He who hewed me for you, and you for me, knew it from the beginning."
"As He knows all things to be good and right," Thorin murmured low again. "Whatever the cost may be."