Chapter Text
A single candle flickered on the small, square table in the middle of the dining room, but it was enough to cast a soft glow that stretched to the sitting area, where Dís leaned her head back and her eyes closed of their own.
“Is he asleep?”
She didn't start at Víli’s low whisper, but her eyes refused to open as she whispered back, “I think so. Thank Mahal. Have you any idea how many passes I made about the sitting room? I didn't think he’d ever settle down.”
“Would you like me to take him?”
Now her eyelids reluctantly rose, her eyes burning with fatigue as she lifted her head to nod. “Let’s try it and see what happens. Perhaps he’ll stay asleep.”
Víli’s eyes, normally an soft blue-green, looked black in the low light, and his own exhaustion showed in the shadows beneath those eyes. Fíli hadn’t slept much over the last four days, which meant neither she nor her husband had slept much, either.
He crouched, holding out his arms. “Let’s do the handoff and hope for the best.”
Nodding, Dís sat forward, taking care not to jostle Fíli too much. He cooed in his sleep, smacking his lips as she gently eased him into his father’s arms. Thankfully, he remained sound asleep as Víli rose, one hand patting his son’s bottom as he cradled the baby against his chest.
Dís settled back in her rocking chair and gave in to the burning sensation in her eyes begging her to let them close. It was nearly three in the morning, Fíli had been awake—with the exception of two very short naps—since six the previous morning, which meant that she’d been awake just as long. She tried to let Víli sleep as much as possible, since his work in the smithy with her brothers Thorin and Frerin was far more dangerous and she didn't want him getting hurt because he was so very tired as well.
No one had told her this would happen. Not at this point, anyway. She’d expected it when he was a newborn, but not once he’d slept the night through, which he had been doing for weeks until recently.
More than once, she wished she had someone she could ask. Her own mother was long gone, and only Glóin’s wife, Leila, had an infant as well. She and Leila had commiserated about their mutual lack of sleep, and neither one had any tips for the other. The closest they’d come was when Narnerra had clicked her tongue against her teeth and told them both that their sons would sleep when they were good and ready to do just that and not a minute sooner.
“Those words were easy for her to say,” Dís murmured thickly, her thoughts coming far more slowly and more muddled now as slumber crept over her. “She is not the one walking the floors night after night with a screaming, crying baby.”
But thankfully, silence now crept through the small house she and Víli shared—blessed, wonderful silence. Dís had never felt such exhaustion, had never known such exhaustion could exist, really.
Fíli had been a surprise. A welcome one, to be sure, but a surprise just the same. She and Víli had been married almost seven years without conceiving, so she had accepted the fact that it most likely was not meant to be for them, as not every dwarrowdam was fortunate enough to bear children.
“I think he’s down,” Víli whispered as he came into the sitting room once more. He looked every bit as tired as she felt, sinking onto the sofa across from her. “So, go back to sleep, amrâlimê.”
“Back to sleep? I’ve yet to go to sleep.”
“You were but snoring only a minute ago.”
“I do not snore.”
“You did but a moment ago.”
She scowled, rubbing one eye as she muttered, “I didn't even realize I’d fallen asleep.”
A spring in the sofa squeaked as Víli rose and she smiled as he crossed over to her. “Come and let me put you back to bed. You look worn out.”
“Worn out does not even come close to how I feel,” she confessed, draping an arm about his neck to let him lift her from the chair, which he did with very little effort. As the air stirred, a hint of leather and cloves teased her nose. His scent and it sent a pleasant warmth through her. Despite her utter exhaustion, she’d never known such peace, such serenity, as she had since settling into married life with him. Fíli was but the icing on a cake of tranquility.
If only he would learn that sleep was a good thing.
Still, Dís snuggled against Víli’s chest as he straightened up, but as he took his first step toward their bedchamber, Fíli whimpered. The now-familiar chill rippled through her, the dread of knowing sleep was not going to be coming to her any time soon if that whimper became a full-blown cry.
“Perhaps he is but shifting in his cradle,” Víli whispered.
“Dare I hope as much?”
Then Fíli went quiet and they both breathed a sigh of relief in unison. Sleep was so close. She could almost taste it. Her eyelids slid shut. Her head came to rest against Víli’s shoulder.
Bu then, Fíli let out a scream that would wake the dead and this time, there was no going quiet again, as he began to wail in earnest, the mournful cries so loud, Dís was afraid their next door neighbors would be awoken by them.
“Perhaps he will cry himself to sleep,” Víli suggested. “Narnerra did say that was perfectly fine to do.”
“Perhaps for her,” Dís wriggled to force Víli to set her on her feet once more, “but not for me. I cannot bear to hear him cry.”
“She said you will spoil him.”
“Then let him be spoiled.” She tossed this over her shoulder as she ambled down the corridor to the nursery. Fíli’s cries grew louder, wails becoming screams, and those screams became shrieks when she pushed open the door.
“Shhh… little one, please… ’Amad needs to get some sleep.”
Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Of course, that could be because Fíli screamed so loudly, he couldn't possibly hear her. Either way, despite her mounting frustration, Dís scooped her son into her arms and pulled him close. “Shhh… raklûn…. ’Amad is here and all is well.”
Fíli’s breath hitched, his entire little body shuddering as he rubbed his face into her neck. He smelled sweetly of talcum and soap from his bath earlier, and she snuggled him back even as her neck grew damp. Rubbing a hand along his back, she whispered, “Why do you hate sleep so? What are you afraid you’re missing?”
She rocked him gently, swaying as his sobs subsided and he went still against her. His breath came against her skin in calmer puffs now, and she stroked the long dark gold curls that already tumbled over his shoulders. Eight months old and with a head of hair that any dwarf, young or old, would covet. He was the spitting image of his father, between that golden hair and his wide, blue-green eyes. She had thought he might be born with the same dark coloring as hers, but wasn't at all upset that he had instead inherited Víli’s.
Fíli lifted his head from her shoulder and regarded her with such wide eyes, she couldn't help but laugh. “Are you surprised to see me, raklûn? You’ve practically screamed the rafters down, you know.”
Those wide aqua eyes glittered in the faint light cast off by the nightlight in the corner near his cradle and then, with a slight bob of his head, he grinned, showing off his four pearly title baby teeth.
“Think that funny, do you? Well, I hope one day you have a son who keeps you from sleeping and we shall see how funny it is then.”
She said this with a smile, crossing to the rocking chair by the windows. “It is the middle of the night, in the middle of the winter, my son. There is nothing funny about this at all. Look out there,” she gestured toward the rippled windowpanes, “and tell me how many signs of life you see. There are houses stretching far in that direction, you know. And do you see how many lights are lit still? None. That is because they are all asleep. And I wish we were as well, raklûn. I wish we were as well.”
Fíli stared at her, then shoved his fist into his mouth to chew on. Dís sighed softly, smoothing several long blond curls away from his face. “You are hopeless, you know. Absolutely hopeless.”
To her surprise, snow swirled past the windowpanes and when she peered down at Fíli, it was to see him watching it intently, his eyes wide. She sank into the rocking chair, cradling him against her chest, his head coming to rest on her right shoulder, so he could see out into the night.
Her hand skimming lightly along his back, she whispered, “One day we will go out and play in the snow, you know. You have so many wonderful things to look forward to—snow, ice skating, bonfires at the lake, and your uncle Thorin’s delicious hot chocolate, to name a few. And one day, Mahal willing, you will have brothers and sisters to romp about in the snow with, just as I did. But, you will not tease any of your sisters until they cry. For if you do and she or they pummel you for it, you will get no sympathy from me.”
Fíli snuggled against her, still gnawing on his tiny fist. Dís glanced at the window, hoping perhaps he might have fallen asleep. But no, he still watched the snow as it swept silently past the window, falling harder now and she wondered if they were in for a significant snowfall. It had been a mild winter so far, much to her disappointment. But perhaps now the weather would make up for that.
“Oh, you will have such wonderful days ahead of you,” she murmured, setting the rocking chair in a gently motion. “Especially if we are blessed with more children. I can only hope Mahal sees fit to let us give you brothers and sisters.”
She pressed her cheek against the back of his head. “Do you know how I met your ’adad?” She chuckled softly as she nuzzled him. “Of course you don’t. You weren’t there. How could you?
“He’s friends with your irak’adad, your uncle Frerin. His best friend, in fact. And I met him when I was but a girl, following around after both Thorin and Frerin to drive them mad. Wherever they were, I wished to be and I cared not if they’d rather I lost myself in trying to tag along after them.
“I knew the first time I saw him that I’d marry him and I knew when the time came, we would have beautiful daughters and handsome sons and here we are. And you know, you almost never happened, because your ’adad fought so hard to resist me.”
“Does he answer?”
Dís smiled as Víli came into the nursery. “No, and I’m glad for that. The time will come soon enough when he will roll his eyes and snort at every word I say, so I will enjoy this and assume he is captivated by hearing the story of how he came into being.”
“You mean, how you cornered me and bullied me into marriage.”
He said it with a grin, a wink accompanying his words, but she still made a face at him. “I did no such thing.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I think bullied is a bit much. I just managed to convince you of the error in your ways.”
Víli let out a soft chuckle, then bent to brush her lips with his. “And error is indeed what it was. Although, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that Frerin walked in on us kissing and promptly raised the roof over it.”
“He certainly was not happy about it.”
“And you used to come down to the smithy at all hours, while I was trying to work.”
“I was bored.”
“You were a pest.” He winked once more. “But, you were a cute pest.”
“A pest, eh? Well, if I recall correctly, you were the one who kissed me first.”
“I had no choice. You talked so much, it was the only way I could get you quiet.”
She couldn't hold back her chuckle. “And it all worked out exactly how I thought it would.”
“That it did. Although,” he pressed his cheek into the top of her head, “I thought there would be more sleep involved. Isn’t he a bit old to be refusing to go to sleep?”
“Not if he’s teething again. Or if he’s had a nightmare. Or he’s just being a baby.” Dís leaned her head back against the rocking chair, the hand on Fíli’s back going still. “And I told you what Narnerra said in addition to what she told you.”
“That babies cry.”
“That babies cry. Although,” Dís smothered a yawn, “I didn't think it possible for them to cry this much, to be honest.”
“If you like, I’ll take him and you can go and get some sleep.”
“No. I don't like. You have to work come morning and the last thing I want is you near any sort of forge or hammer or fire half-dead on your feet. At least I can nap when and if this little terror does.”
“He will eventually sleep. My mother said I was just as fussy.”
“At this age?”
“Well, no,” Víli hedged, his hand coming to rest atop hers on Fíli’s back. “She said I was younger, only a newborn.”
“What if he’s sick, Víli?” She gazed up at him, hoping to find some sort of reassurance in his pale blue-green eyes. “Perhaps I should take him over to Glóin’s cottage. I know it’s late, but—”
“What does your instinct tell you?”
“My instinct? I’m not so certain I trust my instincts, to be honest. I should be able to comfort him, to get him to sleep and as we can see, I’m not exactly doing that. Perhaps he’s decided he doesn’t like me all that much?”
“Don’t be silly,” he chided her gently. “Of course he does, amrâlimê. You said yourself that he’s most likely teething, so I will absolutely trust your instincts and so should you, because I’ll wager you’re right.”
“Perhaps, but at this moment, when I’ve been awake for what seems like forever, it’s difficult to believe.” She managed to smile up at him. “Why don't you go and get some sleep. Dawn will be here before you know it.”
“Are you certain, amrâlimê? I will sit up with him. Or with both of you.”
“That won’t be necessary. Go. Get some rest.”
“Maralmizi.”
“I know.”
He bent to brush her lips once more and then moved to the door, where she whispered, “Vili?”
He turned, “Yes, amrâlimê?”
“Maralmizu.”
He smiled. “He will sleep soon.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Víli pulled the door shut behind him and the floorboards creaked as he padded back toward their bedchamber. A few minutes later, the mattress squeaked and groaned and silence settled all around her.
It was amazing, really, just how quiet the world was at so late an hour. The snow outside made the world seem quieter still. Even so, Dís wished she could just put Fíli in his cradle and curl into a ball, pull a warm blanket to her chin, and drift off into sleep.
But, the moment she stopped rocking, Fíli lifted his head. He wasn't going to sleep any time soon.