An Even Fifteen (Fili x reader)

(46) At Last

Time ceased to exist. It did not stop, but rather passed without your tracking it. Everything lasted too long, or too short. Waves of crushing, immobilizing pain punctuated by brief spans of waiting for the next contraction while the things you couldn't think about through the agony springing up while they could. Was it too soon? Were you and the child in danger? What if you broke your promise to Fili, and things weren't all right? You barely had time to think the questions, let alone voice them, before another pain streaked through you.

Oin had appeared at the door of your bedroom at Fili's calling, and attended you with patience. He kept telling you how well you were doing, how, strong you were, how you had to push just one more time. But there was always another time after that, and you began to wonder if he was lying about the other things, too. Eventually, though, the dwarf healer's words faded, and all that mattered was the child you were going to bring into this world, and your husband.

Fili never left your side. He started at your side, holding your hand tightly, not complaining once at your fierce grip. But as your labor wore on and you tired, he climbed up behind you on the bed with one leg on either side of you. He lent you strength when you had no more left. He was the calm amid your storm. He was the reminder that there would be light after all this pain.

The night passed and became the day, at some point. You didn't notice that it had changed until you heard the first cry of your child as they rushed into the world, and you searched the room frantically, trying to press every detail into your memory so that you could tell this child over and over again what it was like. It was morning, and the fire was low, and as you leaned back on your husband he was shaking as badly as you with tears.

"Oh, a healthy one, this is," Oin said, cutting the baby's cord and wiping him clean. You stretched out your arms for your child-- suddenly they were achingly empty-- with a strength you should not have had. "Your son," Oin said as he handed him to you. You could only stare in wonder at the perfect little child in your arms.

You couldn't speak. You couldn't move. He was perfect. His tiny fingers grabbed reflexively at the air, and you leaned forward so that they would not be empty hands, but met the skin of your tear-stained face. Were you crying? When had that happened? It did not matter.

"He is perfect," Fili whispered reverently past the tears clogging his own throat. "You did it, ghivashel."

It was only later, after Oin had cleaned up most of the messy business and had left the two of you-- no, the three of you-- alone, that Fili said what you were both thinking.

"I did tell you so." He was quiet so as to not disturb your son from the task of nursing, which apparently took quite a bit of focus for one so new to the world.

Your laughter was a gentle puff of air. "You did, my love. So much for my mother's intuition." Fili hummed, and you said, "I suppose I shall never hear the end of this."

Fili kissed the side of your neck, even though it was still sticky with sweat and tears. "Probably not. But our son looks more like you than me, so I think it evens out in the end."

"Are we looking at the same child?" You asked, incredulous. "Look at this full head of hair. It's exactly your shade." You traced your son's golden hairline gingerly.

"Ah," Fili said, leaning his chin on your shoulder to look down on the babe, "but look at his brow, the shape of his nose. And those lips." Fili chuckled quietly. "I would know those lips anywhere," he said into your hair, his breath gracing the sensitive shell of your ear. You smiled at the affection and leaned your head back onto him.

You almost fell asleep like that, cocooned between the warmth of your husband and your son. But the little one shifted in your arms, and you raised your head to look down at him again.