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The Lady Sigrid's Dwarven Minders

Summary:

Though hardly the starving slip of a girl they'd met in Laketown, Thorin's Company finds themselves looking out for Sigrid in their own, small ways.

Basically just a bunch of one-shots about little moments between our favorite Dwarves and the oldest Bardling.

Chapter 1: Bombur

Chapter Text

“Something smells good.”

With speed that belied his size, Bombur whirled around, ladle raised to smack down on peckish princes or greedy captain of the guards, but he froze when he found himself face-to-face with Bard’s eldest daughter.

Swiftly hiding his makeshift weapon behind his back, the ginger cook gave her a nervous smile. “Thank you, m’lady! Balin told me your family would be visiting, so I’ve been cooking since sunrise!”

“You didn’t have to do that just for us,” Sigrid replied, blushing slightly as she eyed a mountain of sweet rolls.

“It’s no trouble, m’lady,” he said shyly. “It’s my duty. Besides, you fed us when we came to Laketown; I’m just returning the favor.”

Fidgeting slightly, Sigrid attempted to wave it off. “Nonsense! Strange as that visit was, I wasn’t going to let you all go hungry.” Swallowing, she indicated the boar slowly roasting on the fire. “And I certainly didn’t feed you this much.”

Bombur chuckled. He was a rather shy Dwarf by nature, but food was a safe topic. He could talk for hours about pies, stews, grilled fish, roast chicken, cakes, bread, and more. “Well, back then we were just ragged travelers, and you were the child of a bargeman. You made do with what you had. Now, you’re royalty, and I’m the head cook of Erebor. I think it’s within my means to make you a suitable welcoming feast.”

“We don’t need a feast,” she said meekly, rubbing her arm, “and I’d hate to see any of this food go uneaten.”

“Don’t worry, none of it will go to waste. Really, I have to make so much, otherwise, Kili and Dwalin will sneak in and eat everything before the table’s even set! They’re always pinching cookies and mutton without so much as a ‘please’ or ‘thank you.’ Always spoiling their supper, those two.”

She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, though Bombur hardly heard it over the angry growl that came from the girl’s stomach.

Bushy eyebrows furrowing, he looked up at her blushing face. “Have you not had lunch?”

Embarrassed, she averted her gaze. “Well, we were planning on having a little picnic before we reached the mountain, but Tilda had forgotten hers and it was too late to head back, so I let her have mine. She’s still growing, after all, so I can’t let her go hungry. I just thought I might be able to grab a bit of bread to hold me over for dinner.”

“You’re growing too, from what I know of Men. Surely just some bread isn’t enough?”

She shrugged. “I’ve made do with less.”

The dots connecting in his head, Bombur frowned. It made sense that Bard and his children were no strangers to hunger. How many nights, or even days, had Lady Sigrid gone without so her siblings could have enough? Bifur and Bofur had done that more than a few times back when they were struggling toymakers. It was why he’d taken up cooking; to learn how to make the most out of a meal so no one would have to go hungry. Those skills had kept Thorin’s Company going even after they’d lost their supplies in the river, Bombur’s ability to make a stew out of anything earning him the position of Erebor’s Royal Chef.

Come to think of it, had she eaten the night they’d hidden in their house? Had she gone hungry so a gaggle of strange, waterlogged Dwarves wouldn’t starve?

Such kindness would not go unpaid, and empty bellies had no place in his kitchen.

Nodding to himself, he gently but insistently led her over to a small table and began fixing a plate of sweet rolls, potatoes, roast pheasant, and apple turnovers. Setting it down in front of her, he handed her a fork and napkin, then set about filling a goblet with sweet cider.

“Oh! You don’t have to—”

“Supper’s not for many more hours, m’lady, and no Dwarf worth his beard would allow an honored guest to faint from hunger.”

“I’d hardly faint,” she protested weakly as the delightful smells tickled her nose, making her stomach grumble again.

He chuckled. He didn’t doubt that; Men were sturdier than he’d given them credit for. That didn’t mean he’d let her leave with anything less than a full stomach and a smile. “Maybe, but the King would be annoyed if a rumbling belly interrupted his and Bard’s trade talks. So really, you’re doing it for the benefit of your father, eh?”

Unable to find a suitable argument, Sigrid finally tucked into her plate while Bombur went back to baking bread, silently promising to himself that the Dale princess would never go hungry again.