The hearth’s warm glow filled the room, casting flickering shadows across Erebor’s stone walls. Laughter echoed as your three sons sat on the thick rug, their attention fixed on their baby sister, cooing softly in her swaddling. Fíli sat nearby, his golden hair catching the firelight, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

The eldest boy leaned forward, gently touching the baby’s tiny hand. "She’s so small," he said in awe. The middle child grinned mischievously. "Small, but loud," he teased, earning a chuckle from Fíli.

The youngest boy, however, sat cross-legged with a pout, arms folded. "I don’t see why we needed a sister," he muttered. "You should put her back."

Fíli raised an eyebrow, amused. "Put her back, eh? And where exactly would you suggest we put her, lad?"

The youngest shrugged, his pout deepening. "I don’t know. I was the baby first."

You gently placed the baby in his lap, guiding his small arms to support her. He hesitated but didn’t protest. The baby gurgled happily, her tiny fingers brushing his tunic. For a moment, he softened—until she soiled her nappy.

"Ew! She’s leaking!" he cried, panicking. He scrambled to push her off, but Fíli swooped in, cradling her with a laugh. "Easy, lad. She’s just reminding us she’s a baby."

The older boys burst into laughter. "She got you good!" the middle one teased. The youngest bolted to your side, clinging to your leg. "I don’t like her," he declared. "She’s smelly, and I don’t want to share."