CHAPTER 1

Life giveth

Éomer pulled Firefoot to a screeching halt in the courtyard of Meduseld. He had driven him in a roaring gallop for a little too long but he had no time to pay any mind to his horse that snorted and puffed as he tossed the reins to a stable boy and ran. He took the stairs three steps at a time. Clutching his sword hilt to hinder it from swaying around his hip. Emmót, the warden awaited him and held the doors open for him to pass through. He noticed not the greetings nor salutes from others he passed.

The messenger had arrived in the wee hours of the morning. Helke had awoken him shortly thereafter with words of his wife. The heir was ready to enter the world and Éomer had been half a day's ride away. He had thrown himself atop Firefoot and driven the poor animal to his limit. All the while cursing himself for not riding all through the night. The men had discussed it, but all were weary and had decided to make camp instead. Had he only insisted, he would have been here by the time he now, instead had been woken up. At the door to the chamber he shared with his wife he was halted by the midwife.

'I must see my wife, how is she?' Sweat trickled down his face, his eyes wide with worry and anticipation.

'My King,' the plump lady said. 'May I have a word before you enter?' He paid her little mind instead he tried to push past her.

'My King. Please, do you mind?' her voice had grown firmer and it now caught his attention.

'I must go in.' he tried to have her see reason.

'You will see your wife in a short moment, My Lord. But I would like to speak first.'

'So speak woman!'

She eyed him, a look that told him she wished for him to settle before she would speak. He took a deep breath.

'Pardon me. What is it you wish to speak of?'

'My Lord. You must understand. Your wife, Her Highness, went into labor late last night.'

'I have ridden as fast as I could to get here.'

'I know, my Lord, I know.. She has yet to give birth.'

Éomer pushed out a relieved sigh and a smile crept out of the corner of his mouth.

'There is still time then?'

'Mhm,' said the midwife. 'But Her Highness is suffering through a tremendously difficult birth, my Lord.'

They were interrupted by Aema's scream from inside the door. Éomer's eyes opened wide in alarm. He had never heard anything like it. It sounded so guttural, so primitive and so heart wrenching to him. The scream spelled out her pain in a way that seemed to thrust all air out of his lounges. He screamed out her name, hoping somehow she would draw strength from his voice. Again he tried to push past the woman in front of him but she would have none of it. She clasped her chubby hands around his armor clad arms and raised her voice;

'MY LORD!'

He but stared at her. Had he not been so beside himself he may have thought of the fact that he was King, she his subject, yet she stood between him and the woman who birthed his child, his heir. But Éomer's mind could not fathom such things in that moment, he could do nothing but stare at her.

'My Lord,' she tried again calming her voice. 'Your wife is suffering a tremendously difficult labor.' she fell silent.

'Yes?' was all Éomer could say.

'If all was well, the babe should have been born by now.'

'If all was well, what.. What is it you are saying?'

'My Lord, this many hours of labor is not good for your wife, nor the child.'

Éomer had a hard time understanding what she was telling him.

'Now come boy, let'g go to your wife.'

She held the door open for him and he was not prepared for the sight that met him.

Two women, helpers to the midwife scurried around the room. They wore white aprons atop their garb. White aprons covered in deep red blood.

Aema lay hunched on her side. Her knuckles white from gripping the sheets. Her long hair that had been gathered in a braid had come undone and it clung to her face is thick stripes. She laid bare on the bed, her whole body sheeted in sweat.

Face down she whimpered and wailed, whether from pain or exhaustion or both, he could not tell. He saw that the sheet's too lay soaked with blood. He froze. The world slowed down around him. The familiar smell of blood, pain and suffering prickled his nose. And in the middle of this slaughter he saw her. All noise was canceled out. All he heard was the flushing of his blood as it rushed through his veins.

Aema's scream brought him back. He ran to her bedside. Desperate he knelt down by her, his hands on her face. With his thumbs he wiped sweat and hair alike from her eyes.

'Min'Litha,' his voice was shaking. 'Min'Litha I am here.'

Aema seemed not to notice although he held her. She screamed right out! Her face was distorted from pain. Snot, tears, sweat or spit, Éomer knew not what he wiped but he kept on wiping.

'My love, look at me.' his sight grew blurry from the tears welling up in his eyes. 'Aema! AEMA!'

He shook her gently and after a few, seemingly ever-lasting moments, her eyelids fluttered open.

'Éomer...' she could barely speak but her hands found his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck. She screamed again, her whole body tensing. Éomer enclosed her naked body in his arms and shut his eyes. He asked all those of greater power to let him switch places with his wife. He would have given anything, his own life, all he had, to relieve her of her pain in that moment. Another scream, another convulsion. Éomer sat with his eyes closed and felt his wife claw on him as if she tried to escape the pain. Tears streamed down his face.

'My love I am here. I am here' he kept saying but it seemed not as if she heard him.

'Éomer!' she cried out his name.

'Hush, I am here. I am here.' his hands stroke her hair with desperation.

Again she wailed and the sound of her pain was agonizing to him.

Suddenly she grew limp in his arms. Terror took hold of him. 'Aema?' He rose and placed her on her back. She was not responsive. 'Aema! AEMA, TALK TO ME!' his voice turned frantic as he shook her to wake her up. She laid there, her body bobbing slightly from his shaking. Éomer screamed;

'NO!' then his voice faltered and he sank back onto his knees. He dared not touch her, he hoovered his hand above her forehead. 'My love, awaken. You must open your eyes.' He grimaced from crying. 'Aema.'

He felt a strong hand upon his shoulder, it was Éothain.

'Éomer come. Rise.'

Éomer ignored him. The midwife, who had sent for Éothain just shot the rider a glance and nodded slightly. The King had to leave the room.

'Éomer, come with me.' Éothain grabbed him by his arm and pulled, whereas Éomer ripped his arm away from his grip. Éothain did not give in.

'Éomer my brother, you must come. Leave the women to do their work. Your wife is in good hands, my brother. Come on now.' Slowly Éothain managed to pull him off the ground. He would not take his eyes off of his wife, it seemed he was almost unaware of Éothain pushing him out the door. With a last nod Éothain signaled for the midwife to bolt the door behind them and she came forward to do so.

Not until the door closed and the bolt rattled into place did Éomer realize he was closed out of the room. He grabbed Éothain and slammed him up against the wall, not caring if he tore tapestries, broke wall hangings or his friend. Éothain hit the wall with a loud clash from armor and sconces alike. With his armed pushed hard against Éothain's throat he growled;
'It is my wife in there!'

Éothain raised his hands to show he was not gonna fight him and tried to speak in a calm voice,

'I know brother, I know.'

'My LIFE! Do you understand that, DO YOU?' Éomer spat out the words and gave Éothain another push before just as suddenly letting him go. Éothain stumbled but steadied himself with a hand to the wall. Rubbing his throat for only a moment before straightening up.

Éomer pounded at the door. Screaming commands for them to open and let him in. The door stayed closed. Once more Éothain was there with a soothing hand upon his arm.

'Nay brother, you must give them peace.'

Éomer grabbed hold of a bowl made of burnt clay that stood placed atop a small table along the wall. He let out a growl and hurled the bowl into the opposite facing wall and it shattered, the pieces raining down onto the stone tiled floor. Éothain waited. Éomer leaned against the small table before turning and resting his back against the tapestry on the wall. Slowly he sank down towards the floor. He rested his elbow on one knee and hid his face in his hand as he leaned his head back against the wall. He gasped for air between his deep sobs.

Éothain let him be for a moment before approaching him with caution.

'Éomer come on, let us get you out of your armor.' The King just sat there. His hand still covering his face, his shoulders heaving with sobs that would not subside. Éothain carefully undid the buckles of his belt. Éomer complied and help untangle himself from the thing. They moved on to the shoulder guards, the chest plate, one thing at a time until he wore only his linen garbs. Then Éothain sat down next to him and so they waited for it was all they could do.