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It had been four years since Fíli, Crown Prince of Erebor, had wed the Lady Sigrid of Dale.
It had been three years and three hundred sixty-four days since people had started to murmur about when a pregnancy announcement would come, and about three years since rumors began to fly in earnest.
It had been two years since Sigrid had decided she had fully acclimated to her new life in Erebor, both as a future queen and as a wife, and the two of them had agreed to start trying to build a family.
They were still trying.
Sigrid’s eyes prickled as she finished reading the letter from her sister. She sniffed loudly and looked to the ceiling, hoping to keep the tears from falling.
“That’s the one from Tilda, right, Sig?” Fíli asked, looking over the top of his own letter. “Is everything all right in Dale?”
“Nnh, yes,” she whimpered, taking a shuddering breath. “It was just… really nice? She’s so nice. She’s really… Really growing up, you know? I don’t know what my problem is, she writes me every week, but this one…” Sigrid dropped off, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Excuse me.” She rose from the overstuffed armchair in their study and went to the bathroom. Hopefully the short walk would distract her.
She took the lid off the chamber pot, hitched her skirts up around her waist, and pulled her bloomers down. A rust-colored smear stained the fabric between her legs. This time she couldn’t keep the tears from falling, and a sob ripped out of her. She had been so sure, this time. It had been almost four weeks since her last monthly, they had done everything right…
What if the whispers were true? The line of Durin severed completely, merely because the Lion Prince hadn’t had the common sense to take a Dwarrowdam to wife. What good was their union to their kingdoms, if no child resulted to cement it?
Perhaps all those years of hunger had taken their toll. There’d been years, in her late teens, where she hadn’t bled at all. Of course, this had nothing to do with any boy, and everything to do with skipping meals to give her share to Bain and Tilda. When her da had found out what she’d done, he had flown into a rage, and though later she understood he was mad at himself, not her, she’d never felt brave enough to tell him just how sick she’d been.
Maybe this would give her the opportunity.
She covered the pot again and kicked her bloomers all the way off as she shuffled to the basket that held the clean rags. “At least it explains all the sobbing,” she whimpered to herself. She folded and rolled the fabric and fit it up her vagina roughly. “Damn it. Fucking damn it all.”
--
Fíli bowed his head to hers, the sheen of sweat on his brow dampening her own. “Ahhhnngh, I love you,” he moaned, breathless. “So much.”
Smoothing his hair back away from his face, Sigrid tilted her face up to kiss him softly. “I love you too.” She pushed gently at his shoulder and he rolled off her with a contented sigh. The breeze he created was cool against her skin and goosebumps rose to pebble her belly and breasts. As she climbed out of bed to go clean up, she couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming. Please, oh Valar, please let this be the one that works.
--
Fíli stood behind Sigrid, his arms wrapped around her waist as the two of them watched Óin pluck a grey rabbit out of a small cage. The weight of him was a welcome comfort, given the tense situation.
“Normally I’d counsel that you just wait and see if you keep missing cycles, but given the trouble you’ve been having, I believe we should be particularly cautious. So, we’ll do this and if you are with child, we will be able to take those extra precautions earlier.” He made a small incision in the rabbit’s haunch, took the small cup of urine Sigrid had provided, and poured some into the wound. He did the same on the other side, and quickly stitched the rabbit back up.
“This looks like witchcraft, Master Óin,” Fíli grumbled. “Pouring piss in a rabbit’s wound?”
“Believe you me,” Óin replied, wiping his hands on his apron, “I was as baffled as you are now, when the Elves showed me this. But it works, I promise you that. If you’re pregnant, this will cause a pair of glands in the rabbit to grow. We just need to wait a few days now to see the results.”
Three days later, they were in the exact same position, looking over Óin’s work table as he placed the lifeless rabbit in a tray. Sigrid gripped Fíli’s hand tightly, wishing with every fiber of her being that this would be the day she could finally be sure. It wasn’t pretty, watching Óin cut the animal open and dig around inside. But it would be worth it, surely.
“Well?” Fíli asked as Óin pulled a small piece out of the rabbit’s abdomen and examined it.
The small grey thing was barely the size of Sigrid’s thumbnail, and she bowed her head, defeated. Somehow she already knew the answer.
Óin dipped his hands in the basin of water he had waiting and wiped them on a towel, lowering his voice to answer, “I’m sorry, Prince Fíli.”
--
Long after Fíli had risen, Sigrid still lay in bed, staring at the canopy. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and instead of letting her rest he was slamming drawers, throwing doors open, and generally making the most horrible racket.
“Sigrid, love, where is the gold crown? The one with the leaves?” Fíli called, voice muffled by clothes and distance. “It isn’t in the wardrobe…”
“No, it isn’t,” she answered wearily, finally pulling herself out of bed and padding softly into the room. She pulled her hair out of its loose braid and sat on the chair in front of the vanity. “What does it matter?”
Fíli came to stand behind her, hands on his hips. “Lord Elrond arrives today? Thorin wants to receive him with full pomp and circumstance, apparently. Hadn’t I told you?”
“What? That’s today?”
“Aye, it’s today. What’s the matter?”
“How could I have missed this?” she groaned. “I could have sworn we still had weeks! Oh Valar…”
“I’m sorry…?”
“No, it’s fine,” Sigrid sighed. “I just-- I just have a bit more primping to do than I thought. And to answer your question, no, we don’t keep the crowns in here, they take up too much space. There’s a room, now, off the throne room, where those sorts of official decorations are kept. Ask Dori.”
“Thank you,” Fíli breathed, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll go find him now, and I’ll grab you something while I’m down there.”
She turned on her chair to watch him leave, then collapsed back against the vanity. Ever since she and Fíli had decided to stop worrying quite so much about… things, she had barely even looked at a calendar in the past several weeks, and time had flown. Writing down every last piece of information of her cycle had been an exercise in futility but now having given it up she felt strangely liberated -- she couldn’t even remember her last monthly!
Sigrid sat up straight. She couldn’t remember her last monthly. How long had it been? “Oh, Valar,” she whispered to her reflection. As quickly as she could, she whipped her hair up on top of her head, slid into the first dress she got her hands on, and stepped into her shoes on her way out the door.
Despite her gurgling stomach she forewent breakfast and headed straight for Master Óin’s clinic. Luckily he was a notorious early riser and would have been done with breakfast hours ago.
When she all but blasted the door open, he merely raised his head to give her his full attention. “Lady Sigrid! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Master Óin, I--” she faltered then, at the top of the steps. Looking down the aisle filled with oils, tinctures and herbs, she suddenly felt foolish. How many times had she been down here to see him, only to be told there was nothing he could do any more, she had tried everything he could think of, she would just have to be patient.
“Yes?”
Sigrid stepped slowly down to his desk. “I…” The smell of mint and chamomile floated gently through the air, borne on tiny drafts caused by the lamps hanging from the ceiling. She took a deep breath and let it calm her. “I’m terribly sorry to have burst in like that. It’s just that, well, I very quite honestly cannot remember the last time I had a monthly. I need another rabbit.”
“Well, Lady Sigrid, I’ll see what they can spare from the kitchens, but you know Lord Elrond arrives today and they’re planning quite the feast.” He put aside his mortar and pestle and narrowed his eyes. “Have you spoken to Fíli?”
She winced, letting her silence speak for her.
Óin nodded and rose laboriously to his feet. “I see. Well you’d better. The workers in the kitchen will know exactly what I’m up to, and word travels fast.” He pushed a small cup to her and gestured to the back. “Fill it up, and I’ll go find a rabbit. We’ll know in a few days.”
--
The entire court of Erebor stood in a line, wearing their very finest, waiting for their turn to personally greet every single member of the party from Rivendell. The Great Hall was draped with tapestries and a torch shone in every sconce. It was bright, and beautiful, and hot. Sigrid was grateful at least for the stiff support of her bodice, otherwise it would be murder to stand so straight for so long. At least these years had given her plenty of practice keeping a smile on her face, and being flanked by Fíli and Kíli helped quite a bit as well.
“Do you think he only owns one robe?” Kíli asked under his breath.
“Kíli! Come on!” Fíli hissed.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I’ve never seen him wear anything else.”
“You’ve only seen him, what, twice in your life? Maybe this one’s his favorite.”
“Hush, now, the both of you!” Sigrid said out of the corner of her mouth. The occasion called for a certain measure of sobriety, and everyone else was acting accordingly; there was hardly a sound, only the quiet speech of greetings as the Elven party moved down the line. This was broken, suddenly, by hurried footfalls, echoing among the high ceilings. Óin was hustling to insert himself next to Gloin. He had done what he’d promised, then. Skipping breakfast to extract that promise, however, was proving a very bad decision indeed; Sigrid was queasy with hunger.
Or was it morning sickness?
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered to her feet. She was being daft, now, surely, finding pregnancy symptoms everywhere she looked. It was probably just the heat. For all she knew, she’d start bleeding right there where she stood.
Oh Valar, what if she started bleeding right there where she stood? It would be as much as she deserved, for not keeping track of her own business. Then at least people would have something better to talk about for a hot minute.
PEACE, YOUNG ONE.
Sigrid jerked her gaze up from her feet to find Elrond looking her straight in the eye, a kind smile on his lips.
“Lord Elrond,” she murmured, dipping into a curtsy.
“Lady Sigrid, it is good to meet you at last.” YOU HAVE BEEN SO PATIENT. He took her hand and inclined his head ever so slightly. DO NOT NOW TURN HARSHLY ON YOURSELF, DAUGHTER OF MEN.
Her throat clenched painfully, and it was all she could do to nod back at him. “Welcome,” she forced out. Fíli had turned towards her, and she could feel his eyes and a hundred more on her. Her cheeks flushed and she glanced over to him, hoping he would take the lead from her.
“Lord Elrond, you honor us with your visit,” he announced smoothly, shifting minutely closer to Sigrid in order to take the Elf’s hand in greeting. The line kept moving past her, and she nodded and curtseyed and smiled and shook hands and all the while, her mind was elsewhere. She’d heard tell that the elves could speak without mouths, though nothing could have prepared her to actually experience it.
At least, now that their guests had arrived, they’d be having dinner.
--
For four days the Elves of Rivendell dwelt at Erebor, and for four days Fíli and Sigrid had barely a moment to themselves. Every meeting required Fíli’s attendance. Every meal had to be taken with guests. Every bit of spare time was spent entertaining them. When the doors to the Great Hall finally closed, Sigrid slumped against her husband, exhausted.
“That was wonderful. Let’s not do it again for another four years.”
His arm was warm around her waist. “Aye, I’m with you,” he agreed, kissing her shoulder.
“I could sleep for a week,” she moaned.
“Then let’s go get started.” He turned her around and started off to their living quarters, moving at a snail’s pace. They were almost inside the door when the sound of someone running rang through the atrium.
“Lady Sigrid!” a young Dwarf called between huffing breaths. “Lady Sigrid, please wait!”
She took a deep breath and turned around, forcing a smile on her face on the exhale. “Yes?”
When the other Dwarf finally caught up to Fíli and Sigrid, she bent over for a moment, hands on her knees. “My apologies, my Lady. I’ve been sent by Master Óin, he has need of you.”
“Master Óin?” Fíli asked, now turning from the door himself.
Shit. Four days and she’d never said anything to Fíli about her potential discovery. She’d barely said anything to him at all beyond “good morning” and “good night,” too busy and too tired to sit down and have any conversation, let alone this one.
“Erm, thank you,” she smiled, heart all of a sudden racing. “Fíli, darling, why don’t you go get ready for bed. I’ll go see what Master Óin wants, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Well, Lady Sigrid, of course he’s just ready to--”
“Be right back, love!” Sigrid chimed, cutting off the poor Dwarfling as she pushed her husband inside their rooms and closed the door behind him. “Now then. To Master Óin.”
It was the longest walk of her life. Longer than the walk home from her mother’s funeral. Longer than the walk from the burning lake up to Dale. Longer than the walk down the aisle on her wedding day. The little servant Dwarf chattered amiably, still high off the Very Important Visitors they’d just had. It was all she could do to nod along.
“Thank you, dear, you may go,” she murmured as she finally arrived at the door to Óin’s office.
“Oh, don’t worry, my Lady, I’ve been helping Master Óin wi--”
“You may go.” Sigrid opened the door and closed it on the poor Dwarf before she could slip in. She would positively die if anyone else were there to witness her disappointment again.
“Lady Sigrid,” Óin greeted her brightly, though the toll of the last few days showed on his face as well. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, mouth set in a grim line, and met him at his work table. The rabbit lay in a deep-sided tray, belly towards the ceiling. She watched every movement as Óin made the incision, then started looking for the ovaries. It hardly even phased her any more. How many times had she watched him do this procedure? How many more lay ahead of her?
Óin pulled his hand out of the rabbit, and produced one of the glands. It was nearly an inch across, where every time before they’d barely been half that. “Congratulations, Lady Sigrid,” he murmured, pulling out the second ovary which matched. “You carry our future King or Queen.”
“Oh… Oh, Óin, are you sure?” Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the roughly hewn table.
“You’ve watched nearly as many of these as I have,” he answered evenly. “When have they ever been this huge?”
She covered her mouth with one hand and sunk down onto the table. “Oh my… Óin…”
He wiped his hands on a rag and touched her shoulder gently. “Go to the Prince. Give him the news before it reaches him by some other means.”
Sigrid turned and gathered her skirts in her hands, then rushed up the steps out of the hospital. Half of the torches had been extinguished now that their guests had left, and her shadows raced her down the dim hallways. Occasionally she would pass someone, who would offer a slightly baffled greeting she could not take time to return. The slap of her feet on the rock floor of the apartment wing rang loud, she was sure, but the pounding of her blood in her ears drowned out any other sound. Finally, finally she was at her own door.
“Fíli! Fíli, where did you go?”
“In here,” came his puzzled reply from the bathroom. “I thought we could have a bath before our week-long nap.”
She toed off her shoes and followed his voice, pausing in the doorway. He was already in the waist-deep tub, naked and pouring some sort of perfume into the water. All the jewelry and braids were pulled out of his hair, which hung limply now on either side of his face. When he heard her approach, he turned and smiled, leaning against the edge of the tub. “What did the good Master Óin need from my lady wife?”
Sigrid opened her mouth to answer, but burst into tears instead. She ran to him and knelt down, sobbing. “Oh gods, Fi,” she cried, clutching at his hair, burying her face in it.
Fíli tentatively put his arms around her despite how wet he was. “Hush, pretty Sigrid, tell me what’s happened.”
After a moment, she had gotten herself under control enough to lean back and give him a watery smile. “When you pointed out how late it had gotten, that Elrond was coming sooner than I’d thought, I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had my monthly. I went to Master Óin that morning, I couldn’t wait…” She closed her eyes for a moment, committing to memory the smell of lavender wafting up from the tub, the sound of the water moving around her husband’s body, the feeling of his slightly damp hands on her hips before she whispered, “Fíli, love, I’m pregnant. We’re finally going to have a baby.”
It took a moment to sink in, but his eyes slowly grew wider, his lips drew into a grin, and he jumped up to wrap his arms around her again. “Truly?!” He pulled her into the water with him, clothes and all, and spun her around. “Oh, Sigrid, really?” He was crying now, too, and laughing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I am telling you!” she teased, pushing the air bubbles out from under her skirts and getting herself thoroughly soaked. “We hadn’t any time, there was always someone around, and by the time we got to bed all I wanted to do was sleep! And I couldn’t bear it anyway, telling you again, just to be wrong, again. I wanted to be sure this time.”
Fíli whipped her around again, considerably slower this time due to her waterlogged skirts. “I’m going to be a father…” he whispered reverently, touching his forehead to hers, his hand slipping down to her belly. “Oh, they will sing of you, pretty Sigrid, mother of Durins.”
“Durins?” she echoed, drawing out the plural. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. One at a time, hm?”
“One at a time,” he agreed, sealing his lips to hers.