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“You’re doing wonderful, Bilbo,” Vervain Bolger-Baggins said, with a cheery smile that did nothing to cheer Bilbo one bit.
Thank you very much! “If by wonderful, Verve,” Bilbo said snidely, “you mean to suffer in pain and sweat like a farm animal, then yes, I am doing wonderful!”
By Yavanna! Why in the name of all that was Green and good did I allow that thickheaded, lump of a former Dwarf-king get me into this situation—AGAIN?
(Because you love him)
Not at the moment! So help me, the next one—HE’S going to carry and push out!
(He can’t—remember?)
Fine! Then I will just shove a watermelon up his—
“BY THE GODS!” Bilbo bellowed as the pain built to a crescendo
“OKAY, BILBO!” Verve cried. “PUSH!”
“I AM PUSHING!” Bilbo spat out.
“PUSH HARDER!” Verve shouted back.
“You have to push, Bilbo!” Thorin said, trying to encourage.
Bilbo grabbed Thorin by his braids and yanked him down to face level, “Don’t you dare tell me to push, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo snarled out. “Or I swear, when I get out of this bed, I will cut off your Dwarf-hood and hang it over the fireplace as a fucking trophy!”
Thorin got wide-eyed and looked at Myrtle Merryweather, Verve’s assistant, for help.
“Best to just offer comfort, Thorin,” Myrtle said quietly as she wiped Bilbo’s brow with a cold, damp cloth.
Bilbo concentrated on breathing in and out, all the while keeping a firm, tight grip on Thorin’s braids and a good deal of his hair.
“Why not squeeze my hand instead, sanâzyung,” Thorin offered.
“Because,” Bilbo growled out, “it doesn’t offer quite the same satisfaction that yanking your braids does!” On the word ‘yanking’ Bilbo pulled tighter, leaving Thorin to nod and remain silent.
Oh boy the Gods! Why is this one so much worse?!
“Verve,” Bilbo said as he breathed and waited for the next contraction. “I don’t remember anything like this with the last one!”
“I told you, Bilbo,” Verve said, “every pregnancy is different. And you are having a baby that is half Dwarf—you can’t expect it to go exactly like a Hobbit birth.”
Why couldn’t I have fallen for Ori or Balin or fucking Kili, for the Gods sake! Anyone less ….. boulder-like! But, oh no—no, I had to go and fall for one of the more solidly built ones!
(You should be lucky you aren’t having Dwalin’s baby.)
By ERU, I don’t even want to think about that!
It was starting again. “Verve!” Bilbo shouted.
“Okay, Bilbo, get ready,” Verve replied.
“I am lying here, wet and in pain!” Bilbo snapped back. “I’ve BEEN fucking ready!” Bilbo took a few deep breaths, steadied himself and right on schedule the contraction hit. Bilbo screamed and bore down and Verve, Myrtle and even Thorin told him to push—which earned them all several expletives and curses against themselves and their families.
Not to mention promises to end their lives at Bilbo’s own hand at some point in the very near future.
However, all the effort was worth it and soon the room was filled with the sounds of a baby’s wail, Thorin’s verbal relief as his hair was released from Bilbo’s grasp and Bilbo himself thanking Eru, Mahal, his Lady, Bilbo’s parents, and most of Thorin’s dead ancestors for the end of his ordeal.
“How’s the baby?” Thorin asked as Bilbo attempted to catch his breath.
“Ten fingers and twelve toes,” Verve said.
“What?!” Both Bilbo and Thorin chorused out together.
“Just a little mid-wife humor,” Verve said with a giggle.
“That’s not funny!” Thorin stated.
“I finally agree with my husband,” Bilbo huffed out.
“Oh, relax, both of you,” Verve rolled her eyes as she brought their baby to them. “She is perfectly healthy.”
“A girl,” Thorin whispered as Verve placed the infant in Bilbo’s arms.
Bilbo peered down at the tiny bundle, swaddled in the soft, cotton blanket and couldn’t remember a more beautiful sight.
“Have you ever seen anything as lovely?” Bilbo said, glancing at Thorin.
“Not since the first time I saw you,” Thorin said softly as he pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead then sat next to his husband to wrap a supportive arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and gently cupped the baby’s head.
There was a knock on the door and as they looked up, two little pairs of eyes peeked around the frame, followed by Thorin’s sister.
“There are a couple of trouble makers here to see you,” Dis said with an affectionate smirk.
“We’re not troublemakers!” Frodo said, sounding affronted.
“Yeah!” Frerin agreed. “We’re good!” Frerin wore Thorin’s scowl like a badge.
Bilbo had to laugh; their boys were such troublemakers but only in the most charming kind of trouble. Frodo with Thorin’s dark hair and blue eyes and Bilbo’s pale skin and Hobbity build, was unnervingly precocious for a nine year old. Frerin on the other hand, only a few centimeters shorter than Frodo already at age five, with Bilbo’s honey-blond hair and hazel-green eyes but Thorin’s build, was too clever for his own good. Add the two of them together and they gave Fili and Kili a run for their money.
AT least our two don’t seem to go out of their way to find trouble—like both their fathers, trouble seems to find them!
The boys crawled up onto the bed, being told to be careful. They both stared in wonder at the tiny fauntling in Bilbo’s arms.
“She’s so soft,” Frodo said, gently stroking the baby’s cheek with a single finger.
“And so tiny!” Frerin said with wide-eyes.
“You were almost as tiny when you were born,” Bilbo said to Frerin, causing the young boy to become gaped mouthed.
“She is beautiful,” Dis said, leaning over so that she could look down upon the baby. “Have you a name for this precious jewel?”
“Well, we thought about—” Thorin started but was cut off.
“Jewel,” Bilbo said quietly.
“What?” Dis asked.
“What do mean?” Thorin asked.
“That’s her name,” Bilbo said. “Jewel.”
“But, sanâzyung,” Thorin pressed lightly, “I thought you were considering your mother’s name if the child was a girl?”
“I was—I did,” Bilbo replied, “And I know we talked about your mother’s name, as well ‘Primula’ and even ‘Dis.’” Bilbo said the last as he turned and gave Dis a shy smile.
“I would’ve been honored if you had,” Dis said with a smile of her own. “But I do like Jewel.”
“Do you dislike it?” Bilbo grimaced as he turned to Thorin.
“No, my love,” Thorin answered emphatically. “If that is what you wish, I have no objections at all.” He planted another kiss on Bilbo’s forehead to make sure his Hobbit knew that he meant what he said.
“I think Jewel is a beautiful name,” Myrtle said with a sweet smile.
“Jewel it is,” Verve said. “But is it ‘Baggins’ or ‘Daughter of Thorin?’”
Oh, Eru—hadn’t thought about that. Bilbo had given Frodo the last name of Baggins, not only because Prim and Drogo were adopting but because Thorin was thought dead at the time. When Frerin was born, it was clear at the onset that he was very much his Adad’s son. But now ….
“She should be ‘Baggins,’” Thorin said pointedly. “If she decides later to use her Dwarrow title, I will not question her choice.”
“Can I use my Dwarrow title?” Frodo asked beseechingly.
“Can I go by ‘Baggins’?” Frerin inquired.
Thorin wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled at Frodo’s question or disheartened at Frerin’s.
“When you get older,” Bilbo stated, seeing the conflicting look on his husband’s face. “Then you can decide.”
“Frodo, son of Thorin, son of Thrain!” Frodo shouted, raising his fist over his head as if he was brandishing a sword.
“Frerin Baggins,” Frerin said quietly looking up at the ceiling in contemplation.
“Jewel Baggins,” Bilbo added, “daughter of Thorin, son of Thrain.” Bilbo looked at Thorin and gave him a kiss on his whiskered cheek.
“Sister of Frerin and Frodo!” Frerin declared.
“That’s not a normal title,” Frodo said, rolling his eyes.
“So what?” Frerin throwing his arms out and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s not traditional!” Frodo stated.
“We are hardly a traditional family,” Bilbo countered.
“Why aren’t you?” Dis and Verve both said at the same time.
“Exactly,” Myrtle continued. “I see two loving parents and three beautiful children. Seems traditional enough to me.” Myrtle gave Bilbo and Thorin a cocked eyebrow as if challenging them to disagree.
They didn’t.