Six

When the Inevitable Happens

The moments that followed Ismë's momentary blackness were all a blur. All she could remember was fear and pain and voices.

She had given a lot of thought to the birth of her child, having spoken to many of the other women of the court about child birth, she had a vague idea of what to expect, but nothing could quite prepare her for the real event.

She had surfaced again to find herself lying on her back on the cold stone floor of the Great Hall. She must have only been unconscious for a few minutes. Her head felt heavy and her eyes couldn't quite adjust. Boromir and Faramir each stood over her; Boromir with his hand clutching hers, whilst Faramir crouched beside her from an appropriate distance.

"The baby…" she breathed. "What's happening?"

"I think this is it, this must be it," Boromir replied incredulously, half in disbelief of it himself.

"But it's too early! It can't happen now."

The pain in her stomach came again. And again she had cried out. She was panicking, this was far too early, she wasn't ready yet. The men around her were just as helpless, lost as to what to do, panic had overcome them. It was Faramir who took charge, calling to the guard at the door to fetch the physician. Boromir had looked at him, almost for instruction, the roles of the brothers reversing for a few moments while Boromir was overcome with emotion, his eyes wide and mouth open.

"Let's get her to her chambers," said Faramir, his voice firm. He placed his hand on Ismë's arm in order to begin to lift her, but almost immediately took it back again, as if suddenly realising what he was doing. He shuffled back a little on his feet and gestured to Boromir to lift her instead.

Lord Denethor only watched the scene from behind, holding a candle and peering down at them all from his standing position. He did not follow when they carried her out and through the labyrinth of hallways until they reached her room, preferring to watch and wait and judge instead.

Once there, Boromir laid her gently down on the bed just as the physician arrived. Adora followed swiftly behind, rushing to Ismë's side and rearranging the bed linen, pulling back the heavy duvet. The men turned away as Adora began to remove her mistress's dress and replace it with her nightgown. They were still at a loss as to how to act, Ismë could tell – Faramir especially.

"I should leave," he had said, bowing his head and averting his eyes, just as the physician took to examining Ismë on the bed. Then he had turned to his brother and clapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly. "Good luck," he laughed.

Ismë did not want him to leave, but at the same time, she was reluctant for anyone to see her in her present condition – one which would steadily worsen as time went on. She also knew that she would be confined to this bed for hours and she could not subject anyone to living the whole thing with her. Not that it was in any way appropriate for Faramir to be by her side now. She had Adie there anyway, who else did she need?

But as another wave of contraction, much more painful this time, overtook Ismë, a cold fear gripped her. This was really happening; she was giving birth, right now. It was scary thought and an event that she was not wholly prepared for. This was meant to be happening in a few weeks time – what did that mean? Was the baby still well?

"It's too early…" she whispered, recovering from the contraction and trying to catch her breath.

"There's nothing to worry about, sometimes it happens, everything will be fine," the physician reassured her. He turned to Boromir: "It will be a long time until the baby is here, you might want to wait with your brother."

Boromir stood there for a moment, as if deciding what he wanted to do. After a moment, he gave a small but reluctant nod and turned to walk out of the room.

"No, wait," Ismë called, unsure of what she was doing. "Please… stay with me."

"Of course," Boromir replied, moving swiftly to the side of the bed and taking her outstretched hand.

"I do not want to go through it alone," she whispered in his ear, as he knelt at her side by the bed.

And it was the truth that she spoke. It wasn't a lie to make him believe that she wanted him there, to make him feel useful; she truly wanted him beside her. It was rather selfish of her, she was not sure if this constituted 'leading him on' but at that moment, she did not care, she was so very frightened.

She was frightened of the pain, frightened for her baby and frightened of Lord Denethor and what the future would hold once the baby was here. A future that was just hours away now.

As expected, the labour was long and painful, it was the early hours of the morning when it was over and there was but a small and soft light falling through the window. But Boromir had stayed at Ismë's side the whole time, much to the horror of Lord Denethor and to the surprise of everyone else. After all, it was not really expected that he would wish to be there, not for the whole time anyway. But she had asked and he had stayed, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

And then the end had come. Just as Ismë thought she could not bear it anymore, just as she thought she could not spare another ounce of energy to give one last push. But she did. She was crying, tears rolled down her face, obscuring her vision, she threw back her head and cried long and loud. She could hear Adie's voice telling her it was almost over. She could hear Boromir's soft words whispered in her ear, though she could not make out what he said. She thought of nothing, her mind was blank; it was only the pain, the hardship, the baby.

And then there it was. Warm and real in front of her. Crying, breathing and living. No more an intangible idea, but a person. She heard the sound of laughter at her side, deep and joyful.

"You did it," a voice cried at her side, before kissing her swiftly on the head. And she was happy then. Maybe it was because the pain was gone and it was all over and she could sleep, maybe it was because she now had a child, something to call her own, some kind of purpose in her life. Or maybe it was because of the man at her side. She did not know. All she could do was lay back her head and bask in the wonder of it all.

Moments later, the babe was in her arms, wrapped in a blanket and declaring its presence to the world. Fresh tears pricked at her eyes and travelled down the cheeks, but she smiled still. Even a soft laughter escaped her lips as she looked from her husband to the new being in her arms.

"I did it," she echoed, her voice no more than a soft sigh.

Ismë did not think that anything could ruin this moment for her – not the dull aching pain in her lower regions that was a hangover from the birth, not the not the exhaustion that wracked her body, not even the thought that the man who's child she'd just given birth to was not the one she wanted it to be. But something, or rather someone, could. That someone was Lord Denethor. She had almost forgotten about him in all her pain and exhaustion and happiness, for he had not once put in an appearance. But she knew that he would ruin it, as soon as those three words were whispered to her. To Ismë they were joyous words, words that she did not wish to be tainted by the prospect of the Steward's reaction.

"It's a girl," Adie had whispered to her, almost in awe of the sight that was before her eyes of mother and baby. "She's beautiful."

"A girl…" Ismë had repeated. She looked to Boromir then, expecting to see the disappointment present on his face, but there was none. There was only happiness, joy and pride. His already wide smile only broadened even more at the news. And Ismë could not help but smile back. She knew now, that however Lord Denethor reacted, it did not matter. Only their opinions mattered and Ismë was certain that they would never, ever forsake their daughter.

"I'd better tell my Father," Boromir said, rising from the bed and leaving the room, just as Adie finished changing the bed sheets and Ismë settled into an upright position, giving one last look at his new born child before he left.

A sudden panic filled Ismë then. Despite her new found revelation that she did not care what Lord Denethor thought, she unfortunately could not help but be more than a little scared of him. He was indeed a powerful man, after all. And a man who, Ismë was fairly certain, was slowly but surely descending into madness, fuelled by paranoia and the fear of the destruction of his beloved city.

Moments after Boromir left, Lord Denethor burst through the door to their chambers.

He stood at the foot of the bed taking in the scene before him. She had failed him, that was what he was thinking, it was written all over his face and everyone in the room could see it. Ismë felt the sinking feeling of inadequacy creep over her and looked down at the child in her arms for comfort. Seconds later, Boromir and Faramir followed, standing behind him, braced as if scared of what he might do next. Faramir glanced to the bed and Ismë met his eyes for instant. His face was so full of love then that Ismë thought her heart might just burst then and there. He gave her a slight smile, so sad and full of things that might have been, and turned back to his father.

"A girl," Denethor stated after a moment – as if it wasn't enough just to show his disappointment on his face, it had to be present in his voice too.

"Yes," Ismë responded, defiantly. "She is a girl."

"Father," Faramir pleaded. "Can't you see she's exhausted?"

Lord Denethor turned to him and never had Ismë seen a look more menacing. His lips trembled as he gathered the words to throw back at his son. But then Boromir stepped in, diffusing the situation as he always did.

"Father, Faramir is right. Now is not the time for these ridiculous words. I must ask that you leave."

The whole room watched in wonder. There had been few times when Boromir had defied his father. But his voice was firm and his face resolute. Lord Denethor turned to glare at Ismë and the baby one more time before sweeping away. Ismë gave the two brothers a small smile of thanks as they approached the bed.

"I think she's perfect," Faramir said, looking down at his niece's small and sleeping form, no doubt trying to undo the damage that Lord Denethor's words had done.

"So do I," Ismë replied, both men relaxed somewhat at her words, clearly glad to see that their Father had not upset her too much. "And no one will ever make me think differently."

Ismë slept after that. She did not wake up until the day was almost over and the sky outside was black. She woke to find Boromir beside her. He was awake for it was not yet midnight and was laying on his front, gazing at the spot between them.

There lay their newborn child, sleeping soundly, breathtakingly beautiful in all her innocence. Instinctively, Ismë reached over pulled the blanket up over the child's bare legs.

Then she simply lay there, like Boromir, and watched the extraordinary sight before her.

"We have a child," Boromir stated, after a long pause of silence, his voice full of wonder. Ismë looked over to him, barely able to tear her eyes away from her daughter, and smiled. Neither could quite believe that it had actually happened.

"You are a father," Ismë replied, tone equally as disbelieving. She giggled lightly. "And I, a mother."

Boromir moved to put his hand on the baby's stomach. It rose and fell with each delicate breath the small babe took. Ismë watched, marvelling at the sight of Boromir's hand, so large on the tiny body of the child.

"What shall her name be?" Boromir asked. Ismë lay in silence for a moment, then turned onto her front to mirror him.

"Éda," Ismë announced, a moment later. "After my mother."

"Éda," Boromir repeated, as if to make it official, real.

It was an obvious choice and Ismë's heart felt heavy as she voiced it. Now her mother had missed the two most important moments of her life – her marriage and the birth of her first child. How many more life changing events would occur before she saw her again? And how many of her family's had she herself missed?

But she could not think of that now, this was their moment and whilst she could do nothing about the situation with her family, she had to concentrate on the present. Just then, her heart swelled with love, not just for the child but for her husband too. Despite the long sleep, she was emotionally exhausted, still. But the emotions kept on coming, overwhelming her. She fought back the urge to cry.

Instead, tentatively, she moved her hand to touch Boromir's long fingers as they caressed Éda's soft skin. She could not remember the last time she had touched him like this – been so willingly intimate with him – perhaps she had never done it. Her finger tips brushed his hand, feather-light, and his eyes shifted from Éda to her.

"I'm glad it's you," she whispered.

He smiled back and entwined her fingers further with his. And Ismë was happy again. For, even though she had given him a daughter and not a son, she felt she had done right by him.

For this moment, she felt truly deserving of his love.