NOTE: This ties in with the two (very) short stories in my Figrid Drabble Collection.

Bard wrung his hands as he paced the length of the stone hall. It was too early for the baby to be born - much too early. Sigrid should have carried her child for another two months at least, and the fear that had hit Bard when he'd been given the news that she was already in labor had almost sent him to his knees.

It had been Kíli that had brought word to him in Dale; and Bard had not waited for his own horse to be brought after it had been received, but had instead leaped on the back of Kíli's goat and shouted back to Bain that he was to be in charge until he returned. The ride to Erebor had been rough and rushed, and by the time they got there, Bard's back was aching, his legs were cramped, and his face was nearly frozen from the winter air; and even after the ride was ended, he almost fell over several times as Kíli led him down corridor after corridor, until they at last made it to the room that had been set up for the birth.

Thorin was not there, unfortunately, as he had set out for the Iron Hills the week before and was not due back for another fortnight; though a Raven had been sent out with news of the impending birth, and it was certain that he would cut short his visit and return as soon as possible. But as it was, the only people waiting outside the birthing room were Bard and Kíli, as the rest of the King's kin were busy keeping Erebor running smoothly in his absence - since his regent, Fíli, was certainly unavailable at the moment.

But though Bard had not gone into the birthing room when he had gotten there, Tilda-who had already been visiting Sigrid and Fíli when her sister had gone into labor-was within. And so, it was the twenty-two-year-old woman that passed on any and all news to Bard and Kíli while they waited; though she had only done so through a slightly-opened door, which was always quickly shut again afterwards.

In such a way, Bard had learned that, besides her and Fíli, there were few others in the room. In fact, the others that were in there numbered only three. That included Óin, who had been Sigrid's midwife through the pregnancy; and though Bard had at first thought that odd, he did not question it after he'd been told that the elder Dwarf had overseen the births of many children, including Fíli and Kíli.

There were also two younger Dwarves in the room, and Kíli had explained their presence with a wink and a slight laugh, telling Bard how Dwarf women would often get quite physical during labor, and how the midwife would need to be protected at times from the kicks and punches that were thrown - and Óin was not going to take any chances, just in case Sigrid was also so inclined.

That had lightened Bard's mood a bit; but still he worried and fretted, and as he paced, he would occasionally stop outside the door and listen in to hear what was going on inside. For a while, there had been talking, then moaning, then screaming and cursing, then the hearty cry of a newborn taking its first breath; but since then he had heard little but low voices in conversation, and the fact that Tilda had not yet come out with any news made Bard worry even more.

"You should relax, I think," said Kíli after a time. He was sitting down on the stone bench directly across from the door, and though his tone was calm, there was at least a little worry in his eyes. "If there was anything wrong, they'd have let us know by now."

"If everything was right, they would have let us know by now," Bard returned, his voice cracking slightly. "There is just... there is too much that can go wrong." He turned his face down, trying not to think of his wife, and how she had faded so soon after she had given birth to Tilda. "Women of my kind are not so hardy as yours."

Kíli shook his head. "I would not underestimate the strength and resilience of any woman," he said, laughing softly. "And anyway, I have heard Sigrid speaking inside even minutes ago, and the baby has cried several times. They are both well. I'm sure of..."

Before he could go on, the knob to the birthing room turned; then the heavy stone door swung open, and Kíli rose quickly to his feet and moved to Bard's side as Tilda stepped out into the hall with a soft smile on her face.

"It's a girl," she said simply, folding her hands in front of her.

Bard placed a hand on either of her shoulders as he craned his neck to look into the room. "Is she healthy?" he asked anxiously. "Is Sigrid all right?"

"They are both just fine!" Tilda told him, her smile widening; then her eyes turned down and away for a moment before she looked back up at her father. "They're resting now, but you can come in, if you like."

Bard lowered his hands, and after hesitating for a moment, he stepped past her and into the dimly-lit space with Kíli close behind. The two young Dwarf strangers were fussing about on the far side of the room, gathering up bloodied sheets and the like; while on the near side of the room there was a curtained-off area. Tilda led them in that direction, then pulled aside the curtain to reveal a stone-framed bed with a feather mattress atop it. Beside the bed stood Fíli and Óin, who both stepped aside as Bard and Kíli neared.

He saw Sigrid then, lying on the bed and leaning against several large and soft pillows. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was damp, her legs were shaking under the blanket, and there were dark circles like bruises under her eyes; but she looked lovely, all the same. She reached her hand out to her father, who took hold of it, then they beamed at each other as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You are well?" he asked, barely aloud.

Sigrid nodded and smiled wider. "It hurts plenty," she said, "but I suppose that's not what I'll be remembering most about today."

Bard held his breath and looked around for the child - for his granddaughter. "Where is she?" he asked, beginning to worry again when he did not see her. "Where is the baby?"

Beside him, Fíli cleared his throat; and Bard looked over, seeing only then that the prince was holding a small bundle in his arms. Fíli smiled and pulled the blanket back, revealing the sweetly sleeping face of the newborn princess.

Her hair was long and light, her ears were large and rounded, and there were fine hairs like down on her cheeks and chin. She was sucking gently on her delicate fingers and breathing fast, as if she was still getting used to taking in air. And she was small - more so than any baby he had ever seen; she looked like just slightly more than a handful, and Bard did not now wonder why he had not sooner noticed Fíli holding her.

"Are all Dwarf children so small?" he asked in wonder as Fíli eased the baby into his arms.

"Not usually," said Óin. "But she has come quite early. Still, she is a strong one, even considering..."

His voice trailed off, and he looked over at Fíli, who took hold of Sigrid's hand as Tilda stepped up to the head of the bed. Bard looked from them to Kíli, then back to Óin.

"What is it?" asked Bard as his chest began to ache again with worry. "Is something wrong?"

"She is healthy..." Fíli began, then he let out a long breath. "But, there is..."

He stopped talking and reached out, taking hold of the bottom of the blanket that was wrapped around the baby; then he pulled it slowly aside, revealing her tiny feet - tiny and twisted; turned in at the ankles, and pressed against the sides of her legs.

"We feared to tell you," said Sigrid, her voice uneven.

Bard's mouth fell open, then he shut it tight and swallowed hard before reaching up and wrapping the blanket around the baby once more. "She will get cold if you do not keep her covered," he said, running his thumb over her soft forehead. "Has she a name yet?"

Fíli and Sigrid shared a look, then they turned back to Bard.

"We have not had the chance to think it through," said Fíli. "We were not expecting her so soon."

Bard leaned over, rubbing his whiskered chin against the fine hair on the top of the baby's head. "There's plenty of time to find one that suits her."

He fell silent, and a moment later the baby's hand slipped out of her mouth and she began to cry softly, like the mewing of a kitten. Bard rocked her gently, but when she did not stop, he placed her into her mother's arms; and as if by some magic, the baby quieted herself and settled back into sleep.

"I... we thought you would be more upset," said Sigrid, casting her eyes up at Bard again.

Bard touched the infant's fuzzy chin softly with his fingertips and shook his head. "Bent feet do not make her unhealthy, they do not make her unwell," he said. "You and she are both breathing, and both your hearts are beating... that for that, I am more thankful than you could imagine." His eyes blurred and a tear coursed down his cheek; and he looked to Kíli, who was staring down at his niece with a wondrous smile. "I would have you do me a favor, however."

Kíli turned to him and nodded. "Anything."

"Send word to Lord Thranduil," said Bard wiping the tear away. "Tell him that if he has any wish to give a gift in celebration of the princess's birth, that it might be the services of a healer, so the child may one day run and play, and walk whatever road she chooses."

NOTE: As with most Fíli and Sigrid stories I write, this one is based at least partially on personal experience. That is to say, my youngest child was born early, weighed only four and a half pounds, and had bilateral clubfoot. When we found out about her feet, we were scared - but we were also thankful, because there was so much else that could have gone wrong, and her feet were at least able to be straightened in time. She is now almost four years old, and is always running (though she still trips over her feet at times, she always gets right back up and keeps on running!).