AUTHOR'S NOTES:
TGO62: Indeed, he already carries such hope and promise on his little shoulders! He will have a lot of responsibilities and expectations in life to live up to for sure. But I think where Meisar is common-born and Thorin has experienced some decidedly un-royal living conditions in the past, they will keep him grounded in a way the usual highborn sorts couldn't. But other than kings, you have to wonder just how many other dwarves really have a "choice" of profession so far as that goes in Middle Earth. You have to figure a lot of sons/daughters just follow their parents in their particular craft and that's just life for them.
AmandaBaker852: Thank you for following and for your kind review, new reader! I appreciate it very, very much so.
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"A week old already. Dear little one," Brynja mooned over the cradle where the prince was fluttering just to wakefulness. Meisar sat swaying tiredly in the rocking chair, waiting for the familiar bawl. He was always hungry when he woke.
"It's easier than I thought it would be," Meisar remarked, smiling wryly. "I can already tell what he wants by the sound." Brynja brought the squirming bundle to her, while she parted the convenient flap in her dress and brought the baby close to nurse. His beard tickled her to the point of her jumping about her seat. "It is only half past morning and he has eaten thrice. I think he will be very stout soon."
"Dwarf babes are ravenous little creatures. They eat and eat and eat," Emli told her even more stoutly. "Their forefathers must have bred the habit into them from birth."
Freyda laughed, plunked a jar of strong-scented salve in her hand. "Meant to give it t'ye earlier. Fer yer wee buds. Brundin weren't a week old and mine were raw bloody."
"Gimli was equally demanding," Emli added primly. "On that I thank the king most kindly. He will take his duty seriously as kings-guard to the little prince. He looks so handsome in his armor."
"Thank you. I hope I will need it seldom, a kings-guard for a baby and this... potion." The thought made her wince but the child brought a smile at her breast. He made a series of satisfied grunting sounds as he imbibed of her milk, pulling away to gurgle then shriek only when one was drained entirely, demanding the opposite breast.
"How long does it take for one to... fill up again?" she asked Freyda and Emli timidly.
"Never long if you're properly nourished. Alas, you'll be a tired milkmaid soon, majesty, like all good mothers are. But all is for the best," Emli preened. "A hearty appetite is a fair omen."
"Indeed it is, and not for the babes," agreed Urdlaug. She dished a steaming bowl of stew and placed it on the small table beside the rocking chair. With the lid off her soup pot the room was filled with the delectable aroma. The dwarrowdams all made a beeline for the stack of empty bowls on the table. Urdlaug had taken to chaperoning Lulia to her rooms since her fiftieth name-day had come. The girl was of the age to learn how to be a lady of the queen's court in her reckoning. Urdlaug brought pork pies with a sweet-and-sour sauce and butter-glazed crust, a stew of red potato and fried bacon, and boysenberry-and-cheese tarts.
Urdlaug stirred the soup in the bowl and blew on it for her. "I left the onions from the recipe this time. When a cow gets into an onion patch at pasture the milk is sour and musky. The same for a woman," Urdlaug stated stoutly. "Eat then, all of you. It will not stay hot on its own. Donbur's at my cart with the warming plates."
He slept again in her arms when his back had been patted and the thunderous belch finally erupted, his belly satiated again and calm. Emli looked up from her account books and reviewed the week's expenses with her: the yards of linen for nightshirts, bibs, pillowcases, cradle sheets which she assured her they would need more of. And goose-feathers from Dale, rosewater and lavender perfumes. She looked down at the oblivious babe, content in his shirt and cap and with a ring of milk around his lips, frosting his beard as it dried.
"Don't forget to pay the maids," Meisar yawned toward Emli. "Or Dagny."
"You should rest, Meisar. Having him sleep for a spell in the cradle won't do him any harm," Dis advised. "You really should rest."
There was a urgency about her that Meisar had come to understand over time. Sometimes she wanted to be alone to speak privately, other times merely to have quiet and solace.
"I will sleep a spell. Stay with me, Dis, keep an eye, if you would be so kind. The rest of you can go to your leisure," Meisar said.
"Rest now. I meant it," Dis admonished lightly when the dwarrowdams had gone.
"I like to hold him though," Meisar almost whined. "I never want to put him down."
"I think you've wanted to be a mother so long, it is still enchanting to you that he is here. But it is not a dream, and soon your arms will ache terribly and be stiff as a board," Dis continued. "Or you might let me hold him for a bit. I should like that very much."
"Of course," Meisar said, edged in guilt. The baby was awake and bright-eyed.
"You have done so well, and here he is, your son," Dis hummed, beaming. She rocked the child in the warm sling of her arms, next to Meisar on the sedan chair she had moved beside the bed. Tears ran silently down her face.
"Oh dear sister," Meisar gasped suddenly. "I shan't tell you not to weep. I know this is bittersweet."
"No, there is no bitterness to taste here," Dis inhaled sharply. "In fact, I am much gladder than I have been in some time. He gives me a new purpose in my life."
"I was thinking, Dis, about-" Meisar wrung her hands in her lap, her chest and belly heavy and not from the aftermath of birth- this heaviness was a coil, dense as steel. Dis was so serene. How could she be so?
Dis smiled as he quibbled his small pink mouth against the tip of her finger and closed his fists around it, claiming it for use by his gums in the absence of Meisar's milk. "There is a right time and place for it. I know what you're thinking about, and it is not now. But when that time comes, I will handle it. Your energies need keep themselves here, with this child."
"We were both there, sister. I could have as easily stopped you, and I did not. This dishonesty is mine as it is yours, and I like it less each day."
"You will like it more each day, each day this child grows and bonds to you," Dis came back with a small sharpness. "And Thorin… Thorin needs only look to him and he will know it was the worthy price."
"He determines all. But he has given us our wills, and our wills are the bane of us. So in his mercy we are free also to make our contrition and our sacrifice. It is all a give and take. A race of craftsmen ought to have figured that out by now. It's just a matter of knowing precisely what you are negotiating for."
.
The days had gone on too long, filled with too many petitioners, Gloin's constant nattering about treasury stores and guild accounts, and ravens, so many ravens, even when the tidings were mere congratulations. He kept Ori busy copying and storing each. His Book of Days contained a small portrait of the child now, which he looked upon when he felt like hurling his cups at the squabbling cases before him. A pair of merchants squabbling over a stall again, accusations of skimmed coin-purses by drunkard brothers down in The Pits, the lantern-keepers complaining about Gloin's lamp-oil budget. The drunkards he sent to Onar to settle in the ring when he could reach no conclusion with them.
"I wish to return to my queen and my son," Thorin declared finally. His back ached from sitting in the sedan chair all day. He walked alone save for Dwalin and his usual guard down to the royal quarters, greeted the stationed Oliada with small-talk which she did not seem to be so keen on.
"Baby well," she informed him though, a rare smile under her beard.
In the first antechamber there were none of the dwarrowdams left and the silence had become almost unfamiliar. On the other side of the door there was some sound of life, a woman's voice like a donkey's groan. He knew who it was. The pork-pie on the air should have given it away. The door was half-open and he stood in it, attracting no notice. Across the room by the bed he could see Meisar ringed in the dim candlelight, standing over the cradle. The ineffable and pure love that was in her watchful gaze had been his own once. Fili was hale but the nights were cold. He sat up in the night and made sure he didn't wriggle from the furs and catch a chill.
"He will be a king someday, sister."
"Where?"
"On grandfather's throne. It will be his."
And he had not understood then why she burst into angry tears.
Urdlaug was sitting his chair by the fire, haranguing her sister about the state of her hair. Lulia looked like she wanted to jump out of her skin, or at least the puff-sleeved confection of a dress she was rigged into. And Meisar, across the chamber, stood still as stone at the cradle side. The life, incipient in the shelter of that cradle where he had once lay, innocent of all the wrongs of the world; a sharp intake of breath whistled through his lips and caught the attention of the dwarrowdams sitting by the fire. He would have recognized Urdlaug by her girth and braying voice anywhere, and the succulent-sweet scent of her pork pies.
"My king," Urdlaug rose, with a hand at the scruff of her sister's neck like a mother cat and kitten, urging her to do the same. Lulia practiced a swaying curtsy under her sister's exacting eye.
"It has been some time since you graced our chambers, Urdlaug. I am glad of your coming," Thorin said warmly, kissing the smiling red apples of her cheeks. "I am certain though your cart is missed in the marketplace."
"Donbur is handling both, and quite well. The hustle does him good," Urdlaug smiled. "My duty is to see the queen is well-fed, so that the little prince will be also. And to see my sister properly brought into a lady's role."
He looked down at the surly Lulia. "You are blossoming into a fine young dwarrowdam. Bombur and Bira must be very proud."
"Thank you, my king," Lulia admitted politely. "I hope that they will be. I am trying."
"Not really," snipped Urdlaug. Thorin gave a sympathetic half-smile to the fidgeting girl.
"Perhaps some attire a bit more comfortable, if she wants to help me with the baby tomorrow," Meisar encouraged clandestinely. "I'll let you hold him, and rock his cradle while he sleeps."
"Yes, please!" Lulia's eyes brightened. Urdlaug poked her in the back with a spoon. "I mean, it would be a very great honor, your majesty." She curtsied to Urdlaug's satisfaction.
"I missed you today," Meisar sighed into his chest. "You missed Urdlaug's pork pie for supper. I know you are fond of it."
"I had Donbur's rump roast. All is not lost," he chuckled. "I would that I did not have a kingdom to lord over. I have eagerly awaited to see my son all day."
"He's missed you too."
Standing over the cradle beside her, Thorin kissed her head. "The ravens have all been sent. He will be formally presented, his kin pay homage, and what lords of the great realms that can attend will be feted with feast and drink and song."
"When will this occur, pray tell," Meisar inquired cheerfully. "Will you at least permit me time to recover my strength?"
"Permit you? You shan't fear for time. When the weather is fair at the end of summer, and all may traverse the roads in safety will we honor this occasion."
"Nothing in living memory with be as joyful as this," Thorin said to his son. "For you it is more than worthy."
"Anything is worthy for him," Meisar sighed. "Anything."
"Speaking of ravens, I brought this for you. I thought you like to read it yourself."
"It's from the Iron Hills," Meisar traced a finger angrily around the curve of the rolled paper. The seal bore the marks of Stonehelm, and his mother- a stone half-helm, and a boar's head.
Thorin, King Under the Mountain,
Beloved cousin, we celebrate this most glorious news and rejoice with all earnestness for the birth of the prince. We shall be present to give fealty and homage at which time we are asked to attend. It is our great honor and sacred duty to proclaim this child the heir to Durin's throne and protect him with our lives forfeit if must be, as kin must do for the sake of each other. We send the queen the warmest regards and give thanks for her safe delivery.
Ever your loving kin,
Thorin, son of Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills
Alfhilde, Lord Mother of the Iron Hills
"Something tells me your cousin was not the writer of this letter," Meisar quibbled. She could feel the acid in the ink on her tongue, almost burning her. Nay, nay, the boar bride would like that too much.
"He is not much for florid prose. Or letter-writing in whole," Thorin smirked. "But I think you may be right about that."
"I will much like the sight of her, kissing my son in fealty." A cruel smirk lanced across her mouth. "That will be the warmest regard of all."
"A vindictive thought," Thorin remarked under his breath.
"She insulted me in my own halls. I will not forgive or forget," Meisar answered indignantly.
"You make my mistake then. I would not like to see your heart carry the weight of it," Thorin replied, dejectedly. The baby awoke and began to cry. Meisar lifted him in his lighter swaddling and laid his head over her shoulder, calming him with a song.
"I thought my sister would be here," Thorin said. "Is she feeling well?"
"Yes, you just missed her in fact," Meisar smiled. "It may interest you to know that Aroin has put no order down for Dorwinion wine in some time."
"It does gladden me. Alas, these days will be long I'm afraid. We've to plan this on top of the spring festival in two weeks," Thorin changed the subject.
"I forgot about that." She laid the baby on the bed and unwrapped him from the blanket swaddling him, letting his limbs splay free and stretch.
"I think you've had other matters on your mind. But on that subject, I would like to present our son to the people of the city on the first night. The dwarves of Erebor are eager to see their prince."
"Would it be too much for him? He's so small and… new. I don't want to overwhelm him." She took the baby back into her arms and kissed him.
"Is it too much for you is the better inquiry," Thorin did his half-smile. "Come, let me hold him a spell. I have missed him all day."
"Off," Thorin growled at Raincloud as he slithered across Meisar's lap and stretched languidly there. The dog recoiled indignantly to Thorin's command.
"Surely it is confounding to them," Meisar supposed gently. The baby still lay on the blanket between them, grasping for his feet. The dog looked down upon him shaking with curiosity.
"Easy Raincloud, be gentle now," Meisar prodded. "That is my baby. What do you think of him?"
The dog wriggled forward on his belly, sniffed at the dwarfling head to toe. He lay transfixed until Raincloud reached his feet and gave their soles a swift lick. They drew back into the swaddling and he began to wail.
"I think that's enough," Thorin decreed quickly, hustling Raincloud to his bed by the fire. Redcoat looked at him with an air of some disapproval.
"I gave this to your mother," Thorin explained, placing the carved stone on his chest. "It was the first thing I ever bestowed on her. A simple thing, no?"
His tiny chubby hands considered it, manipulated the bumpy edges of the stone that he had not managed to buff down in his hurry to catch her alone. He raised it to his mouth, and quickly rejected it in favor of clasping it close in both hands close to him.
"A simple thing indeed," Thorin sighed, tracing his fluffy jawline with his fingertip. "Perhaps even you can understand it."
"Let me fix your hair, Thorin, for bed. I have not done so in so long."
"Do, please. I would like that."
Meisar separated the plait from the rest of his thick hair and gently teased its coils apart, careful not to pull too hard. She tugged him backward by the loose, thick waves of hair and kissed the fragrant crown of his head. Mead and smoke and spring-breeze.
"I have missed this," she murmured. She combed the undone strands from his temple braid, abrasively curled from its plait, kissed the unanticipating line of his mouth when he turned his head with a thanks on it to murmur. "Men lananabukhs menu, Thorin. Until there are not stars in the sky."
The child was pliant and languid in Thorin's arms, fed and recently bathed if the lavender-soap scent on his head was any indication. His lips purred out in a little breath, tiny fists drawn up around his face.
"He seems to prefer that I hold him all of the time. He eats well, quite often. Eda says he is robust and healthy."
"His mother cares for him so well, he would be naught else."
"Adina washes all of his linens. You should thank her," Meisar laughed quietly.
"I intend to, with many extra shillings in her purse," Thorin agreed. She burrowed her fingers gently against his scalp, just above his ear, ran her fingers down the intact braid and plucked the bead from its end.
"Meisar!" he half-gasped.
"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" she drew back quickly in alarm.
Love and grief conflated until it overran his chest cavity and emerged from deep in his throat a rumbling, then whistling, gasp. "No, no, you never… you have never done anything to hurt me in all my days."
She could see there were tears in his eyes. "Dear Thorin," she took the stray springy lock and brushed it away to kiss his temple. "Should I tell you not to weep? No. It is only us here. I know this is not... easy... in some ways."
"I wish they were here to see him grow," Thorin whispered. "They would have liked that, so very much."
"And I, and I..."
"But truly, the dwarves weep in the halls, weep with joy, true tears. For him," Thorin shook his head to free the stubborn wetness in his eye crests.
"Perhaps for you too, husband."
"Tears… tear… Tir… Tir," the r rolled deep and richly just short of guttural from his tongue, contemplative and so quiet she was the only one could hear. He repeated the word several times. "Do you like the sound of it? Tir? A name perhaps?"
"Tir? Tea-ear, toy-er," Meisar repeated. "Tir." The way it rolled tickled her tongue.
"It may twist the tongue less than another "Th," and besides, those names are running short on availability without confusing the lot of the seven kingdoms. But alas," Thorin considered.
"We would name him for his forebears?"
"It is right, is it not?" Thorin shrugged. "Some traditions are not to be let go so easily. But his name must reflect him also. And he has caused us to weep for joy more than any of our own kin could ever know."
She rolled the r on her tongue again, liked the feel of it. "Then Tir it is."