Oh so much love guys…thank you. I just want to say that I am so blessed to have such awesome, and incredibly funny, uplifting reviewers. You all hold a very special place in my heart. So as usual…much love and appreciation to the following;
The Archivist613, Lucy Greenhill, Lthien Telemnar, kittykawaii4, BabyShinji, MusicOfMyMind, Alexandrion, Lady Ravanna, crazykenz, MaxRideandPercyJackson4ever, PureAngelEyes, ivyknightfire, CharitinaX, Siriania, RiverOfTheWolf, beachchick3, Teapot of transformation, Qeani, Lioness32, DeLacus, Rousdower…
Emily: I am all about the feels these days…unfortunately!
The Lead Mare: Thank you! I'm glad you thought it was well written.
Guest: Hmm I know it is very hard to get over something as a terrible as losing a baby. But the whole reason I write this story is to explore the hard things in life. In saying that it is not a depressing story, yes there will be depressing parts, but it isn't a tragedy.
Ambrosialily: Sadly you are right, things never really go to plan. Thank you.
Guest: Dear confused reviewer; I shall do my best to answer. No I have never been through childbirth, nor have I ever been through the pain of losing a child. What I have experienced though is the deep trauma and hurt of those close to me. So Thank you very much for that compliment, because it would be my hope that I can give justice to those that have went through this. Clara has been in middle earth approximately five years, and it has been around 2 and a half years since she survived the orc attack. Clara is NOT half elven, nor will any of her offspring be half elven. She was vivified as an elf, sort of like a transfiguration. What Thranduil says in the chapter about her being human before, is simply desperation. So she was premature for an elf, as an elf's gestation lasts 12 months. I did write a vision but felt it did not flow with the story, so removed it, however I probably will at some point have a premonition of sorts. I am really pleased that Oropher is such a dear character to you, which means I have done something right with his characterization. He is very important to me too, but I don't want to reveal any of the future plot here because I'm sure many readers wouldn't want spoilers. Thanks so much for your thoughtful review.
Sam: Thanks :)
Diannak: Oooo *blushes* thank you! Annnnd I'm glad you picked that up, Thranduil has picked it up and he ain't so impressed with this Glorfindel character…hehe discord in the future. I hope you enjoy the update!
leafygreen16: Please don't be mad…*hands chapter*
lotrfan201: Aww leggy is a big brother is such a cute thought! Thank you and update here…
Honest: *attempts to control laughter* Honestly…do you really think I am going to write a story in which everyone is happy and nothing bad happens ever? 'Cause that would be boring! This is an almost medieval type culture…with no healthcare or treatment…it is not uncommon for mothers and babies to be lost. It's not about being cruel it's about the truths of life, just being honest of course.
Fan: Thank you so much for this lovely review it was very touching. Two wonderful women in my life lost their babies together, both where nearly to term, it was an utter tragedy. At the same time I was in the middle of writing this chapter…and whoa it just hit home and I had quite a bit going on outside of that but I am totally fine, I have no need to complain! Just praying daily for my friends. Funny enough that quote came to mind, it is a very insightful quote and so hopeful. Thank you so much for your concern and all your support, I do hope this chapter will mend things.
Jess: Aww thank you. I've had loads of suggestions but picking a name was always going to be difficult. Sooo I hope you like it *fingers crossed* Again not wanting to spoil anything buuut don't be too surprised if war is just around the corner.
Chapter 36
Coldness… I just feel... cold. The world around me has slowed down so that every movement seems exaggerated, every voice too loud and out of place. I was moved this way and that, someone cleaned me, attended to me – though I don't know who? The bed was remade and I was relocated to another bed to rest…Oropher's? I know I haven't left my home, and I know there is a female healer close to me, testing my temperature and checking me over every few minutes. I know her face as she smiles at me with pity, holding a warm flannel to my face and neck. She whispers things, but I don't listen, I just stare glassily at the ceiling above me.
"Oh no! Oh, Clara!"
Another female voice, one that makes me respond, my eyes slowly sliding their gaze to the doorway. Gilron?
"I am sorry, if you are not family you cannot enter, the Princess is doing very poorly," the other elleth briskly reprimands a shocked and paled Gilron.
"I am her family…or as close as she will have!" Gilron snaps back and pushes her way towards me, ignoring the grumblings of the healer. She reaches my side and drops there, clutching my hand in hers and visibly weeping. Her silver hair loose and cascading down her back in shimmering waves, she is wearing only her nightdress and a dusty lilac robe… she must be half frozen. Someone must have roused her from her sleep?
"Oh Clara," she sobs softly and runs a cold hand through my hair, "Can you hear me child? Are you well?"
"It is useless. She has not responded, we have tried to revive her, but…I fear her heart knows the truth," the healer murmurs and presses two fingers to the inside of my wrist again.
"What truth?" Gilron cries, her eyes filled with a sudden anxiety which makes me return my gaze to the ceiling again. "What do you know?"
"The infant is too young, too small, I would not imagine that it will survive long," the elleth says and takes a deep breath. "We should all prepare for the worst."
"You do not know of what child you speak," Gilron suddenly answers back fiercely and my head jerks to the sound of certainty in her voice. "The parents of this child have survived great feats, far greater than even you and I could dare to comprehend. Her Father survived war and flame, her Mother overcame death and is blessed with the gift of life. This infant will live, where is your hope?"
There is silence for a long minute and then the healer mutters an apology and returns to the far side of the room. Gilron remains by my side and quietly brushes my hair away from my face and smiles encouragingly at me now, as my eyes remain locked with hers.
"I know you are not fading Clara, I know you are just weakened," she tells me through a teary smile, and I find myself giving her a very weak one in return. She starts to weep again but with a relieved look, as she brushes her tears away with the back of her hands. "You will start to feel better soon, I promise."
I nod once in agreement and give into the exhaustion mingled with the comforting sensation of Gilron smoothing my hair and quietly humming to me. I focus on this, the gentle quietness, so full of hope. It soothes me. I can actively think around the coldness now, as Gilron's presence seems to chase its bitterness away. I can remember the image of Thranduil cradling something small and delicate in his arms, the stained towel it was wrapped in. If I let my mind really focus, I can make out the shape of the tiniest and most beautifully formed little hand, pressed against the skin of his chest, leaving an imprint. My imagination runs riot as I use these little pieces of knowledge to try and piece together in my mind's eye what my daughter looks like, but no one idea fits and I only begin to yearn for her. An instinctual need so strong, that it completely unsettles me, and I quickly realize that I will not be settled until I can hold her, until I can be with her and she with me.
Almost like I know, like my heart knows before my head, I struggle to ease myself into a sitting position, my gaze trained on the doorway. The healer who was with me jumps to my aid, and Gilron inhales sharply at my sudden movements. The door creaks open and my heart skips a beat as Thranduil enters silently, with an expression that is void of all feeling and warmth.
"My lord?" the healer pipes up, as she tries to push another pillow behind my back. "What news?" Gilron doesn't speak but instead goes to his side and looks up at him with large disbelieving eyes. He ignores both of them and instead keeps walking towards me.
"I told you not to leave her," I say in a voice that is barely above a whisper and just as void and desolate as his expression. Thranduil's hardened exterior suddenly cracks and shadows as he stands above me and cups my chin in his hand, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. I feel my brows furrow and that is it, I don't have the strength to hold myself up anymore. With a strangled sob I turn my face into his palm and fall against his stomach.
"It's not true!" Gilron quietly but vehemently denies. "Thranduil, answer me and say it is not true?"
"They say she is fading, that she will not last the night," he answers Gilron, and he doesn't even try to hide the sorrow.
"My lord, my heart breaks for your trouble, but your wife is weakened she needs to rest," the healer murmurs worriedly, but I resent her words I don't want to be left alone in the cold. And I certainly do not want to be parted from my child, or that my pain should overshadow her struggle.
"Eithril," Thranduil begins with a sigh as his hand clasps the back of my head and his fingers smooth my hair. "My wife needs to see our daughter." And suddenly I feel strong arms encircle me, and I am lifted from the bed and into his arms, my head resting weakly on his shoulder, my hand on his chest where I saw her imprint.
"No!" Eithril shouts and I feel like we almost glide out of the room. "No my lord, she is too weak."
"Leave them be!" Gilron commands the healer with a scolding tone. "You have no jurisdiction here, Eithril."
xXx
"Cradle your arms like this Clara," Ferel instructs me and helps to adjust my weak arms. "She is very small, but beautiful and perfect."
The flamed haired elleth lifts her gaze to mine, and I watch as she fights with the tears threatening to spill over her hallowed eyes. She grins weakly at the understanding, but hard smile I give her, I know she is trying to hide the fact that my daughter is dying, but there is little use, I can see it in her and everyone else's faces. Other healers flit silently around the room, not speaking or avoiding the scene, but I can see the looks of failure they wear. A roaring fire fills the small space with golden light and an almost suffocating heat, but I assume this to be necessary. So with nothing else left to do, I sink into the quickly put together day bed, with its numerous blankets and pillows, craving my baby.
I see Calanon bend over a cot close to the fire, and watch as he sadly hands over a mass of blankets to Thranduil. My heart lurches in my chest, I make out a tiny powerless arm before it is covered up with the soft olive blanket. Carefully and much too slowly for my wavering patience, Thranduil crosses the short distance towards us and crouches down so that it is only a matter of easing the baby into my arms. And for several long seconds all I do is hold her to me, gaping in wonderment.
My daughter is…ethereal. Yes, that is the word; she is not simply beautiful, she is angelic. Her porcelain-like skin, though terribly pale, almost shimmers with a light that is not seen within the Nandor or even our mortal cousins. Her perfect little lips are full and the softest pink, I absently run the tip of my little finger over them, as they part slightly in her restful state. Her nose is adorable, and just like her older brother's, cute as a button. Although her eyes remain hidden behind pale lilac lids, she has my thick and Bambi-like lashes, and I can just imagine how they frame big, beautiful eyes. Oh how I hope they are the same shade as her father's, for that would be just stunning. I quietly trace the contours of her face, then run my hands through her thick mop of platinum curls and chuckle softly. She may have Thranduil's coloring, but she unfortunately inherited my unruly mane. She has so much hair, that there is enough to almost disguise the regal and elegantly pointed tips of her elven ears. My little elf Princess, an image from a faerie book, so dainty and doll like.
"I love you," I whimper quietly and slump forward over her, my long and tangled hair falling over her and shielding us both from prying eyes. I only now register the tears that have been freely flowing from my eyes, when they drip on to her blanket. She doesn't move or wriggle like a newborn should, she just lies still and quiet, all her young energy focused on drawing one shallow breath at a time.
"I am so sorry I wasn't strong enough to keep you safe," I openly sob now as I rock her gently and press my thumb into her open palm, my heart only breaking more when she doesn't respond to my touch. That bright little light, so brilliant in colour and strength, is slowly ebbing away. I can literally see how she dims in my very arms, but my fae senses it more keenly. I feel like I am being hacked in two by the sharp and unforgiving knife of grief, I actually feel sick, so violently ill that I want to spill the contents of my gut just to relieve the horrendous waves of separation washing over me.
"Lasto bith nîn, avo firo, avo firo, iesten avo firo!" {Listen to my words, don't fade, don't fade, please don't fade}.
The words tumble from my lips like a desperate and broken cry for I have come to the resolute conclusion that I cannot be parted from her. I will not be parted from her! I have to keep her alive because there is nothing more vital in this world than ensuring the certainty of my child's life. It takes precedent above all other things, and the instinctual bond I already share with my daughter drives me forward. If there is still life then there is hope, even just a flicker is enough to spark a fire again. I know this better than most, as does Thranduil, so I am not surprised when he meets my resolute and defiant glower with his own look of pure determination and force of will.
"Lasto bith nîn, avo firo," Thranduil repeats my earlier plea but it is a command, a forceful healer's command, as he places his hands on our baby's tiny body and pushes her closer to me. He nods knowingly towards me as I clutch her more firmly towards myself, the tears still freely streaming down my cheeks. "Your light Clara, give her your light!" he urges me and I immediately understand. Oh he is such a wise elf. My light reached him in his darkness and so it shall reach his daughter, and with desperate and pleading eyes he begins to sing the enchantments his mother taught him softly and hopefully.
I do not know these words but I do know my own and so I whisper them to her, quietly at first and then louder as I try to forcefully remind her where she belongs;
"Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen,
Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lín enin 'raw hen.
Suil Annui, erio thûl lín i faer hen;
Ná Elbereth veria le!
Lasto bith nîn, avo firo!"
{Golden Sun, may your warmth bring healing to this heart, Great earth, may you give your strength to this body, Western Winds, may your breath lift this spirit; May Elbereth protect you! Listen to my words, do not fade.}
As I simply chant in the melodious notes the healers taught me long ago, in the tones that elven spirits find so soothing, I do what seems to be completely unique to me. I test the limits of my obnoxiously strong fae by not just gently coaxing or cajoling a wounded spirit, because that just won't cut it here. I attempt to flood the bond I have with my child with as much of myself as I can give, in the hope that the influx of light and strength will shock her, and will be enough to sustain her long enough so she can thrive apart from me.
It is not the easiest of things I have ever attempted and I would go as far as saying probably the most insane thing to date, for I could put my very life in jeopardy by doing this. I could drain myself enough to be too wearied to endure, I have read about healers not surviving arduous struggles with their mortally wounded patients. That is why healing of a fading fae is always carried out in groups or pairs, for when one elf exhausts themselves, their counterparts can pull them back and monitor their colleagues, or take over if needs be. However on this occasion, I will not relent or listen to reason even if they did try to stop me, because this is my daughter, my flesh and blood and bone. I can't give up on her.
The roaring in my ears intensifies, my breath becomes shallow, my arms weak and heavy, but I still hold her close to me. My physical senses are failing me, my body has already been brutally abused through labour, and now I am asking it to go beyond its limits. I struggle, by the Valar, I struggle and fight like I have never done so before, but I am so exhausted that I fear I will give up before I can help her. Even Thranduil's strength is fading, I can sense his conflict, whether to focus on me or the baby, I am practically screaming at him, 'Not me, her, always her!' Then when it feels like I am spent, something happens, her little hand curls around my thumb and squeezes it with all the strength she has. That bright little flame begins to grow in strength and vigour, so with one last surge of hope, both Thranduil and I envelope her in a blanket of strength and with it she lets out a cry.
A cry! Oh what a beautiful sound, not a weak and pitiful mew, but a strong and defiant shout for life!
My eyes fly open and I let out an overwhelmed sob as two gorgeously unique eyes stare up at me with an almost confused and startled look. Those eyes, so vivid and so perfect that I openly gasp. I had expected to see something similar to her father's and yes they are that same indiscernible shade of silvery blue almost akin to Thranduil's, but the silver flecks almost glimmer, making them even more hypnotic than his. How is that even possible?
"Thank you, Thank you!" I shriek in an indiscernible manner between exhausted gasps. I clutch her tightly to me as she continues to cry and cling to my thumb.
Thranduil is practically howling out praises because I am speechless, his hands shakily holding onto both our daughter and me, for I am slowly beginning to slump forward. Another hand finds its way into our tight huddle and there are all manner of orders, cries of relief and loud rejoicing when Calanon announces the baby's fae is strong and so are her lungs. I am smiling through the tears that soak my face and neck, but I know myself, I am too weak to stay conscious for very long.
"Thr-Thran-duil, y-y-you need to t-t-take her," I stammer out as I ensure she is firmly in his arms, my eyes not leaving hers. Oh, she is beautiful and so brave and strong, just like her Ada, and I cannot help but give her a completely besotted grin before I go limp as a fish and flop down rather ungracefully on the bed.
"Clara? Someone help her!" I hear Thranduil cry in alarm and I try to formulate a coherent sentence to tell him I'm fine, but all I manage is a soft groan.
"Give her to me," Ferel's confident voice breaks through my fuzzy hearing, but obviously Thranduil needs to be persuaded to do such a thing as part with our daughter. "My lord please, we need to check her over more thoroughly."
"Don't take her from this room, do not dare take her from my sight," he seemingly shouts after Ferel and then returns his attention to me, but his indecision means more experienced hands have found me first.
"It is alright my lord, she is just utterly exhausted," Calanon tries to reassure him as a cool flannel is pressed to my feverish forehead. "She has been through a lot, she needs to recuperate."
Exhausted? Exhausted doesn't quite cover it! Completely and utterly spent with not even the strength to keep my eyes open would be more what I would say. The frustrating part is I don't want to be in this state, I want my daughter, I want to keep a firm hold of her and make sure she continues to breathe easily. To be absolutely certain she lives, I never want to take my eyes off her. Still I don't really have a choice in the matter, my body is wrecked and my spirit completely shattered, but at least my mind is clear. She lives, there is hope and we might just get out of this unscathed together.
xXx
The night is long, the longest I have ever experienced. It consists of extensive periods of a wakeful sleep, like trying to sleep surrounded by white noise. I can hear the comings and goings, the voices, the movements, a loving touch and a baby's whimper, but my exhaustion prohibits me from reacting to them. Although it was punctuated with moments of consciousness, I remember these with a sort of dream-like vagueness, like I am never quite sure if it was actually real or I thought it up.
I remember a deliciously thick and warm liquid warming me from my insides out, I liked this. I remembered a lot of uncomfortableness and feeling a little feverish, this I did not like so much, but it passed like everything else. Eventually though, my senses started to return, my body started to recover from the shock of the night's events. When this happened, I instantly wanted my daughter, and no one so much as argued with my stubborn commands. So at last I can lie in the peaceful quiet of this warm and secluded little room, and bond with my beautiful miracle. It took some guidance and no small amount patience, on Ferel's part, before I could somewhat awkwardly coax her to feed, but she did, much to everyone's relief. I felt a grand sense of accomplishment through this. Yes, I could get much needed nourishment into her and that meant she would thrive. Still she was a little lazy and needed a lot of reminding to suckle. I had been terrified at the prospect of breast-feeding but you don't really have another option in this - sadly lacking in modern technology – world. Still, I was able to do it and therefore not a completely incompetent mother, as was my initial fear. It did also help that I was receiving bountiful praises from Ferel and Calanon, so my fragile confidence was growing by the minute.
I am admittedly, very overwhelmed, understandably so I think, because I hadn't banked on such an early introduction. But here we are, me and my little gift, who is constantly trying to scare me to death. I can feel the panic build up in the back of my mind, all the usual terrified questions running riot in my over active imagination, but for the meantime I just want to hold her and be amazed. So I sit, curled up on the comfortably made up bed swathed in blankets and propped up with soft pillows, cradling my little daughter, caught in a state of blind adoration.
"I know I am completely biased, but she is simply stunning," I swoon giddily as I run my index finger along the contours of her face again, grinning broadly when her mystified gaze locks with mine making me wonder; what exactly is she thinking?
"She is the prettiest baby I have seen in an age," Calanon chuckles quietly as he scribbles notes on parchment. "Just like her Nana."
"Neither of them are just simply pretty," Thranduil speaks up, from his crouched position at the fire as he dutifully feeds it more logs. He wearily stands, roughly rubbing off the dust from his hands; I notice how tired he is as he half stumbles back to my bedside to give me a weak smile. "Their beauty is enchanting."
To this, I simply laugh and roll my eyes, because currently I am a dreadful mess of tangled hair and greasy skin. Also, I am pretty sure my post birth body is utterly repulsive, but frankly, I am too exhausted to care about appearances. I'm just thankful for all the extra blankets that I can hide behind. I hear Calanon laugh again at the comment as he rises from his chair to bid us farewell for a little well. He has to meet with the King and report to him on the condition of his family, he also wants to catalogue all the extra medicinal treatments sent by Lord Elrond, which apparently did wonders in the treatment of both my daughter and I. He leaves Eithril in charge and Ferel stays, because she wants to, but both ellith keep themselves at a comfortable distance, neither being too intrusive to our quiet family bonding.
"She needs a name," I say to Thranduil as I reluctantly relinquish her to him. He has been patiently waiting for a cuddle for the past hour, and I have done quite well at evading it, but his incessant pleading has eventually won out.
"She does," he confirms and his face softens with that deep reverential love that I now can fully understand. His smile widens when she gazes up at him with those wonderfully bright eyes, that seem vastly too intelligent for a newborn. "I have not had the time to ponder a name for you my brilliant little light, you came too soon I am unprepared."
Both of us chuckle at this, before we jointly study her trying to consider what would suit her. I highly doubt my names from home would suit a Sindar Princess of Arda, but I am not very good at coming up with a suitable alternative.
"Well Legolas is named after your Mother; we could name her after your Father?" I suggest but regret it when Thranduil pulls a face and shakes his head in disagreement.
"No, Ada would not want that, besides it is too masculine for her," he tells me and I am a tiny bit relieved that that's been removed from the table. Secretly I agree, but it seemed like a polite suggestion.
"She should be named after her Adar," Ferel chuckles as she lays out some fresh blankets for us and winks at me. "She is obviously just as stubborn as him."
"Indeed," I giggle but I quite like this idea. "She has your eyes Thranduil, she does look like you." I admit and try to string an elvish name together that would incorporate his name with hers.
"Oh please, do not burden her with such an obnoxious name," Thranduil snorts and gives me a lopsided grin as he shakes his head slowly in disagreement. "Besides I would not say she looks like me, I think she looks like you or at least both of us." I go to argue but he stops me with an impatient look, so I don't pursue the point.
"Well then, I am out of suggestions," I sigh and cross my arms, "There is no elvish version of my name so sadly that rules that out, and our people wouldn't understand the names from my world, so I am out of ideas."
"I guess so," Thranduil adds sadly as he continues to stare lovingly at our nameless daughter, but then I see it, an idea forming in the depths of his mind and I smirk as I wait for his suggestion. "What does your name mean?"
"Huh?"
"To your kin, what does your name mean? Why did they call you it?" he pushes excitedly and I can't help my slightly pickled expression.
"Um, I think my father just liked it, I don't think he put much thought into it," I say rather dully and this earns me a confused frown, so I wrack my brain for the memory of the meaning of my name. "I think…I think it means clear, bright, and famous, something like that."
"That is an appropriate name," he tells me with a fond and knowing look which makes me blush. Thranduil muses for a moment, then turns to me with a serious expression and says; "Celairiel."
"That's beautiful, what does it mean?" I squeak and almost choke on the lump in my throat. It still surprises me that after years of living in this world, speaking the language, and absorbing the culture that things still enchant me. The Sindarin language is beautiful, and I like this name it sounds almost spiritual.
Thranduil does not initially answer me, his eyes slide back to gaze on our sleeping daughter's peaceful face as she rests contentedly in his arms. His lips twitch upwards in a smile as he ducks down to place a feather light kiss on her brow. "It means daughter of brilliance, or daughter of Celair. It is my rough translation of your name." When I don't react he snaps his head up and gives me a panicked look; "If you do not like it we can think of som-"
"No!" I cut him off as two great watery tears slip out of the corners of my eyes and slide down my cheeks. "The name is perfect, that is her name."
"Then why are you crying?" he half laughs, but it is a strangled question; obviously my reaction was not what he was expecting.
"I am just really emotional right now," I reply in a shrill voice and wave my hands in front of my eyes, in a vain attempt to not cry anymore…I don't succeed. "Oh wonderful," I cry and shake my head pitifully. "I just…that was really sweet…and I just wasn't expecting it, and oh good grief here comes the waterworks."
"You need to rest," he tells me with a chuckle, as he scoots up the bed a little more so he can easily press a kiss to each of my tear stained cheeks. "You are past yourself meleth-nin, you need sleep."
"I know," I snuffle and let out a teary sigh, whilst inconspicuously trying to swipe the tears from my face with my sleeve. "But I can't take my eyes away from her, in case something happens, she needs me."
"Clara, look at her," Thranduil commands and presses Celairiel closer to me, as he gently pulls aside her blanket to rest his hand softly on her rising chest. "She is well; look how strong her lungs are? Can you not feel her fae? It is shining with strength; she will be fine, because of you."
"Because of us," I correct him and replace his hand with mine, just so I can feel her tiny heartbeat softly thump in a calm rhythm. "I wasn't alone in my endeavours," I remind him as I yawn quietly and let my head loll onto his shoulder. I hear his throaty chuckle as he nuzzles his cheek against my head and whispers something pleasant to me…something alluring, that entices me to sleep, and I can't quite refuse it. My worries suddenly dissipate in a flash, and I happily surrender to his sleep spell, something I have not yet been able to counteract and vow I never will.
xXx
It is most definitely late in the morning when the pad of soft footsteps wakes me from my death-like slumber. Truly, I feel like I have just awakened from a century of sleep, and not just a few hours. Groggily I lift my head from the pillows, and wipe the extremely unladylike dribble from my mouth and chin, because I have been snoozing with my mouth wide open…nice! I blink into the suddenly disorientating brightness and try to make out the shapes in my vision.
"Forgive me Clara, I had not meant to disturb you."
I dozily glance towards the voice by the doorway, and try to encourage my jaw to waken up and help me close my gaping mouth. It takes me longer than it should to register that the intruder is Oropher, and I frown stupidly at him in my zombie-like state.
"Um," I grumble and painfully push myself up into a half sitting pose, before yawning excessively. "It's erm…it's fine. Wh-where is-" I begin and drowsily scan the room for Thranduil, with my head bobbing uncontrollably, oh I am so tired! However once my vision focuses I can tell that Oropher is standing by the slumped over form of his son and I snigger in response. It seems my husband can be just as ungraceful and stupid looking in his sleep as I can.
Thranduil obviously crawled onto the armchair in his exhaustive state, because he is lying half off it, his upper body slinked over the arm of the low chair. One arm trails on the floor, whilst the other is carelessly tossed over the back. In short he looks like a wearied and battered rag doll, with his tangled hair and gaping mouth, he even snores softly! Well, if that is what he looks like, then I must look like something horrendous. Thankfully, Oropher doesn't react if I do look how I feel, he just gives me a beaming smile.
"May I see her?" he asks carefully and nods to the cot which Eithril hovers over. The elleth coos softly into the cradle as she rearranges the blankets. I hear the most wonderful soft snuffling and adorable baby noises, which alert me to the fact that she is indeed, awake. I have to remind myself to not be possessive as I nod and smile tiredly to his majesty.
Without any more instruction he practical bounds over to cot and shoves Eithril out of his way. The elleth bows quickly and scurries away before she is knocked sideways in his enthusiasm. I grin knowingly as I watch his whole countenance transform. Oropher's usually unreadable expression shifts into one of pure delight and joy, his eyes soften and his wide smile becomes even broader until he actually laughs gently. I can see it, I can see how she just casts him under her spell immediately, and he becomes her completely besotted Grandfather.
"Hello my darling," Oropher animatedly croons into her crib in a soft and childish voice, that makes me giggle. "Yes, I see you, I do! Come to see you're Grandpa," he practically sings and deftly lifts her into his experienced arms.
"Watch, she is very small," I jump in and warn him unintentionally. I can't help it, seeing her in another's arms makes me nervous.
"She is a little dove," he sings aloud ignoring the panic in my voice as he nurses her expertly. "A beautiful little dove, light as a feather. Oh my darling dove you have your Grandmother's eyes, so wise and wonderful. You will be a wild and free little dove, like the woods that bore you," he pauses a moment to bend down and kiss the tiny hand that has clasped around his finger, then cradles her gently before surrendering her back to the comfort of her cot.
"She is still quite vulnerable," Oropher mumbles worriedly for a moment, as he leans over her with concerned eyes. "She needs to stay here, with the healers, until we can be sure she is strong enough to come home."
"I know," I admit more to myself than to him. "But she will come home, and she will be happy and healthy."
"Oh, I have every faith, but you need to stay too Clara, you have given much of yourself," Oropher replies softly as he straightens up and gazes upon me with a paternal look. Carefully he strides the distance between us and kneels by my bedside. "I am aging dramatically with all this worrying, you will need to stop upsetting me so."
To this I laugh softly and receive a comforting kiss to my brow, as Oropher helps me back into the warmth of my bed. It is only when he turns to go that I catch his sleeve;
"Legolas? How is he, where is he?" I suddenly ramble my heart beginning to pound a little more aggressively and my stomach knots up some more. A terrible sensation of guilt washes over me, because I realise I have not been much of a Mother to him in the past few months, what with all the upset. I feel even more alarmed because I am sure he is upset being separated from both Thranduil and I so suddenly, especially without any warning.
"He is with Oliel, in the gardens, she is distracting him with some playtime with the other young elflings." Oropher replies breezily and pats my hand. "Are you worried?"
"Yes," I sigh and lift my hand to my forehead to rub it vigorously. "He is spending too much time away from me, and now his father. I want him to come home; I want him brought to me as soon as possible. He needs to see me and his little sister, he needs to understand what has happened, and that he is not being callously ignored."
"I am sure he does not think that Clara," Oropher replies, but nods in understanding. "I will fetch him myself and bring him to you after lunch, yes?"
"Yes, that would be wonderful," I reply with relief, the sound making the King give a soft chuckle as he meanders up to his own son to casually observe.
With a sigh and shake of his head, Oropher sets about removing Thranduil's boots and propping him up much more comfortably on the chair. I can't help the grin playing on the edges of my mouth as I watch the adorable display of paternal concern. Once satisfied with all his fussing, Oropher drapes a warm woollen blanket over his son, and then tenderly strokes his hair back from his face. The King lets out one last low sigh and turns to me with a weary, but loving light in his eyes;
"It does not matter how old he is, he will always be my little boy, and I will always feel inclined to care of him. You will feel the same too my dear, it will not matter how big the children get, they always be your little ones," he tells me with a chuckle, before ducking down and pressing a kiss to his son's crown. Thranduil grumbles and burrows into the pillow in protest at the interruption, making me join in with the King's quiet laughter.
"He adores you," I say quietly as Oropher ambles towards the doorway, he pauses a moment and turns back to eye me questioningly. "Your son worships you Oropher, I know he does not often show it, but he would be lost without you."
In reply the King only smiles fondly at his only child and then nods appreciatively to me before he slips out, leaving me to ponder the depths of a parent's bond with their child. It is a staggering thing and I am certainly feeling vastly overwhelmed by it, but it is a good thing. It is a driving force to be better, to be wiser, and to be stronger. I have much to learn.
xXx
I eagerly await the approach of noon, because I am both apprehensive and excited about Legolas meeting his little sister. I am not worried about his reaction; he will learn to love her like all siblings learn to love. I am sure there will be moments when they will loathe or completely disagree with one another, but that is natural. I am also fairly certain having another child wedged into his comfortable and happy little bubble will be a shock to him. I am expecting difficulties, both of us are. Thranduil is a little more concerned than I am; he just knows that Legolas will find it difficult to share his Ada's affections because Thranduil is his father by blood, he has been there from the beginning, and the change will be more keenly felt. I however am more worried about the fact that the poor child has been left very much in the dark these past few months.
Legolas is a smart little boy; he is sensitive to the changes in temperament between his loved ones. He has known for some time that I've been distant and changeable. Though I have endeavored to remain stable for him, I know there are times when I have not been there when I ought to have been. Thranduil has taken a lot to do with his care, in the pursuit of ensuring I was rested and healthy. Still, I am sure he has had questions which he hasn't even tried to voice, or if he has, they have not been to me, maybe in the fear of upsetting me because I have, to be honest, been pretty emotional of late. I will be happier once I have laid eyes on him, and made sure he is safe and sound, and not completely traumatized by the complete and unexplained absence of both his parents. He will have a lot to react to and come to terms with, and I am positive lots of questions and worries.
A long and low sigh escapes my lips as these thoughts swirl endlessly around my head, and I am almost unaware that I have made that sound until soft lips brush my forehead. I twist my head on the soft pillows of my bed, and let a wide smile stretch across my face;
"Are you in pain?" Thranduil asks me as he kneels down and runs his hand along the crown of my head.
"Discomfort mostly," I reply truthfully, then yawn and stretch; "But nothing I can't handle. How is she?"
"Dreaming peacefully," he replies softly and stands to drift towards the cot, where he leans over her and becomes utterly engrossed. I smile contentedly as I watch him stand over her and get completely wrapped up in his one sided conversation with his little elfling. He sings to her and he murmurs sweet promises to her of a life that will be full and healthy. He retreats into his own little bubble of happiness, and I am more than happy to watch as he indulges in a completely selfish time between himself and our beautiful daughter.
"Your graces, the King is here?" A servant elleth - who has replaced my earlier healers - curtsies deeply and gestures to the doorway.
True enough, Oropher elegantly enters the room in finer and statelier attire than this morning, because the day's work must go on. I absently wonder how long it will be until Thranduil must return to court on a more permanent basis, and I feel a little sad about that, these last months have spoiled me. However, these thoughts are side-lined when a familiar blonde head appears from behind the door. Huge and anxious sky blue eyes observe the scene, and before Oropher can introduce him, Legolas has spied his father and his ripped across the room.
"Ada!" he shouts half in delight and half in relief, as Thranduil strides the short distance and catches him in a firm embrace. "Ada I was worried, where is Nana? I want Nana!"
My heart leaps into my mouth and I suddenly sit upright, ignoring the twinges of pain and discomfort, as I twist myself around in the bed ready to receive him. I am obscured by the pillars and odd shape of the room, he would not have seen me straight away.
"Sshh, stop your fretting," Thranduil chuckles fondly, as he crouches down and plants a kiss on his son's forehead, before pointing towards me; "She is here, waiting for you." I hold out my arms in a preparation of a well-deserved cuddle, but am alarmed when his young face contorts into an expression of sadness and he openly whimpers as he runs to me.
"Nana! Nana, I heard you cry in the night and then you were gone in the morning, and one of the servants said the baby made you sick! I thought you had gone." He weeps as he collides into my chest and buries head in my shoulder. His frantic voice throws me, and I glance worriedly at both Thranduil and Oropher, who seem just as shocked by the revelation as I do.
"Hey, ssshh, I am right here I am fine," I croon softly and hug him tightly to me. "Legolas, sweetheart, look at me!" I command and gently tug his chin upwards so he watches me warily through tear filled eyes. I brush away the tears threatening to spill over with my sleeve and kiss both his cheeks. "I am here, see, no more silly tears." He nods once and then collapses into my arms for another cuddle.
After a few minutes, and once Legolas is well and truly calm, I have him sit beside me and I explain the events of the night before. I tell him that his little sister was not very well, and had to be born early. I told him it was a terrible shock to all of us, and that she was so poorly that we could not leave her. This seems to pacify him momentarily, and I smile knowingly as his eyes dance to the cot by the fire. He looks to me, and then to his Ada for confirmation.
"Come Legolas, come meet your sister," Thranduil encourages and holds out his hand to guide the boy to the cot. Legolas dutifully follows, and with the help of his father, cautiously peers at her. For a long moment he just stares and stares, before tentatively stretching out a finger to touch her.
"Careful darling, she is very tiny," I warn as I force myself to stand up, but gratefully accept the help of the servant as she dresses me in a warm robe, and guides me to my family.
"Is she still sick?" he asks innocently and traces his finger along her tiny arm.
"No, but she is weak, she needs a lot of care," Thranduil tells him, and he nods solemnly in understanding. "What is she called?"
"Celairiel," I reply and try to disguise a laugh when he screws his nose up. "Do you not like that name?"
"I suppose it is okay," he grumbles.
"Well, what would you have suggested Ioneg?" Thranduil chuckles and ruffles his hair.
"Well I am not sure because I had not prepared for a sister," Legolas pouts. "I guess it shall just have to do."
"Regrettably," I smirk and pinch his cheek making him giggle. He squirms out of his father's grasp and sidles up to me to cling to my side. "Legolas, what is wrong?" I ask, because something is off about his reaction. I can sense the anxiety radiating off him, but for what?"
"Nothing," he mumbles and bites his lip, but I don't believe him.
"Legolas?" Thranduil queries a hint of impatience in his voice.
He doesn't like when Legolas declines to speak up. I raise my hand in a quietening gesture; I don't want any arguments today. Legolas blinks at his Ada and drops his head, before wandering over to the arches that lead to the balcony, overlooking the healing garden. Thranduil shakes his head in exasperation and goes to follow, but I press a hand to his chest.
"Let me," I murmur, when he goes to protest. I tiredly amble up to my bright eyed little rescuer, and outstretch my hand; "I would like to sit out on the balcony for a bit, will you sit with me?"
"Yes," Legolas replies but with trepidation and takes my hand to help me to the nearby bench to sit. We sit peacefully and in silence for a long time. Legolas intently studies the notches in the wooden bench, while I savour the cool fresh air. He appears pensive to me, and even a little worried, I can only make an educated guess as to why.
"Legolas, why are you sad?" I ask quietly as I continue to stare out onto the vast gardens. He sighs heavily as he focuses all his concentration into tracing the patterns on the wood.
"Where did I come from?" he suddenly speaks, but doesn't take his eye off his work.
I can't answer; all I can do is sit and watch him painfully for a long moment. Of course, why did I not think he wouldn't draw up these thoughts and legitimate questions? Assuming my silence means confusion he lifts his gaze and pierces me with intense eyes; "If Celairiel came from you, then where did I come from?"
"I can't answer all of that question for you," I say honestly and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. "But I can tell you what I know to be true." Legolas eyes me curiously and swivels on his seat to give me all his attention.
"All little elflings are gifts Legolas," I begin carefully and clutch his hands in mine. "They are blessings from Illuvator, and do you know why that would be?"
"Because Illuvator grants life, he created us," Legolas answers quickly and smiles proudly when I nod approvingly.
"Yes that is correct. So at one time, your Ada prayed very hard for a little boy, with beautiful blue eyes," I chuckle as I point to his eyes, and then run my hands through his hair. "And sun coloured hair, which would bring him so much love and happiness. So, the great Iluvator heard his plea and sent him you. That is where you came from Legolas, just like your sister, you are both precious gifts."
"Just like he sent you to us?" Legolas asks his eyes wide and filled with wonderment. "Like how he heard my prayer, and sent you to be my Nana?"
"Yes, sweetheart, I think so," I sniff and quickly wipe away a tear. It still hits me hard every time he tells me this.
"But Nana," he frowns and touches my now deflated belly, "You told me Celairiel had to grow inside of you, and Ferel said that is what happens. So, who did I come from, and why did they not want to stay and be my Nana?"
"Oh, Legolas," I sigh unhappily and cup his face in my hand. "I don't know who she was, and I can't say why, only your Ada can answer that."
"But he does not answer me when I ask?" Legolas mutters angrily.
"Then I shall ask him to tell you," I say resolutely and lean in to give him a kiss on his brow. "But you mustn't worry yourself over it. Your Ada and I love you more than we can tell, with all our hearts, and nothing will ever change that."
"I know, I love you both too," he whispers aloud as he crushes me with another tight embrace. "And Celairiel, I am happy she is safe and not sick anymore."
"Ah, I am sure she loves you too," I reply and smile tenderly, "Would you like to hold her for a little while?"
"Can I?" he chirps and let out a sigh of relief, as the anxieties from before seem to slowly leave his features. Although I am certain he hasn't forgotten, but is merely wise enough to wait on his Adar's answers before he articulates more questions.
"Yes, of course, she needs to get a cuddle from her big brother," I chime happily, and he grins proudly as he helps me back into the healing room.
"You will ask Ada for me though, won't you?" Legolas queries one last time and eyes me suspiciously. "I don't want to make him sad."
"No darlin', you won't make him sad," I reply firmly and with much assurance. "Let him rest for a little while, and then he will tell you what you need to know, if that is what you want? But we will speak no more of it tonight." Legolas nods slowly, and showing grace and maturity beyond his young years accepts my answers with no complaint.
Once back within the confines of the room, he runs to his Ada with a much more joyous countenance. Thranduil happily engages his son in excitable chatter, and properly introduces Legolas to his little sister. I return to my bed, and watch the heart-warming scene unfold, as Legolas holds Celairiel, with his Ada's help, and chatters away to her like she can understand his every word. He tells her he will keep her safe, that he will show her the woods, and teach her how to climb the tall trees in the forest. I sincerely hope he does, and I look forward to the days when I can watch them play together in the peaceful shade of the great wood.
Those will be wonderful days indeed.