Shards of Stone
By SarahFish
Chapter 1: Birth
The wind came from the north that evening, and though the spring solstice was but a few days away, it carried the dark echo of winter, and brought a chill to Aheryn's bones. She shuddered, drinking deeply from the steaming cup cradled between her palms. The tea burnt a scalding path down her throat, but could not drive away the cold. Those who had felt the bitter winds of the Helcaraxë never forgot.
Somewhere, she knew, a warm breeze caressed sandy shores, waves washing endlessly over the coast. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face towards the heavens. Almost she could hear gulls crying overhead, feel the pounding surf. Then the babe within her stirred, and the ocean faded away, replaced by mountains, white stone gleaming in the summer sunlight as she opened her eyes.
Had it really been a year? It seemed not so, and yet, as the child stirred in her womb, it felt an eternity.
The wife of a lord should be joyous so near to the birth of their firstborn, she thought. Yet even as she did, the babe within her stirred once more, and she found her throat tight. Blood red hair whipped around her body, almost painful in the fierce wind. Aheryn shuddered, blinking back tears.
"I do not want this child," she whispered to the gale. She dared not voice the rest of her thoughts.
Instead she took another draught from her tea, and found it had cooled. The taste was bitter, and she had to force herself to swallow. Her stomach lurched in protest. Disgusted, she poured the rest over the balcony's edge, watching it splash onto the stone courtyard below. As though laughing at her, the child moved in her belly again. Tears burned her eyes, and she could no longer hold them back. Leaning heavily against the stone railing, she wept.
"Uruitë?"
Aheryn started at her husband's voice, coming from somewhere close inside their home. Hastily, she rubbed her tears away, struggling to regain composure as his footsteps neared.
"Here you are," he said, half to himself, emerging from the bedroom onto the terrace.
Aheryn smiled, and fought herself to keep from pulling away from his touch as he came to her side. Her husband returned the smile, his sky blue eyes glittering as always with some inner joy.
And for just a brief second, she hated him for it.
"Uruitë," he murmured, twining one of her blood-red curls around a finger. His name for her brought back memories of simpler times. Happier days before the Shadow. Before the frozen hell. Before exile.
She smiled, almost genuinely this time, running a hand through his hair. "Glorfindel," she murmured. It was an old game.
Glorfindel's eyes darkened. "Aheryn your skin is like ice. Come. Let's get you inside."
Before she could protest, Aheryn found herself led into the dark warmth of the house, an obedient servant catering to her husband's concern.
Downstairs, in the fire-lit kitchen, Glorfindel saw her seated at the table while he spooned some stew into a bowl for her. The aroma rising from the bubbling pot was spicy and rich, the stew that he placed before her full of grains and vegetables. Aheryn stirred her spoon around the bowl, chasing a carrot. A brown sort of smell hit her nose, and she looked up to see her husband slicing into a loaf of dark bread, just taken from the fire. The combined scents – the stew, the bread, even the few wrinkling apples lying in wait on the tabletop – was suddenly too much.
She was going to be ill.
Stew splashed over the sides of the bowl, scalding her hands as she pushed it across the table. Almost before she realized it, she was at the garden door, gathering up a cloak. Glorfindel followed close on her heels.
"I am going for a walk," Aheryn said.
"Aheryn, wait! Not alone - that cannot be wise – not this near…"
A fine rage burned over her flesh as she wheeled around to face her husband. Words caged for far too long, suddenly bursting forth before she could think to stop them.
"Do you not think that I know how long I've carried your child? Do you not think that I know what may or may not be wise? And do you for a moment think that I do not grow weary of being treated like something so fragile? I am going. If your child decides its time to be born while I am out, I am certain you will hear of it."
Still seething, she left the kitchen in a swirl of red hair, Glorfindel watching in silence, a hundred different thoughts lucid in his eyes. The worst, Aheryn thought, was that glimmer of understanding.
Damn him, she thought. He did not understand at all.
To say that Ecthelion had not seemed to expect Aheryn's sudden appearance in his courtyard would have been untrue. On the contrary, her old friend smiled his strange sad smile at her, as though there were no other place she could have possibly belonged at that moment.
He sat on a carved bench in a shadowed corner of the courtyard, his nephew, Taránë, perched in his lap. Ecthelion was pointing to the first emerging stars, the dark-haired infant on his knee as entranced by his uncle's hand as he was by the stars themselves. It was such a natural scene, a tender moment, that it made Aheryn's heart ache.
As she approached, he set the child down to play in the grass, freeing himself to embrace Aheryn. "And what brings you to my lonely garden this evening, Aheryn?" he asked as they separated, taking her hands to twirl her in a half-dance.
She spun in a slow circle, smiling as she ended back in his arms. "I'm not sure," she said, Ecthelion guiding her back to the bench to sit beside him. "Longing for a kindred spirit, I suppose."
Ecthelion nodded, a few strands of silver hair falling into his eyes. His ever-peaceful gaze pierced to Aheryn's soul. It was unnerving, and she turned away.
"You fought again," he said.
The leaves on the surrounding trees danced in the evening breeze, sounding almost like distant surf. "I'm so tired of it," she whispered. "Tired of being treated like a fragile jewel. He thinks he helps…but…"
She turned back to face Ecthelion. "We should be rejoicing. Instead we spend our days exchanging bitter words. I don't mean to be resentful. But I'm just so tired."
She paused. Ecthelion's nephew had pulled himself to his feet with the edge of the bench. He glanced over at them, smiling, before he lost his balance and sat back down.
"He'll be walking before you know it," Aheryn said. She shook her head. "We were all so excited for Laica and Telemnar."
"And for you and Glorfindel," Ecthelion added. "That both of you conceived so near to one another…Laica was so happy."
"To think…this year began with such promise," she said.
Ecthelion's eyes had grown distant, his countenance heavy. "It has been a bad year. Losing Telemnar…it was…so unexpected. Devastating to all of us, and not least Laica. Her name becomes her more each day. She's…lost, and grows bitter." He paused, glancing at Aheryn. "Not unlike you. Or myself."
A sigh.
"We were never meant to be sundered from the Sea. The Noldor only think they understand exile."
A silence descended upon them as twilight slowly evolving into true evening. Laica's dark haired baby played at their feet, heedless of the shadows growing from beneath the trees. In the far corner of the garden, a firefly winked.
"I do what I can to help her. To care for Taránë. He's to be named as my heir, if she'll have it. Tarannon – Lord of the Gate, protector of the House of the Fountain. It should be so…the title even resembles his name."
"I am sure she'll have it, Ecthelion," Aheryn replied. "It's only right. Laica is not as stoic as she'd have us think. You, of all people, should know that by now. She and your wife were close. Twins do not differ that greatly at heart."
Ecthelion sighed. "I know. It saddens me, to look on how we've changed, how we've wearied. Sometimes I wonder if…if she'd lived through the crossing…what my wife would have become. Sometimes the sorrow seems too much to bear…but then…always, it seems, out of the darkest depths comes a light. A secret joy, easing our years." Almost absentmindedly, he reached out, stroking a lock of Taránë's hair. A frog had emerged from somewhere in the shrubbery, and the little boy was watching its movement with wide eyes. "You still wish Laica to be the one attending the birth?" he asked. "You'll not let another midwife do it instead? I know Turgon wished for one of the palace healers…"
Aheryn laughed, a joyless sound. "One of those fools? The same women that let Aredhel die? No, it will be Laica. It will be someone who studied alongside me."
There was a rustling of fabric as Ecthelion shifted beside her, taking her hand in his. His silver-grey eyes deep and solemn as the midnight sea. A shadow seemed to pass over his features, and something in Aheryn's chest tightened. "Aheryn…" he began, voice little more than a whisper – almost pleading, it seemed, then paused, seeking the words. "Aheryn, she does not know. You realize that. Another healer…another healer might not realize what she was seeing. But Laica will. She will see, Aheryn, and she will know. And what are you prepared to answer her then?"
She jerked away from Ecthelion, and found herself on her feet. Some horrible emotion welled up within her, and erupted over her skin, crawling over her body like some dreadful living thing. Nails digging into her palms, Aheryn paced to the fountain in the center of the courtyard, before wheeling around to face Ecthelion once more, her features contorted with rage.
"I will tell her, Ecthelion, it is none of her concern! None!!" she spat. She has no right – none, I tell you,to pass judgment upon me for something she cannot possibly comprehend! And how dare you?? How dare you question me, Ecthelion? You! How…how…" And with that, the deluge of tears she had been holding back for months, burst free from their dam. Sobbing, she turned her back to her old friend. The sorrow was raw, and seemed like a cold fist around her heart. She gasped for breath, and found she could not breathe.
Then, Ecthelion was there with her, his warm, safe arms wrapped around her body. Aheryn felt her legs giving out, and he sank to the ground alongside her. He held her there, rocked her as she wept, whispering comfort to her, singing snatches of old songs, and stroking her fiery hair. Aheryn surrendered to the familiar touch and cried until she had no tears left, and then sat resting her head in his lap, utterly spent.
"Ecthelion…" she whispered after a long moment, not daring to look up at him. "I do not want this child. Laica, perhaps, could rejoice…but not I. It's been too many years…I had made peace at last…and now this…" She paused, drawing a shuddering breath. "I do not want this baby."
The hand that rested on her head was gentle and comforting. "Aheryn," Ecthelion whispered. "Do you think for a moment that you feel anything that Laica did not? Do you believe that you are the only one who has ever had those thoughts or those words pass your lips? I know your sorrow. I know your hurt. But believe me. When you hold this child in your arms for the first time….when this baby is placed, still damp, upon your breast, you will love her. And more than that…you will look upon this miraculous…living…being…and you will love her with a purer, deeper love than you ever imagined could exist. I promise you, Aheryn, with every fiber of my being I promise you this."
Aheryn drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I pray you're right, Ecthelion." He stroked her hair once more, bent down and kissed the top of her head.
"It will all work itself out, you'll see." He stood then, drew her up along with him. "Now, let's get you back home. Please, Aheryn, rest. I know you do not wish to hear it from me of all persons. But rest. This child could be born any moment, and I just…with your history, I worry, that is all."
She nodded, waiting for Ecthelion to retrieve Taránë, who had curled up to sleep among the flowers. Then, taking his arm, Aheryn allowed Ecthelion to walk her home.
Glorfindel was waiting in the courtyard, feigning interest in a battered volume of lore. As soon as he saw Aheryn approach, he set it aside, coming to meet her with open arms. His hair and skin were ruddy in the light of the fire, and the sight reminded her of another night nigh on an age ago, before sun and moon when they had danced carefree by crashing waves.
Aheryn hesitated, suddenly terribly conscious of her earlier words. But Glorfindel was already before her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, allowing herself to be folded into her husband's embrace. "I spoke harshly."
"Shh," he replied. "Never mind that. It is past." His words and touch were gentle – familiar and reassuring in the chill evening.
"I should not have spoken so," Aheryn said, pulling back to look her husband in the eyes. "I was wrong, I know it."
Glorfindel shook his head, reached out and wiped the tears from Aheryn's cheeks. Strange. She had not realized she was crying.
"No matter, Aheryn. It is all right," he said. His touch was soft as he leaned in and kissed her, hands twining in her curls.
"I love you, you know that," Aheryn whispered when they separated. Glorfindel smiled. Nodded.
"Of course I do, melisse," he replied.
Aheryn felt faint. The courtyard seemed to warp, darken around the edges. She staggered, almost falling, and Glorfindel caught her.
"Aheryn?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
She leaned against him, shaking her head. "I don't feel well." She let herself be guided into the light of the house. Her husband's frown deepened.
"Your color is not good," he said. "Perhaps I should send for Laica."
"No," Aheryn replied. "I'm just tired, I think. It's past time for sleep, after all. We should rest."
She came to, gasping for breath, drowning in darkness. Pain clenched around her body, wrapping her in a merciless grip. Excruciating…she could not think, and feared if it did not stop she would go mad with the agony. Something low in her belly tightened, and Aheryn was ill, barely managing to lean over the edge of the bed before losing the contents of her stomach.
Vaguely, she was aware of Glorfindel there beside her, holding her as she sobbed, brushing the hair back from her face. Then he was gone, and there was light in the room. A moment later, he stood beside the bed, color draining from his face even as Aheryn glanced up at him, trying to grasp what had happened. Then the walls spun, and she could sit up no longer, pain dragging white-hot claws through her body once more.
She shrieked, collapsing back onto the bed. The blankets beneath her were wet. Soaked. Forcing herself to focus, she looked down.
The bedding was bright red with her blood.
Glorfindel seemed in shock as he pulled the blankets back, dropping them to the floor with a sickening wet sound. The sheets were soaked. Fighting through the pain, Aheryn ran her hand along the inside of her leg. Her fingers came back stained brilliant red.
"I have to get help," Glorfindel said, finally coming to his senses. He stood, unable to decide whether to go or stay. "Elbereth. I'll be back." And he was gone, running from the room, still wearing bloodstained night clothes, leaving Aheryn alone, bleeding out onto the sheets in absolute agony.
Her stomach clenched again, her vision going brilliantly white, then darkening along the edges. The movement within her belly that had been her constant and unwelcome companion for almost a year had stilled. She knew then that the child was dead. Or would be soon. That it was dying within her body, even as she lay there, powerless to stop it. Just like before. And that this time, she would go along with her child.
The pain was falling away, her vision spiraling down to pinpoints of light, and then…it was no longer frightening. She was safe and warm. Vaguely Aheryn was aware that somewhere far behind her, her body was beginning to go into convulsions. That she was bleeding out. That soon it would be too late, even for Laica's skilled hands.
It mattered not. Someone was there with her, slipping their hand into hers. The fingers were broad, strong.
His father's hands, she thought.
Aheryn was barely aware of a dim cacophony of voices above her – a woman's, she thought – Laica? Calling for water. Someone was shouting her name, slowly dissolving into tears.
She felt herself slipping away, and let it happen. Let herself drift in a sea of cool grey nothingness, the hand holding hers still firm, reassuring. Far from pain, far from hurt, where she could finally rest.
Somewhere in the distance, a baby cried. The high, piercing wail of a newborn. Voices followed. A woman. Repeating the same words.
"A girl, Aheryn! You have a girl!"
But the words too faded, and she continued drifting. Until the hand fell away from hers. She had just enough time to take in a flash of green eyes, hair gold like the sun. A voice whispering "Not yet."
She felt herself shoved. Pushed backward, pushed down, back into agony, into chaos, into noise and light. Every nerve in her body was alight with pain. She heard cries, and it took her a moment to register that they were not her own.
Who had brought a baby into a place like this?
Aheryn snapped back into full consciousness, realizing she was the one who had. It was not a baby, it was her child. Alive.
Her body burned with pain, and had stared her death in its face. But it did not matter, because now…now she lived, and so did her baby.
Her daughter.
Laica's cool blue eyes – still glittering with raw fear – swam before her vision. Her brow was furrowed, countenance grim. There was a streak of blood high on her forehead, undoubtedly where she'd brushed her hair back.
"Aheryn? You can hear me?"
Aheryn shut her eyes, blocking out the raw emotion in her friend's stare. Managed to nod. Laica's slender fingers slipped between her own, the grip strong for such a delicate hand.
"I am not going to let you die, Aheryn." She squeezed her hand once, then released her, turning away. "Move Taránë from the bench, Ecthelion, then help me move her. We've got to get the blood cleaned up."
Somehow, Laica's son, snatched hastily from his own bed and carried into chaos, had slept through the entire affair, barely stirring as Ecthelion moved him to a soft pallet he'd made on the floor. Aheryn felt herself lifted, Ecthelion's arms strong on her back and behind her knees as he carried to the low-slung couch by the terrace.
As she settled back into the cushions, a familiar hand slipped into hers again. Aheryn opened her eyes to a cascade of hair, golden like the sun, and thought for a moment she had fallen back into her vision. That death had come for her after all. Then she saw the eyes, blue like summer skies, and realized it was her husband who knelt beside her, a bundle of blankets cradled in the crook of his arm.
"We have a little girl," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. His voice trembled, and Aheryn saw tears pooling in his eyes. He placed the bundle upon her breast, a tiny hand reaching out from the blankets to grasp at the air. "I thought I had lost you."
"Not yet," Aheryn replied. She reached for her daughter's hand, and Glorfindel unwrapped the blankets, peeling back the layers to reveal a tiny, tiny infant.
Her head was covered in wisps of reddish curl Aheryn suspected would turn to gold soon enough. The baby stirred, and opened her eyes. Mother and daughter regarded one another in silence for a long moment. Then the baby yawned, snuggled against her mother's breast.
Aheryn smiled, caressing her baby's cheek. Outside, she could hear the wind blowing through the tall trees in the courtyard. A sudden gust swept in from the terrace, the curtains billowing, dancing in its wake. For the first time in what seemed an age, there was no dark chill to the breeze. She closed her eyes, drifting away once more into the peaceful grey nothing.
Some time later, Aheryn awoke and found herself tucked back into her bed, fresh linens cool against her skin. Laica had then mixed a terrible draught, to help, so she said, combat the weakness from all the blood Aheryn had lost. Though she'd had to choke it down, she found that afterward she did feel better, no longer on the verge of passing out. Ecthelion and Laica had gone down to the kitchen to clean-up, leaving Glorfindel and Aheryn alone in the bedroom with their newborn daughter. Then Laica had returned, carrying another pitcher-full of the draught. She'd smiled at Glorfindel, though the expression, to Aheryn, was empty.
"Ecthelion wants to speak to you," she said to Glorfindel.
Despite a look of momentary puzzlement, Glorfindel nodded. "Of course." He turned his attention to Aheryn. "Will the baby be all right with you?"
Aheryn nodded, glancing down to where her daughter slept on the coverlet beside her. Laica had placed Taránë into the bed too while she finished cleaning and the two children were now snuggled against each other.
"She sleeps," she said. "Go. We won't be long, I am certain." Glorfindel nodded. Kissed his wife, and then was gone.
Laica watched his retreating back, staying still until certain he was out of hearing range. She was silent as she filled a glass with the draught she'd mixed, handing it to Aheryn. Like an obedient child, Aheryn took a small sip.
"No more children, Aheryn," Laica said suddenly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She frowned, tracing the embroidered coverlet with her fingers, running them over her sleeping son's toes. "You are too… damaged. There can be no more…"
Aheryn closed her eyes, sinking into her pillow. Not this conversation at long last, she thought. I shall answer any questions tomorrow, just let me rest tonight.
"So be it, then," Aheryn replied turning to stroke her daughter's cheek. "I am far too tired for this."
But Laica still spoke. "…Not that I believe you desire any more. Not that I believe that you – even for a moment she occupied your womb – wanted this one"
Aheryn laughed bitterly, tears beginning to leak past closed eyes to trace pathways down her cheeks. "Am I to thank you, then, for not belaboring the point?"
"When?" she asked. Aheryn opened her eyes, knowing that her gaze would be as cold as her words.
"Do not play the fool, Laica." Aheryn replied. "You fled that burning hell with me. You saw my fall."
"Who?" The word hung frozen in the air for a long moment.
"Me," Aheryn finally replied. Laica laughed, short, harsh.
"I do not believe you."
Aheryn shook her head. "Then do not believe what you know well to be the truth. There were no others aboard the ships who could have – would have. The child was already dead. I took the instrument into my own hand – my own hand, and did the task myself, finishing what had been started. I did it. There was no other."
Laica shook her head. "Then your hands are as stained as those of the Noldor. This…this…" she gestured to Aheryn's body. "Was butchery."
"Perhaps I wanted to die as well," she whispered, sinking back against her pillows. "Perhaps that was exactly what I wanted."
"And you nearly succeeded!" Laica cried, rising suddenly. "Aheryn, you should have died tonight! As much blood…you…Aheryn, even now I do not know how you still live!"
Aheryn closed her eyes. Remembered the firm grasp of that terribly familiar hand within her own. The blue-green eyes that had – so briefly – filled her mind. "Not yet," she murmured.
"What?" Laica asked sharply.
"It was not time yet," Aheryn replied, fingering her infant's pale curls. "He wanted me to live."
Laica sighed as she sank back down onto the bed beside Aheryn. "You were gone, Aheryn," she murmured. "I'd said nothing to Glorfindel or Ecthelion. But you were gone. There was so much blood I could not see past it to stop the flow. And then it slowed…just enough for me to do what needed to be done. But when I had finished, I realized that…that…" she drew a deep breath, met Aheryn's gaze. "I realized that the flow had only let up because your heart had stopped. You were gone. I turned to tell your husband and then….you breathed. Came to with a cry." She paused, wiping at unshed tears. "You died, Aheryn. But someone sent you back. As you seem to know." She shook her head. "I don't know if I could have stood to lose you too, Aheryn." She paused, seemed to gather her composure.
"Have you and Glorfindel decided upon a given name?" Laica asked. Her demeanor had softened, and she now eyed Aheryn and the baby with gentle eyes. A storm, calmed at last.
"Melia," Aheryn replied, tracing the sleeping infant's ear with her finger. Laica leaned forward, moving the blanket so she could see the girl better.
"You intend to use the High Speech?" she asked. Aheryn nodded. "Melia," Laica repeated. "A love that is subtle yet strong. The invisible ties that bind. But also suggesting…a shining quality…gossamer caught in sunlight."
"Yes," Aheryn said. "Also a love that one finds oneself unexpectedly and permanently caught up in. A willing victim of a spider web."
A moment of quiet understanding passed between the two women. Laica smiled – a smile that held sorrow like rain. "It is a perfect name. And what about yourself? Have you given her a mother-name?"
"Mellúrëa," Aheryn replied, whispering the name. "Because my love will always be overcast with sorrow for what I have lost, even as I rejoice in the life that I have now been given."
Laica squeezed Aheryn's hand gently. She regarded the baby – Melia – for a few moments more before kissing her soft cheek and covering her with the blanket once more. Aheryn closed her eyes as Laica leaned in and kissed her once on the forehead as well.
"So little," Laica said, looking down at the two sleeping children. Indeed, beside Taránë, Melia looked painfully tiny. Almost fragile, like a baby bird. "She'll grow, though. A few years and you'll never know she was so small."
"I'm not so sure," Aheryn said. "I hope for her sake you are right. But I think she will always be smaller than the other children."
Taránë stirred, seeming almost to wake as he rolled over onto his stomach, placing his thumb into his mouth. The other arm he slung out, draping it over Melia's back. Aheryn smiled.
"I do not want to move them," she said, settling down in the bed and closing her eyes. "They sleep so peacefully. Though we are probably starting a bad habit."
"It is all right," Laica said, standing to drape another coverlet over Aheryn. "I want to keep an eye on you the rest of the night. I shall pull up the bench and sleep beside the bed. The babies can stay where they are and Glorfindel can sleep on your other side. It will be just like old times."
Aheryn had already fallen asleep by the time Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Laica returned. She stirred briefly when Glorfindel slid beneath the blankets beside her, but was too exhausted to wake fully. Though she'd intended to pull up a chair, Laica found herself in the large bed as well, curled next to her son.
Ecthelion perched on the edge of the bed, and for a while the three talked in hushed voices of old times, of days before the shadow, before sun and moon, before Valinor when they four had wandered the shores of Cuiviénen free and unafraid.
They had paused then, suddenly, painfully aware of the missing members of their group. Of Telemnar, wasted away after Nírnaeth Arnoediad, passing a few short days before Laica knew of the life stirring in her belly. Of Calima – Ecthelion's wife and Laica's twin sister. Of Elemmírë, his daughter who perished with her mother Calima during the crossing of the Helcaraxë.
No joy without sorrow, Laica thought. As it had always been.
Glorfindel had dropped off into sleep, exhaustion finally winning over. Ecthelion had stood, but Laica stopped him. And so he too had curled into the bed, wrapping his arms around her, falling into sleep even as the first rays of sun broke in the east.
The four slept soundly through the morning, the women awakening once to feed their children before curling back into bed. They were family. They had always been family.
It was the day of New Year's Eve, and for a few brief moments, all was as it should have been.
