Everything isn't Everything

He had lost everything

Thorin Oakenshield cradled the body of his wife and wept. His heavy, heaving sobs were all but silent but that didn't make his pain any less. Her corpse was still and warm, stained in her own life blood. Her auburn hair curled lifelessly.

When the healers and midwives had realised that neither the mother or the babe were going to survive such a difficult birth they had been forced to make the hardest decision that any of them had ever faced.

So now Saram lay alone, still and rapidly cooling in the arms of her husband, her love, her One. Her body was ruined, mutilated. Her face was slack and only the thinnest hint of pale grey could be seen beneath the lids of her eyes.

Thorin tenderly ran one of his large, calloused thumbs across the gentle slope of her brow.

"Peace find you, ghivashel." He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before sighing heavily once more, sniffing back the last of his tears and stepping away from the bed. His body felt stiff and Thorin wondered how long he had been there, not that it mattered anymore.

With an immense show of willpower he turned away from the bed, away from his only love, and stepped to the door. He stopped only for a moment to splash some water on his face and dry it. He had no wish to be in that room any longer; Saram's presence usually permeated a room and everyone in it. Now there was just… nothing.

Thorin stepped into the hall, his steps leaden, and was instantly embraced in a fierce hug. Hot tears that were not his own spilled down his neck. He shuddered a breath into his sisters hair and held her close to him, drawing comfort from being so close to another living being. Especially Dis. Dis knew what he was going though, even though her husband had been killed in battle – Mahal, Thorin had been there, had seen him fall.

Eventually though the embrace came to an end. He looked around the small room they were in – he could have sworn they were in the hallway – and saw another dwarrowdam standing against one wall, her eyes politely averted. In her arms was a titled wrapped bundle and Thorin felt his heart do strange somersaults at the sight of it, as though his emotions couldn't decide what to do with themselves. At last they settled on ambivalence, a safer emotion.

The King-in-Exile moved towards the dwarrowdam and stretched out his arms. The female looked uncertain for a moment, as though scared to relinquish the precious bundle to this male who had just lost the light of his life.

She shot a glance past his shoulder, seeking out Dis for guidance. His sister must have nodded for the dwarrowdam stepped closer, closer than was necessary, and gingerly placed the bundle in Thorin's arms. She watched in relief as the dwarf's face went slack and his eyes softened. The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile.

Grey eyes, so pale that they looked like silver, stare up at him solemnly. Smoot skin, a few shades darker like Saram's had been. Hair, thick raven-black tufts of it poked from beneath the blankets. A small hand reached out and wrapped itself in his beard.

"Soren…" he breathed, and those amazing silvery eyes blinked back at him sleepily. It was the name they had chosen together.

"She looks like her," Dis said, coming closer. "But that nose is all yours."

Thorin smiled broadly down at the precious babe in his arms. Perhaps he had not lost everything after all.