Slow Burning Hearts - Part I: Separation

A/N: Birthday fic for TechnicolourGrey that got too long to be finished in time for her brithday and was subsequently split into 3 parts for ease of writing and reading.

Warnings: mention of canon character death, mention of non-canon character death, mentions of what happened to Erebor, mentions of non-graphic child birth, one battle scene with minor violence

Frerin knew.

As he lay dying amongst a field of orc corpses, staring up at the clouded sky and the circling ravens, he found himself inexplicably thinking of his little sister's wedding day.

It would probably be soon. She had got engaged not long after they lost Erebor. Father had been so desperate to gain some allies, and her husband's father had been desperate to unload his wastrel son on someone. It had seemed the perfect match to everyone but those who mattered.

Frerin had seen Dis' eyes flicker to Thorin's friend as her betrothal was announced. Frerin had seen Thorin's friend lower his head silently.

Such a good, obedient boy. Father would have said. But now Father was dead. And soon Frerin would join him.

Dis' husband was nearly sixty years older than her, and he was a wastrel. He drank too much, he swore too much, he did no work at all, and he told far too many raunchy jokes for Dis' poor, sweet ears. None of the dwarves of Erebor liked him. But he was their Princess' betrothed, and so they treated him with the respect his station afforded him, though thankfully not the respect he deserved.

"Frerin! Brother! Frerin!" Thorin's voice rumbled across the battlefield like thunder. "Frerin!"

"Thorin..." Frerin mumbled, his chest aching with the effort.

"Frerin!" Suddenly Thorin was staring down at him, terror in every line of his face. "Frerin! Just stay still, a healer will be here soon!"

"No need...big brother...I- I'm going to see Grandfather...soon. Perhaps he's…feeling better. Heh...heh...urgh." Frerin groaned. Breathing was becoming harder and laughing even more so. "Thorin...Thorin...I- I have a request...brother."

"Anything, Frerin." Thorin's eyes were shining, but that couldn't be right – Thorin never cried.

"D-dis. You m-must protect her. A-and her l-lover. She'll need him when she..." Frerin was so tired. Too tired to finish that thought. Thorin would know. Any fool could see who Dis' One was.

"Lover? Do you mean her betrothed? Frerin, tell me! Frerin!"

Huh, apparently any fool couldn't see it. A darkness Frerin had not noticed until this point swooped in suddenly and claimed his brother's grief-stricken face.

Bifur knew.

He was walking beside a stout grey pony that was pulling a creaking wooden cart upon which his demented father lay mumbling in Khuzdul. Bifur's little cousins – Bofur and Bombur – bounced happily on the stoic pony's back. Bombur had managed to obtain some rock cakes from somewhere and was stuffing them into his face as though he had never eaten before.

The two dwarflings covered their mouths and giggled as a newly wed couple strode past entwined in one another's arms. Bifur scowled at them, and their giggles became guffaws.

"You shouldn't laugh at those who are taking a little happiness for themselves." Bifur scolded, glaring at the backs of the retreating couple. "They are lucky to have found their One."

"Their One? What does that mean?" Bofur asked, his dark eyes concentrating still shining with mirth. Bifur sniffed.

"You know full well that the Khazhȃd truly love only their One, stop being irritating." Bifur sniped, although it was pleasant to hear Bofur and Bombur's happiness on such a lost, lonely road as this. Bofur and Bombur were quiet for a few moments. Bombur began chewing his rock cakes again and Bofur put the end of one of his braids into his mouth. Bifur was never one for initiating conversation, so it was a relief when Bofur eventually spoke.

"How do you know who your One is, though?" He asked, full of childish innocence.

Bifur considered the question. It was sure to be challenging, explaining such a complex feeling to a child, but someone would have to tell Bofur and Bombur, and since Bifur was their only remaining kin, it had better be him.

As he contemplated this, a large, strong, black pony came up on his left, its rider nodding down to Bifur as his horse slowed to a trot a few feet away. Bifur had no particular opinion of Dwalin, son of Fundin, though he had been nearby when the young dwarf had met the Princess Dis for the first time and it was a memory he valued highly. He collected his thoughts once more.

"Knowing that a person is your One is a difficult feeling to describe." He began. "Aulë did not create us with the innate knowledge of who our true partner is. We have to go out and find them – and that means experiencing the horrors of courtship, a tedious and frustrating experience for all involved. But once you have actually managed to secure yourself a lover, learning the...intricacies of their person becomes your biggest goal." Bifur paused as he heard Dwalin chuckle from his horse. He glared up at the nobleman and Dwalin held up a hand by way of apology. Bifur turned back towards his enraptured cousins. "It's at this point that most young dwarves make the mistake of believing their first lover must be their One. There are thousands of dwarves in the world, little ones, you will probably not find your One immediately."

"But how do we know, Big Cousin?" Bofur pleaded, Bombur nodding enthusiastically behind him.

"I'm getting to it!" Bifur snapped. He took a deep breath and thought of seeing Princess Dis meet Master Dwalin for the first time.

Bifur hadn't been that much younger than Dis, of an age where royalty and station didn't matter, when miner's sons could play Rock Pellets with princesses. Prince Thorin had come over to see what his little sister was doing and to introduce her to his new friend. Dwalin had only been a couple of decades older than them, but it felt like he was as tall as an elf. Bifur had watched as Dwalin took Princess Dis' hand and kissed her knuckles like they did in Esgaroth, had seen how her eyes lit up in pleasure. He took another deep breath.

"You know that a lover is your One because as soon as you touch their skin, a spark is set off inside of you. It makes your heart start to burn slowly and painfully if you are not near them, and you don't even notice it's happening until one day when it consumes you. At that moment you realise what they are to you and you just never want to ever let them go." Bifur concluded. He dared not look at his cousins or Dwalin, for fear of what he might find, so he just looked at the road ahead.

"How do you know all this, Big Cousin?" Bombur asked quietly. Bifur felt a constriction in his heart.

"Because I only realised that my heart was burning when I realised that dragon fire was burning my One." He said as evenly as he could, still avoiding their faces.

It felt like the silence was smothering them, and Bifur wished he had not scolded his cousins for laughing.
Then there was the loud clattering of a pony's hooves as Dwalin rode further forward in the column. Bifur stared after him and remembered a young dwarf kissing Princess' knuckles. He remembered a Princess' eyes shining in pleasure. He remembered sparks being lit in two hearts.

Bombur knew.

The noise was deafening. The lights of fires flashing off steel shocked Bombur with their intensity. The smell of blood – orc and dwarf – mingled with the mud that had been mashed into Bombur's beard after he fell over a corpse. Bombur was not a warrior. Bombur was a cook and a miner and a brother and had only just reached his 88th birthday.

At some point, Bifur had joined Bofur and Bombur. Bifur's gravelly voice yelled out insults in Khuzdul as he stabbed his daggers into any orc that came near. Bombur found it somewhat comforting to have his kinsmen so close, especially since Bombur was the only one without a 'proper weapon' - he only had time to grab a ladle and a meat cleaver, it wasn't his fault!

A child's scream cut across the sounds of battle and made Bombur's eyes dart around for its source. Dwarvish women were rare, and dwarvish children more so – no child should be in such a dangerous environment. Bombur spotted where the wailing was coming from and his blood ran cold.

It was the little prince – Fili – half-hidden behind a boulder with both of his parents battling back a crowd of orcs attempting to reach Durin's youngest heir. It was clear that Dis and her husband were not faring well, they were being pushed further and further back towards the boulder that hid their toddler from the onslaught. Then Bombur spotted a squat, snarling orc outflank the Princess and her husband.

Bombur was moving without thinking, his kinsmen following instinctively. Bombur went straight for the little prince, who was trying to get further out from the boulder's protection, and scooped him back into the crevice between the boulder and the cliff-face. He could hear Bofur's mattock smacking into the flanking orc's skull, and was for once thankful for his massive bulk as it hid the scene from the sobbing child.

Bombur tried a smile and hoped that he didn't have too much blood on his face.

"It's okay!" He said in Khuzdul, as cheerfully as he could. "Just stay in here, little one!"

The little prince gave a hiccupping sob but nodded through his tears. Bombur stood and returned to the fight.

Time seemed not to work for the rest of that night – occasionally too fast, so as to make every action blur together, occasionally too slow for Bombur to make any move. He watched as Fili's father chased an orc out into the middle of the battlefield, abandoning his wife to the ravages of battle. He watched as Bofur hacked the arm off an orc that reached too close to Fili, letting the limb fall just inches from the little prince's foot. He watched as an orcish axe smashed into Bifur's skull as his cousin simultaneously speared the offender through the chest.

And then it was over, and Bombur was running to the healer's tent with his injured cousin, and Bofur had to sit down because two of his ribs were cracked, and everything was spinning out of control, and a small glass of something foul-tasting was pressed into his hand, and the world calmed.

It had been hours since Bifur had been taken into the healer's yurt. Hours since Bofur had come and sat beside him, favouring his bandaged ribs. Hours of sitting outside the canvas dome, watching the lines of bodies get longer and longer and longer.

Princess Dis came gliding across the battlefield with her baby son in her arms at the head of four dwarves carrying one body. One blonde body. There were only two blonde dwarves in this encampment. Dis' husband was dead.

Bombur remembered Bifur telling him as a child about the feeling of losing your One. He remembered it sounding like having your lifeblood leaking out your chest for the rest of your existence. Devastating and world-destroying and awful. He tried to imagine the face of a dwarf who had lost their One.

Dis' face did not live up to his imaginings. She appeared not to have cried, and she just looked upon her husband's body with a kind of cold detachment. Fili was still crying and had his face buried in his Mother's luxuriant beard.

"Dis! Fili!" Bombur turned towards the shout, careful not to disturb Bofur who was dozing against his shoulder. Prince Thorin and some of his warriors had arrived – Bombur recognised the brothers Balin and Dwalin, but very few others. Thorin ran to his sister and held onto her shoulders, inspecting her for injuries. Apparently satisfied with his findings, the prince took his nephew and murmured sweet things into his hair.

Dis had turned to one of Thorin's companions – either Dwalin or Balin, Bombur wasn't sure – and spoke quietly to him. The companion's face fitted almost exactly with Bombur's approximation of what the face of a dwarf who had lost their One would look like. Like the face of a dwarf who had almost lost their One.

Then Dis was gesturing towards Bombur – and by extension, Bofur – and then they were all walking towards him. Bombur should have felt worried or nervous, but he was still under the influence of the healer's foul-tasting potion, and could feel nothing except calm acceptance of life and all its mysteries.

Thorin Oakenshield, Heir of Durin, King of Erebor stopped in front of Bombur, fattest dwarf this side of Rivendell. He peered down his poker-straight nose and Bombur really, really should feel nervous at the moment, but he was just incapable of doing so.

"You protected my nephew." Prince Thorin says quietly. Bofur shifts against Bombur's side – Bombur hadn't even realised that he was awake. "Both of you."

"Our cousin helped." Bofur remarked. "He's still in with the healers. They can't get the axe-blade out of his forehead."

"Balin!" Thorin snapped at another of his companions. "See to it that that the axe-blade is safely removed!"

"Oh, I don't know." Bofur said airily, as Balin scurried into the tent. "He did have a very plain face before, maybe an axe-blade would do him some good."

Thorin Oakenshield gave Bombur's brother an odd look. Bofur just stared back. Bombur looked to the back of the group. Princess Dis stood next to Dwalin, not touching, not quite holding hands, but standing a little too close for one so recently widowed, and pointedly not looking at the balding warrior.

Oin knew.

He was in the tavern when the news came. The last remnant of Lady Dis' late husband was making his arrival, and Balin needed help. Oin drained his tankard and dashed towards the current home of the Heirs of Durin.
Upon arriving at the little stone house, Oin was tackle-hugged by a very worried little prince.

"Mister Oin! Mama's hurt!" Fili cried in Khuzdul. "She won't stop crying!"

"It's alright lad, I'll take care of her." He said, patting the little blonde head. Thorin pulled his nephew away from the healer and spoke quietly and calmly about what had happened.

Dis had been watching Fili play in the long grass by their home when the contractions had started, and Fili had run off to fetch Thorin when his mother started screaming. Thorin had retrieved Balin, and Balin had moved the mother-to-be into the house to deliver the baby. Not long after that, Balin had emerged and asked for someone to call Oin.

Oin listened patiently to the tale and nodded as Thorin finished. He tied back his hair and stepped through the creaking wooden door.

Dis' screams were even louder inside, but Balin greeted Oin as an old friend. Oin was the best midwife in Erebor – in the people of Erebor, they no longer had Erebor. So few dwarvish children were ever born that there was little need for a great number of midwives in their culture. Oin was the very best; he had delivered countless children, including Fili.

Dis was lying on her back on the small cot in the corner of the room, covered in sweat and gasping for air. It was a good position to birth a child in, and Dis was clearly a strong, healthy dwarvish woman. Everything would be fine. Then Balin told him that there were complications. Then Oin had a look for himself. Then he swore (very quietly, so as not to insult the princess).

"Dis! Dis!" Dwalin bellowed as he came barrelling through the door. His eyes sought out Dis' face, and he was at her side gripping her hand in an instant.

"Dwalin!" She gasped. "You shouldn't be here it's not- argh!- it's not appropriate!"

Dwalin looked as though someone had tried to pull his beard out. Balin cleared his throat.

"I think that it's entirely appropriate for an expecting widow to be comforted by one of her oldest friends, don't you, Oin?" The ageing dwarf said pleasantly. Oin grunted.

"Keep holding her hand. Deep breaths, Dis. I delivered that little blonde hellion of yours, and I will deliver this little hellion too."

Kili, son of Dis was born four hours later. He was Prince Frerin reborn, all dark hair and long limbs. Dwalin held her hand the whole time, and for some time after.

A/N: Prepare yourselves for Part II: Youth soon! Review if you feel like it!