show me yours and i'll show you mine—meet me in the woods tonight.

-Meet Me in the Woods, Lord Huron

You sit hunched over by the fire, poking at the cinders with a long stick and watching the rising smoke disappear into the leaves overhead. The stars are just barely visible as twilight descends over the woods. In the distance, a lonely wolf howls. You shiver, missing the security and sturdy walls of Beorn's home. A sharp pain runs through your abdomen, and you unconsciously wrap an arm around yourself. The cramps are coming more frequently. You aren't sure how much longer you can hide them before the rest of the Company catch on. For now, the dwarves seem preoccupied with making camp, too distracted to notice your discomfort. Bilbo sits beside you, his nervous eyes darting in your direction every once in a while. If anyone is on the verge of finding out, it's the burglar.

Gandalf left the party a week ago, mentioning some vague business he had to attend to. Now, more than ever, you wish he had stayed—he was centuries old, surely he'd have some advice. But he's gone, leaving you, a human woman, with thirteen dwarves and one hobbit. And he took the ponies, too. Your feet are in agony.

Another stabbing pain makes you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut.

"Y/N?" Bilbo nudges you gently. "Are you alright?"

You force a smile. "I'm fine, Bilbo. I'm just… thinking ahead." You glance down at the book beside you. The Hobbit. The other members of the Company had clamored to read it once everyone had recovered from the shock of a young human waking up among them the morning after leaving Bag End. You refused to hand it over, and guarded it fiercely. Even if they were to read it, it'd be little help. Still, it's a comfort you take solace in, even if you can't remember what will happen beyond a few days.

Bilbo's eyes follow yours. The hobbit doesn't seem quite satisfied, but he doesn't press further. You pick up the book and thumb through its blank pages. It's about halfway full, the story only showing events that have already happened. At least, events as Tolkien wrote them. Events that didn't account for a twenty-something woman crashing into the story.

Another cramp—a bad one. You quickly turn away from Bilbo, biting your tongue so hard you're surprised you don't bite right through it. You can't take it any longer. With a sigh you get to your feet, absentmindedly adjusting your bra strap. "I'm going to get more firewood," you announce to nobody in particular. A few of the dwarves grunt in acknowledgement. You scan them, evaluating who would take the news the best. Glóin? He'd have first-hand experience, but you haven't spent much time with him. Not enough to talk about this. There's the kind-hearted Bofur, but you don't trust him to keep your secret for long. Finally, your eyes reach Balin. Perfect.

Balin was the first dwarf to readily accept you into the Company. He had taken a fatherly attitude toward you since the beginning, comforting you when the homesickness became too much to bear.

"Balin? Would you help, please?"

The old dwarf furrows his brow. There is already a small stack of firewood near the bedrolls. You put on your best pleading face. Still a bit confused, Balin shrugs and makes his way over.

Bilbo stands, brushing off his waistcoat. "Believe I'll come along, if you'll have me," he says. "I could do with a brisk walk."

Again, you bite your tongue. You consider the hobbit before you. The two of you have the most in common out of the Company, both thrust into some strange adventure and completely out of your depths. You relent with a sigh, leading your companions away from the fire until you can no longer hear voices bickering over who should sleep where and who took the first watch last night.

"Whatever you mean to tell us, I do believe we are quite far enough from the others," Balin comments.

"What makes you think I want to tell you anything?" You keep your tone light.

"You've no tool for felling wood. What's on your mind, lass?"

You stop, curling and uncurling a fist nervously before turning back to him.

"I… I'm not sure how to say this," you mutter. Deep breaths. "I skipped my period. Two weeks ago. I never skip." You begin pacing.

Bilbo glances back and forth between you and Balin with concern. "Period?"

"Shark week. Aunt Flo. The crimson tide. Bloody Mary. Japan is attacking. For fuck's sake, my bleeding, Bilbo," you snap, grabbing at your hair in frustration. "At first I thought maybe it was the stress of the journey, but I've been so tired, and my boobs have been sore, and my clothes haven't felt right, and I wake up nauseous, and–"

"Lass," Balin interrupts quietly, reaching a hand out to pause your pacing. Concern is etched into every line on his face as he looks up at you. "Are you telling us that you are with child?"

Without even thinking, you place a hand on your belly protectively. "I think so," you whisper. Tears fill your eyes and spill onto your cheeks.

Bilbo gapes at you. "You're pregnant?"

A sniffle and a nod. "Eight weeks along, I think."

"Oh, lass," Balin murmurs. He pulls gently on your arm, easing you to the ground and wiping your wet cheeks with his cloak. "How do you feel about it?"

"Scared," the word escapes your lips before you have time to think. You look down at your lap, tears dripping onto your faded denim jeans.

Balin nods. "I imagine that's the proper way to feel." He pauses, searching your face. "You must tell Fíli."

Your eyes widen and you snap your head up. "How…?"

"Well, it's rather obvious," Bilbo interjects. "Anyone with eyes could see it."

Heat pulses from your reddening cheeks. "We were trying to keep it secret," you mumble. "Especially from Th–"

"Y/N? Balin? Bilbo?"

A shout from the trees makes you jump. Fíli comes stomping through the leaves and pushing through the undergrowth. "Bombur's got a stew going, and…" his words die on his tongue as he takes in the scene before him: Bilbo crouching nervously by your side while Balin gently rubs your back. "What's going on?"

Balin stands. "I believe Y/N has something she needs to tell you." He beckons for Bilbo to follow, patting Fíli on the arm as he passes. "Congratulations," he whispers.

Fíli frowns. His little mustache braids sway as he looks between you and the retreating figures of Balin and Bilbo. "What was that?" He kneels and gently strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. Concern fills his blue gaze, the gaze that had ensnared you, stolen your heart back within the safety of Rivendell. "Are you alright?"

You sniff and clumsily wipe at your eyes with your sleeve. "I didn't know how to tell you, but… I'm…" You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. Instead, you take Fíli's hand from your face and slip it beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach. Slowly, you look up at him, willing your eyes to say what your lips cannot.

He stares at you blankly. But as his eyes flicker from your face to his hand under the cloth, you watch the realization slowly dawn on him. "Y/N…" he whispers in disbelief. "You're…?"

You nod, bracing for anger, rejection, disappointment. Instead, you find yourself wrapped in his arms and lifted into the air as Fíli spins you around, laughing. He stops abruptly and sets you back on your feet, gripping your shoulders and holding you back at arm's length. "You really are?"

The boyish excitement on your dwarf's face brings a small smile to your lips. "I really am."

He lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm going to be a father," he breathes. Suddenly, he pales. "It… it is mine, isn't it?"

That finally coaxes a laugh from you. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the hollow of his shoulder. "Of course," you murmur. "No one else but you."

"I love you, ghivashel," he murmurs back, lips gently brushing your neck. You stay like that for what feels like hours, melting into each other.

"Fíli! Y/N!" A sharp call comes from the trees behind you.

Hastily, you push away from Fíli and clear your throat as his uncle pushes through the brush. Thorin jerks his head back toward the fire. "You two have first watch tonight," he grunts. Seeing the two of you standing so close, he narrows his eyes and opens his mouth as if to continue, but shakes his head and starts back toward camp.

You take Fíli's hand and intertwine your fingers as the pair of you follow the path of broken twigs left by Thorin's heavy steps. Fíli starts to pull his hand away as you reach camp, and reluctantly you let go. The agreement still stands between you: no one finds out until the quest is fulfilled.

But with the secret now bearing literal fruit, you wonder how much longer it can last.