Warrior's Heart

Chapter Thirty-Four

With Gamella Asharm out of the way, and the quest for Erebor on hold for the time being, life settled into a quiet routine for both Arielle and Thorin. She was grateful for the quiet, for when there was something to celebrate, the dwarves absolutely made certain to celebrate it. Yule was her favorite of them all, and she thoroughly enjoyed watching Thorin relax with his kin and indulge in wine and ale and song. He introduced her to traditional dwarven dancing, which she didn't enjoy nearly as much as when the music slowed and he pulled her flush against him to just sway to the spirited music.

Winter came, and with it snow and ice and the lake froze over. When that happened, the dwarves all showed up at their door to strap blades to their feet to skate on the mirror-like surface.

By then, she was far too round to do much skating. Instead, Gloín would build a fire on the shore and Thorin would insist she sit closest to it, wrapped in a blanket if necessary. She did as he asked, shifting when the baby pressed on something that caused discomfort, and managed to forget that discomfort as she watched him also tie blades to his feet and take to the ice. He was actually quite adept, and rather fast on those blades. They played a game she didn't understand but they seemed to love. It was noisy and fast, played with sticks and a small flattened ball of sorts that she couldn't possibly keep up with.

Night after night, she lay cuddled up against him, warm beneath the thick skins and the heat Thorin put out. But, no matter how she enjoyed snuggling up to him, she looked forward to spring. Especially as she seemed to grow rounder with each passing day.

Thorin was fascinated by her belly now, watching as the baby moved with enough force that her entire belly changed shape. And the baby seemed to recognize his voice as well, for every night, as they readied for bed, Thorin would lay with his head on her breast, and talk to their unborn child as if he expected the baby to reply in kind. Instead, the baby kicked in response to the sound of his father's voice, which made Arielle smile and brought tears to her eyes.

"What are you telling him tonight?" she murmured, letting her fingers wander along the length of his hair as he spoke in Khuzdal to her belly.

"I am telling him how I met his mother." Thorin looked up at her and smiled. "He finds it fascinating to know his mother ran away from another man, right into my arms."

"It didn't quite happen that way."

"He need not know that right now." Thorin winked and turned back to continue his story.

The baby let out a solid kick, hard enough that she actually gasped. "Ow... easy, little one..." She rubbed the spot where a knee or elbow bulged through her skin. "There is no need to put a hole in my side."

Thorin pressed a kiss where she'd rubbed. "Gentle, little one."

"He does not know the meaning of the word gentle." She shifted. "And I have to admit, with each passing day, I grow more and more uncomfortable. I am not so certain I will be doing a child a year, love."

His hand came to rest on the spot head kissed. "If I could make it easier on you, love, I would."

"I know." She shifted as a foot—or something—wedged in between her ribs to knock the breath from one lung. "But, you cannot and this is awful."

"I'm trying to do what I can."

"Be that as it may," she grimaced again as this time, the baby kicked something else and she needed the chamber pot now, "it isn't at all helpful."

She threw back the blankets and rose from the bed, skipping across the icy stone floor to the necessary. With each passing day, her temper shortened and her impatience grew. She still had several more weeks to go, or so she thought, and she wasn't at all certain she would survive them.