Eighteen Years Earlier
 King Théoden's breath came out in short gasps, the sounds of screams echoing down the stone hallways guarding him to the room he was looking for. The door was shut, although it's help was minimal - the woman's cries of pain could be heard from one wing of the castle to the other.

Théoden thought of what he had to tell her, the horrible news he had to bear, and his eyes filled with tears. He would use words like valiant and noble, telling her that he died a hero's death. Empty reassurances, as if it mattered now, that he was gone. Éomund. He never even knew about this little one, and now he never would.

The king began to cry softly. He knew he had to go in there. He told himself to get together, to straighten up. Of course it didn't help. If anything, it made his acute pain worse. He could remember, back when Éomund had just begun to court his sister. Like any brother, he had hated the man at first. But over the years, they began to get close, and by the time Éomund had marched off to his last battle, Théoden had considered him one of his best friends. He couldn't imagine what the news would do to Théodwyn. She had adored her husband with a love he returned, until the very end.

A small boy with ragged blonde hair emerges from the shadows of a doorway, where Théoden knew he had been for a while. The king straightened up, wiping his eyes. Be strong for the boy. "Uncle," the child whispered, his big brown eyes filled with tears. "Is everything all right?"

Somehow, Théoden managed to force a smile. "Of course. Your mother will be just fine, Éomer. Go on to sleep. The hour is much too late for you to be in the halls."

Éomer, obviously relieved, nodded. "It-I wasn't asking for me. It's Éowyn, you see - she was scared."

"It's all right, for you to be frightened as well, my boy," Théoden said, kneeling down to Éomer's level. "All the best men are." He glanced up to see his son, Théodred, coming down the hall. All though he was all of eleven, only two years older than his cousin, Théodred already played the part of a warrior. His mouth was set, as if trying to keep back tears. He knew about Éomund, Théodred was sure. Knowing his son, he had probably been eavesdropping.

"Come, cousin," Théodred said, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Let us go join your sister in a less dreary part of the castle, shall we?" Éomer nodded, hastily wiping his eyes before turning his back on his uncle. Théoden could feel his defenses crumbling, watching the two boys cling to each other walking down the hall. Before he could collapse again, he turned away, steeling himself and going in.

The sight was not a pretty one. Théodwyn was lying facedown on a table, sweat and tears mixing on her face as she screamed. Théoden strode to his sister and grasped her hand. She clutched it so hard he feared he might not be able to hold a sword again.

After several torturous minutes, his sister's screaming stopped, replaced by gasping, and her grip slackened. The midwife came around from the back of the table holding a small ball of flesh. "You've got yourself a beautiful little girl, miss," she said, with a gap-toothed smile.

The baby had it's mouth gaping open, finally managing to let out a wail. Théoden sighed in relief and smiled at Théodwyn, who was holding the baby tenderly, looking at it as if it was her whole world.
When a few minutes had elapsed, s

he let her brother hold the baby for a minute, too weak to hold her arms up for too long. Théoden looked down at the small bundle of life in his arms, already feebly kicking, with awe. "Her name will be Éolaina," Théodwyn whispered, tearing her eyes from her child for the first time. She smiled. A small, exhausted smile - but a smile nonetheless. "I cannot wait to tell Éomund. He will be so pleased - we had talked about having another, you know."

As she looked at him, he found he couldn't smile back, although he had vowed to wait a few days before telling her. At his name, said out loud, Théoden found he couldn't keep his strong façade, and try as he might, this did not escape Théodwyn's notice. "Théoden," she whispered. "Has anything happened to my husband?"

He swallowed, trying to force out a lie. But he couldn't. He could only watch as his already weakened sister began to sob, heartbroken, gut-wrenching cries. She collapsed, shoulders shaking, into the blankets. This baby had been discovered after Éomund had gone to war, a real surprise. Seven years separated Éowyn and this baby, compared to two between her and Éomer. One of the things that had gotten Théodwyn through this was imagining the look on her husband's face - she had told this to her brother before, and now Théoden felt responsible for crushing her hopes.

The king, still holding baby Éolaina gently, looked over at his sister again. Her shoulders were no longer shaking. There was no movement in her body, and the midwife was already crying over her. Too many tears, he thought, looking down at the newborn in his arms. She was wailing, and reaching out for a mother that didn't answer.
That would never answer.~

Théoden took baby Éolaina to see her brother and sister, knowing that neither was asleep (nor was Théodred, who retreated to a corner when his father came in). Gently, he handed her to Éomer, who looked at the figure in his arms with awe. As if she knew it was too much for him alone, Éowyn twined her arms under his, so that they were both supporting the baby, looking down it her with expressions filled with nothing but love. Théoden smiled, a tear slipping from his eye before he could stop it. He'd give them tonight. One more night of living in their cushion of safety, with no way of knowing that the only family they had left were the ones standing in this room.

A/N
*All characters belong to the ingenious JRR Tolkien (besides, of course, Éolaina). I don't claim any of them, or anything else belonging to Mr. Tolkien.