Disclaimer: The characters were not thought up by me, but by the great author whom we can only emulate, Tolkien.
Author's Notes: This is my first LotR fic, although I have written quite a lot in other categories. I'm excited and eager to tell this story, as it has to do with my very favorite couple. Here's hoping that they have more screentime in the extended version! Thanks for reading!!!
Dedication: To Chris, Missa's husband, the biggest LotR geek I've ever had the pleasure of pissing off with my innane pro-feminine, pro-movie rants--haha;)
****
A Love Beyond All Fear
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The histories of both Gondor and Rohan would long remember the day of the birth of Elboron, the Steward's first child with his White Lady. But it was another day that while perhaps not as celebrated, would weigh heavily in the memories of not only the parties involved, but of the lowliest of peasants in the realms of Middle Earth.
Just over four years after Elboron's birth, the Lady Éowyn and her beloved husband, Faramir, son of Denethor, prepared to bring another child into the world. The wait had been long and particularly weary on the usually strong former Shieldmaiden. This troubled Faramir greatly; her confinement with Elboron had progressed smoothly, with only a few instances of sickness or fatigue. But with this second child, Éowyn's health had deteriorated to the point where, had the Healers not done so themselves, he would have ordered her into permanent bed rest.
On the morning it all began, Faramir awoke to the unpleasant, but all too common sound of his wife's nausea. Instantly, he was out of bed and at her side, holding her long, pale blond hair away from her face until the bout of sickness had passed.
"Éowyn, love," he murmured. "I am so sorry."
With one hand on her extremely pronounced belly and the other covering her mouth, his wife shook her head. "Do not be. It is the way with children." She attempted a smile although her stomach still felt unsteady. "Women's burden to bear."
Faramir frowned as he stroked her soft locks away from her forehead. "It was not so with Elboron."
"Every babe differs." When she was sure that she could, Éowyn reached for his hand. "Help me stand." He did so, keeping a firm, but gentle hold on her as they both rose to their feet. The bulge of her stomach prevented them from being as close as they would have liked. Éowyn sighed and rested her hands on her child. "I do hope it will not be too much longer. I miss the sight of my feet."
"Come back to bed and I shall describe them to you," Faramir replied, a twinkle replacing the concern in his bottomless eyes.
"Oh, will you, my lord? Very well then." After he had led her back to their bed and she was again settled into the fleece pillows and warm fur coverlets, she looked at him, expectedly.
Her husband sat at the end of the bed and reached under the furs until he touched her slender ankle. "They are pale as moonbeams and so delicate that one might think that to touch them is to break them. Yet there is great strength there. Feet that can run like the wind, climb the highest mountains, and yet dance with joy and grace. The ground that they tread upon considers itself lucky to…"
Éowyn cut him off with a peal of laughter. "Ever the poet, my love. My heart never stood a chance against the flower of your words." She sighed softly. "How I love thee."
"How do you love, lady?" he asked, moving up the bed until he lay next to her.
"Wholly." Her cool hand ran down the stubbled length of his cheek. "Eternally."
Faramir took her hand and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "As do I," he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss.
His mouth had barely brushed across hers when the heavy brocaded curtains that closed their chambers off for privacy's sake, parted. A boy of four years and several weeks entered, trailing a blanket. One chubby thumb stopped up his sweet mouth. He waited until his father noticed him.
"Elboron." Faramir drew away from his wife to address his son. "A man does not enter another man's chamber without announcing himself."
Éowyn chuckled as she struggled to sit up more. "There is time yet for him to learn what it is to be a man, my lord. For now, let him be a child."
Faramir's stern expression melted under his wife's motherly words and his son's look of childish abashment. With a smile, he opened his arms. Elboron wasted no time in crossing the room and crawling into his parent's bed and then his father's embrace. He removed his thumb long enough to greet them with a respectful, "Mot'er….Fat'er."
"What brings our little prince to us so early in the morning?" Éowyn asked as she watched Faramir rock their child. A lump rose in her throat which she had trouble swallowing back.
"Bad dweam," Elboron replied, snuggling deeper into his father's arms. "I tried not to be a'scared, Fat'er." He looked up at Faramir. "But I was a'scared."
"There is no man who is not scared of something," Faramir assured the boy.
Éowyn smirked. "And what is it that scares you?" she asked, mischievously.
A shadow passed over her husband's handsome face for a brief moment, before he blinked it away. "Oliphaunts," he finally answered. "I should not like to encounter one of them too closely."
His wife waved her hand, dismissing the idea. "Trust me, my love, they are not as frightening as they appear."
"Mot'er seen one?" Elboron inquired.
"Yes." Éowyn rubbed her hand over her stomach. "Mother's seen one."
Faramir cleared his throat. Reminders of the past ever tugged at them both, but it would be years before his son would be able to hear and understand the stories of the War. "Perhaps we should find something for breakfast and bring it back to your mother," he suggested. Elboron nodded enthusiastically.
As the two most important men in her life started for the doorway, her husband's calloused hand holding her son's tiny one, Éowyn brushed back a tear. There were moments when her life seemed too perfect. Moments when she feared that something tragic must be in store to bring balance. Wasn't that how it always was?
A painful pressure gripped her lower abdomen a few moments later, reminding her that yes, it was.
****
Faramir was preparing a plate of mild cheese, soft bread and sweet fruit for his wife, the only foods her stomach was able to tolerate in the mornings, when a servant entered with news of an unexpected, but not unwelcome arrival to Emyn Arnen.
"My lord. Éomer-king has reached the gates and requests entrance into your hall."
"Éomer-king is ever welcome here," Faramir replied. "Take this food to the Lady of the House, and tell her that her brother has arrived. She may try to rise in order that she might greet him, but you must insist that she stay in bed. I shall bring him to her." When the servant had bowed and left with the tray, he dropped the formality and looked at his son. Elboron sat in a chair that was far too big for him, drinking a cup of milk. He held the cup in both hands and when he set it down, creamy foam circled his upper lip. Faramir couldn't stop his smile. "Wipe your mouth, my little hobbit, and let us greet your uncle."
Although the boy was only clad in a child's night shift, and he wore naught but cotton breeches and a tunic top, Faramir stood with his son at the entrance to Emyn Arnen like the royalty that they were, ready to welcome the King of Rohan. His wife's brother arrived with only two guards; he was not a man accustomed to being protected. As soon as he stopped his mighty horse, Éomer swung himself to the ground.
"Greetings, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien." He looked at the child next to the man. "And Elboron, son of Faramir." The corners of his mouth lifted for his nephew was quite dear to him.
Faramir lowered his head. "Éomer-king, you honor my house."
With one great hand, the Rohirric king waved away the formality. It was a motion nearly identical in likeness to Éowyn's dismissal of things that did not please her. "Enough of these titles. I come uninvited and for that I am sorry. But I have not received word of my sister since I learned of her delicate condition, and I have been worried for her well-being, and that of the babe."
"She will reprimand you for this," Faramir warned him. "Your sister does not take kindly to people fussing over her. She would rather do the fussing."
"It has always been thus." Éomer scowled as a frustrated older brother. "I trust you to give me the truth, brother. Does she fare well?"
All too aware of his son's small ears that heard so much, Faramir caught the King's eye. "She is under orders to rest at all times of the day. But her spirits are high."
Éomer seemed to accept this, at least for the moment. His attention turned to his nephew who was eyeing his horse with interest. "Most children fear Seon," he told the boy, patting the black stallion's muscled neck. "But your blood runs strong with the great horsemen of Rohan, little one. I can tell."
Elboron lifted his little chin. "I can ride the ponies good," he informed his uncle. "Mot'er says so."
"And what does your father say?"
Faramir folded his arms over his tunic. "I say that whether he turn out more as a child of Rohan than of Gondor, I shall not love him any the less."
As a new father himself, Éomer nodded. He had traveled near three days from his home at Edoras, and for that entire time, he had been missing his own wife and son. "I should like to see my sister," he said, removing his heavy riding gloves. As though suddenly remembering that Éowyn was no longer under his protection, he added, "If that is agreeable with her husband."
"Come then," Faramir gestured into the hall. "I promised I would bring you to…"
He was cut off by the same servant he had sent up to his bedchamber who now ran down the stone steps, screaming his name. "Lord Faramir! The Lady Éowyn…her time has come!!"
Faramir was off and running, forgetting everyone and everything in his haste to be at his wife's side. Éomer would have liked to do the same, but he remained behind in order to pick up his nephew. "It seems I have arrived justly."
Seated in the crook of his uncle's arm, Elboron frowned, his forehead crinkling up much in the manner of his father. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice little and worried.
Éomer laughed heartily, despite his own worry for his sister. It wouldn't do to frighten the child, although he could faintly recall his own fright at Elboron's age when his impossibly tiny little sister made her way into the world. "It would seem that before this day is done, you Elboron, shall be an older brother."
But he was wrong.
****
As a woman who had nearly been felled by the Witch King of Angmar, not to mention a woman who had already birthed a child, Éowyn thought she knew pain. But what she had felt in the past was nothing compared to the pain she was in after half a day of labor with her second child. She had nearly reached her tolerance limit. Hours of wracking pain and nothing to show for it. All she wanted was for it to be over.
The only comfort she took was in the fact that her husband had not left her side even for a moment. The midwife who had been called in from the surrounding village had tried to order him away, but Faramir would not budge. It had been the same during Elboron's birth. She knew that most men did not care to be in the room when their wives labored, but Faramir was not most men. He chose to stay with her, to bathe her forehead with cool cloths, and soothe her cries when the pains hit her.
"My lady." The midwife, Lothelawen, broke through her thoughts. "My lady…do you feel as though you need to push the child out yet?"
It pained Éowyn to shake her head. "No, not yet." She gritted her teeth. "Although I would certainly yank it out myself if I could!"
Faramir kissed the back of her hand. "Try to stay calm, my love. This is hard enough on your body."
"I should like to see you remain calm if it was your lot in life to bear children," she snapped back. "You know nothing of women's pains. There is no unpleasantness in being a man. Nothing curses you. You gain only pleasure from the creation of…"
He stopped her with a finger to her lips, already being well acquainted with her complaints against his gender during her labors. He had heard words come from her mouth that he had never dreamed up himself when she birthed Elboron, as well as some phrases in the tongue of Rohan that he could not understand.
"Trust that if I were able, I would take all of the pain of this onto myself," he told her. "It is not fair, I know. But there is naught I can do, my love."
Éowyn's eyes filled with tears. "I am sorry," she sobbed. "It is only…it hurts so, Faramir. It was nothing like this with Elboron. And he came quickly, too. Is the sun not about to set?"
"It is," he replied. Taking a freshly wet cloth, Faramir dabbed her perspiring brow. "But did you not tell me just this morning that every babe differs? Perhaps this child will be more like you."
"And what mean you by that?"
He mustered a smile meant only to cheer her. "It will be just as unable to appear anywhere on time."
Had she not been hit by another contraction, he had no doubt he would have received a slap for that. As it was, Éowyn merely grabbed at the sheets, bracing herself against the pain. She had done very little screaming so far, but this time a cry ripped through her throat. It drained the blood from Faramir's face.
The pain lessened after what seemed like hours and Éowyn's body relaxed. Her eyes closed and she breathed heavily. Disengaging himself from his wife, Faramir stood and pulled the midwife aside.
"Tell me that this is normal with women on their second child," he ordered in a low voice.
Lothelawen glanced back at the White Lady. "I cannot, my lord. Her labor continues, but does not progress. It could be that the babe has not turned."
Faramir ran his hand though his hair; his dark curls were damp with sweat. "What will you do if that be the cause?"
"I know not, sir." The woman shook her head. "In truth, I have never been witness to a breech birth…where the mother has survived."
Her words hit Faramir with more force than an orc's arrow. He clutched at his chest as if they had reopened all of his old wounds. "She cannot…I cannot live…without her."
"I will try, my lord, that I swear. But it would not offend me if you chose to send for the Healers. They will know better than I what to do in order that both mother and child might live."
The Steward rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth slowly. After a long time of staring at his laboring wife, he came to a decision. "There is one man. He has healed us before. I pray that he might do the same once more."
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: This is my first LotR fic, although I have written quite a lot in other categories. I'm excited and eager to tell this story, as it has to do with my very favorite couple. Here's hoping that they have more screentime in the extended version! Thanks for reading!!!
Dedication: To Chris, Missa's husband, the biggest LotR geek I've ever had the pleasure of pissing off with my innane pro-feminine, pro-movie rants--haha;)
****
A Love Beyond All Fear
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The histories of both Gondor and Rohan would long remember the day of the birth of Elboron, the Steward's first child with his White Lady. But it was another day that while perhaps not as celebrated, would weigh heavily in the memories of not only the parties involved, but of the lowliest of peasants in the realms of Middle Earth.
Just over four years after Elboron's birth, the Lady Éowyn and her beloved husband, Faramir, son of Denethor, prepared to bring another child into the world. The wait had been long and particularly weary on the usually strong former Shieldmaiden. This troubled Faramir greatly; her confinement with Elboron had progressed smoothly, with only a few instances of sickness or fatigue. But with this second child, Éowyn's health had deteriorated to the point where, had the Healers not done so themselves, he would have ordered her into permanent bed rest.
On the morning it all began, Faramir awoke to the unpleasant, but all too common sound of his wife's nausea. Instantly, he was out of bed and at her side, holding her long, pale blond hair away from her face until the bout of sickness had passed.
"Éowyn, love," he murmured. "I am so sorry."
With one hand on her extremely pronounced belly and the other covering her mouth, his wife shook her head. "Do not be. It is the way with children." She attempted a smile although her stomach still felt unsteady. "Women's burden to bear."
Faramir frowned as he stroked her soft locks away from her forehead. "It was not so with Elboron."
"Every babe differs." When she was sure that she could, Éowyn reached for his hand. "Help me stand." He did so, keeping a firm, but gentle hold on her as they both rose to their feet. The bulge of her stomach prevented them from being as close as they would have liked. Éowyn sighed and rested her hands on her child. "I do hope it will not be too much longer. I miss the sight of my feet."
"Come back to bed and I shall describe them to you," Faramir replied, a twinkle replacing the concern in his bottomless eyes.
"Oh, will you, my lord? Very well then." After he had led her back to their bed and she was again settled into the fleece pillows and warm fur coverlets, she looked at him, expectedly.
Her husband sat at the end of the bed and reached under the furs until he touched her slender ankle. "They are pale as moonbeams and so delicate that one might think that to touch them is to break them. Yet there is great strength there. Feet that can run like the wind, climb the highest mountains, and yet dance with joy and grace. The ground that they tread upon considers itself lucky to…"
Éowyn cut him off with a peal of laughter. "Ever the poet, my love. My heart never stood a chance against the flower of your words." She sighed softly. "How I love thee."
"How do you love, lady?" he asked, moving up the bed until he lay next to her.
"Wholly." Her cool hand ran down the stubbled length of his cheek. "Eternally."
Faramir took her hand and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "As do I," he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss.
His mouth had barely brushed across hers when the heavy brocaded curtains that closed their chambers off for privacy's sake, parted. A boy of four years and several weeks entered, trailing a blanket. One chubby thumb stopped up his sweet mouth. He waited until his father noticed him.
"Elboron." Faramir drew away from his wife to address his son. "A man does not enter another man's chamber without announcing himself."
Éowyn chuckled as she struggled to sit up more. "There is time yet for him to learn what it is to be a man, my lord. For now, let him be a child."
Faramir's stern expression melted under his wife's motherly words and his son's look of childish abashment. With a smile, he opened his arms. Elboron wasted no time in crossing the room and crawling into his parent's bed and then his father's embrace. He removed his thumb long enough to greet them with a respectful, "Mot'er….Fat'er."
"What brings our little prince to us so early in the morning?" Éowyn asked as she watched Faramir rock their child. A lump rose in her throat which she had trouble swallowing back.
"Bad dweam," Elboron replied, snuggling deeper into his father's arms. "I tried not to be a'scared, Fat'er." He looked up at Faramir. "But I was a'scared."
"There is no man who is not scared of something," Faramir assured the boy.
Éowyn smirked. "And what is it that scares you?" she asked, mischievously.
A shadow passed over her husband's handsome face for a brief moment, before he blinked it away. "Oliphaunts," he finally answered. "I should not like to encounter one of them too closely."
His wife waved her hand, dismissing the idea. "Trust me, my love, they are not as frightening as they appear."
"Mot'er seen one?" Elboron inquired.
"Yes." Éowyn rubbed her hand over her stomach. "Mother's seen one."
Faramir cleared his throat. Reminders of the past ever tugged at them both, but it would be years before his son would be able to hear and understand the stories of the War. "Perhaps we should find something for breakfast and bring it back to your mother," he suggested. Elboron nodded enthusiastically.
As the two most important men in her life started for the doorway, her husband's calloused hand holding her son's tiny one, Éowyn brushed back a tear. There were moments when her life seemed too perfect. Moments when she feared that something tragic must be in store to bring balance. Wasn't that how it always was?
A painful pressure gripped her lower abdomen a few moments later, reminding her that yes, it was.
****
Faramir was preparing a plate of mild cheese, soft bread and sweet fruit for his wife, the only foods her stomach was able to tolerate in the mornings, when a servant entered with news of an unexpected, but not unwelcome arrival to Emyn Arnen.
"My lord. Éomer-king has reached the gates and requests entrance into your hall."
"Éomer-king is ever welcome here," Faramir replied. "Take this food to the Lady of the House, and tell her that her brother has arrived. She may try to rise in order that she might greet him, but you must insist that she stay in bed. I shall bring him to her." When the servant had bowed and left with the tray, he dropped the formality and looked at his son. Elboron sat in a chair that was far too big for him, drinking a cup of milk. He held the cup in both hands and when he set it down, creamy foam circled his upper lip. Faramir couldn't stop his smile. "Wipe your mouth, my little hobbit, and let us greet your uncle."
Although the boy was only clad in a child's night shift, and he wore naught but cotton breeches and a tunic top, Faramir stood with his son at the entrance to Emyn Arnen like the royalty that they were, ready to welcome the King of Rohan. His wife's brother arrived with only two guards; he was not a man accustomed to being protected. As soon as he stopped his mighty horse, Éomer swung himself to the ground.
"Greetings, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien." He looked at the child next to the man. "And Elboron, son of Faramir." The corners of his mouth lifted for his nephew was quite dear to him.
Faramir lowered his head. "Éomer-king, you honor my house."
With one great hand, the Rohirric king waved away the formality. It was a motion nearly identical in likeness to Éowyn's dismissal of things that did not please her. "Enough of these titles. I come uninvited and for that I am sorry. But I have not received word of my sister since I learned of her delicate condition, and I have been worried for her well-being, and that of the babe."
"She will reprimand you for this," Faramir warned him. "Your sister does not take kindly to people fussing over her. She would rather do the fussing."
"It has always been thus." Éomer scowled as a frustrated older brother. "I trust you to give me the truth, brother. Does she fare well?"
All too aware of his son's small ears that heard so much, Faramir caught the King's eye. "She is under orders to rest at all times of the day. But her spirits are high."
Éomer seemed to accept this, at least for the moment. His attention turned to his nephew who was eyeing his horse with interest. "Most children fear Seon," he told the boy, patting the black stallion's muscled neck. "But your blood runs strong with the great horsemen of Rohan, little one. I can tell."
Elboron lifted his little chin. "I can ride the ponies good," he informed his uncle. "Mot'er says so."
"And what does your father say?"
Faramir folded his arms over his tunic. "I say that whether he turn out more as a child of Rohan than of Gondor, I shall not love him any the less."
As a new father himself, Éomer nodded. He had traveled near three days from his home at Edoras, and for that entire time, he had been missing his own wife and son. "I should like to see my sister," he said, removing his heavy riding gloves. As though suddenly remembering that Éowyn was no longer under his protection, he added, "If that is agreeable with her husband."
"Come then," Faramir gestured into the hall. "I promised I would bring you to…"
He was cut off by the same servant he had sent up to his bedchamber who now ran down the stone steps, screaming his name. "Lord Faramir! The Lady Éowyn…her time has come!!"
Faramir was off and running, forgetting everyone and everything in his haste to be at his wife's side. Éomer would have liked to do the same, but he remained behind in order to pick up his nephew. "It seems I have arrived justly."
Seated in the crook of his uncle's arm, Elboron frowned, his forehead crinkling up much in the manner of his father. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice little and worried.
Éomer laughed heartily, despite his own worry for his sister. It wouldn't do to frighten the child, although he could faintly recall his own fright at Elboron's age when his impossibly tiny little sister made her way into the world. "It would seem that before this day is done, you Elboron, shall be an older brother."
But he was wrong.
****
As a woman who had nearly been felled by the Witch King of Angmar, not to mention a woman who had already birthed a child, Éowyn thought she knew pain. But what she had felt in the past was nothing compared to the pain she was in after half a day of labor with her second child. She had nearly reached her tolerance limit. Hours of wracking pain and nothing to show for it. All she wanted was for it to be over.
The only comfort she took was in the fact that her husband had not left her side even for a moment. The midwife who had been called in from the surrounding village had tried to order him away, but Faramir would not budge. It had been the same during Elboron's birth. She knew that most men did not care to be in the room when their wives labored, but Faramir was not most men. He chose to stay with her, to bathe her forehead with cool cloths, and soothe her cries when the pains hit her.
"My lady." The midwife, Lothelawen, broke through her thoughts. "My lady…do you feel as though you need to push the child out yet?"
It pained Éowyn to shake her head. "No, not yet." She gritted her teeth. "Although I would certainly yank it out myself if I could!"
Faramir kissed the back of her hand. "Try to stay calm, my love. This is hard enough on your body."
"I should like to see you remain calm if it was your lot in life to bear children," she snapped back. "You know nothing of women's pains. There is no unpleasantness in being a man. Nothing curses you. You gain only pleasure from the creation of…"
He stopped her with a finger to her lips, already being well acquainted with her complaints against his gender during her labors. He had heard words come from her mouth that he had never dreamed up himself when she birthed Elboron, as well as some phrases in the tongue of Rohan that he could not understand.
"Trust that if I were able, I would take all of the pain of this onto myself," he told her. "It is not fair, I know. But there is naught I can do, my love."
Éowyn's eyes filled with tears. "I am sorry," she sobbed. "It is only…it hurts so, Faramir. It was nothing like this with Elboron. And he came quickly, too. Is the sun not about to set?"
"It is," he replied. Taking a freshly wet cloth, Faramir dabbed her perspiring brow. "But did you not tell me just this morning that every babe differs? Perhaps this child will be more like you."
"And what mean you by that?"
He mustered a smile meant only to cheer her. "It will be just as unable to appear anywhere on time."
Had she not been hit by another contraction, he had no doubt he would have received a slap for that. As it was, Éowyn merely grabbed at the sheets, bracing herself against the pain. She had done very little screaming so far, but this time a cry ripped through her throat. It drained the blood from Faramir's face.
The pain lessened after what seemed like hours and Éowyn's body relaxed. Her eyes closed and she breathed heavily. Disengaging himself from his wife, Faramir stood and pulled the midwife aside.
"Tell me that this is normal with women on their second child," he ordered in a low voice.
Lothelawen glanced back at the White Lady. "I cannot, my lord. Her labor continues, but does not progress. It could be that the babe has not turned."
Faramir ran his hand though his hair; his dark curls were damp with sweat. "What will you do if that be the cause?"
"I know not, sir." The woman shook her head. "In truth, I have never been witness to a breech birth…where the mother has survived."
Her words hit Faramir with more force than an orc's arrow. He clutched at his chest as if they had reopened all of his old wounds. "She cannot…I cannot live…without her."
"I will try, my lord, that I swear. But it would not offend me if you chose to send for the Healers. They will know better than I what to do in order that both mother and child might live."
The Steward rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth slowly. After a long time of staring at his laboring wife, he came to a decision. "There is one man. He has healed us before. I pray that he might do the same once more."
****
To Be Continued
