A Better Place - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Alternate Entry Forty-THREE - Sometimes We Still Lose

{Moved because I am a furious dipstick who uploaded this chapter out of order.}

Not everything was wonderful.

"Mabyn, go home."

"No."

"Mabyn. This is the second nosebleed in the last four hours. Just take it easy for the rest of the day."

I refused to turn around and let Thorin see the extent of this particular nosebleed and held the wadded up kerchief—one of many I kept handy these days—pressed to my misbehaving orifice. "I am just fine, thank you. The midwife says it's perfectly normal."

"Except by now everyone knows you bleed like a mad horse when you're so much as stuck with a pin, so I think it's fair to say this is a more problematic symptom for you than it is for most."

His unerring calmness in all matters vexed me. "You know what, Thorin? Until you're pregnant just let me make my own decisions."

He opened a shallow drawer. "I'm writing Gimli."

I stood. "Shut up, I'm going." I had to keep one hand on the back of the chair until my head stopped swirling on top of my neck, but I gathered my bag and the other bloody hand kerchiefs and left, still irritable. Maybe I would make something more complicated for dinner, now that I had the extra time. Well, not too much extra. I'd put some of my less-urgent paperwork into my bag as well—away from the bloody kerchiefs—so I wouldn't go mad at home waiting for various parts of me to cooperate and leave me to my remaining peace before a manifested child consumed what was left of my spare time.

I was trying not to be ungrateful. And truthfully I wasn't. Just....frustrated. Stories always made pregnancy out as this great and magical journey as your body grows another body all by itself. Well, after some input from one's husband, naturally. But the truth was that everything anybody has ever truly wanted has come at a price of some sort, and the more you want something the harder the process is to get it.

Pregnancy was not terribly enjoyable, after all.

"You come home early?" Gimli guessed when he saw me with my feet up before the hearth, determinedly underlining things Thorin ought to focus on in the many reports stacked on my reduced lap.

"Much to my chagrin," I replied, and turned my face up for a kiss, managing a smile afterward. "You have a good day too?"

"Better than yours, evidently. Got to visit Gloni over my break."

I winced, my lower back having been growing an ache for the last hour, and tried to stuff another pillow back there to appease it. It didn't seem to be working. "How is he?"

"Still hasn't managed to find a proper lady, by the looks of it. He says I took the last good one." He pinched my cheek and I swatted his hand. "Do I smell roast boar?"

I gestured. "It's in the cupboard. I got hungry and ate already."

"Want any more?"

"A glass of water would be nice, while you're up."

It was my back that woke me earlier than usual the next morning, and I groaned as I heaved out of bed. Seven months of baby is heavier than some women make it look. But I'd needed that sleep. Oh well. Breakfast it is. I shambled out to the kitchen in my robe, bleary-eyed, and sliced a few pieces of bread to toast over the fire once I'd rebuilt it.

"You're up early," Gimli remarked, having heard me leave.

"Ugh. My back was hurting." I unwrapped the bread again to cut a few more slices, feeling haggard, and therefore taking extra care not to relieve myself of any important fingers.