Chapter Thirty-Six
.
SUMMARY: It's time for Vórima, Bowen's mare to give birth to Fînlossen's foal. Few things are more moving and powerful than a new life entering the world, leaving no one unaffected.
.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
It's not warm when she's away
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Anytime she goes away…
By Bill Withers
City of Dale, 1st of June 2945 T.A.
Three years ago, Bowen's mother died, leaving him and his younger siblings orphans, Daffyd and Anna had taken them into their care. At first, they all crowded into the apartment over the Livery on the edge of the City, where Daffyd and his son Powell kept several carriages, and draft horses for farm work and hauling. It was a tight fit, but after Ellyn passed away, Lord Bard had helped them move into a bigger house where he, his younger brother Maddox, and baby Owena could could have a place to play. 1
Anna and Daffyd were kind, patient and affectionate, and soon the younger children adjusted to their new situation and started calling them "Mam" and "Da." Bowen, however, had taken the deaths of his parents especially hard, and broke down completely. 2
The Kings were concerned, as was Daeron, but it was Turamarth took the boy under his wing, supported him through his grief and gently steered him away from his frantic worry over Maddie and Owena. When Bowen's thoughts were a whirlwind and he could hardly even finish a thought, Turamarth was patient and helped him get through the basics of daily life, until the whispers in his head slowed down. It was Turamarth who took him to the forest and taught him to share his heart with the trees, to breathe their sweet air as his mind quieted down.
The Elf was his mentor and one of the greatest friends Bowen had ever had.
When Tur brought a beautiful roan mare named Vórima, it opened up a whole new world for Bowen. He hadn't had the chance to learn to ride because of his mother's illness, but now he understood fascination and devotion Bain and Rhys held for these exquisite animals. Turamarth helped him bond with Vórima, by getting up earlier on school days to feed and care for her himself, how to talk to her as he groomed her and cleaned her hooves until she knew every inflection of his voice. The Elf took him outside the city gates, sometimes with Bain and Rhys, sometimes not, and they rode for hours, as Bowen and Vórima learned each other's moods and signals. In time, Vórima became just as good a friend to Bowen as Turamarth.
Last spring, Tur suggested he breed the mare with Lord Bard's stallion, Fînlossen.
"It would be a good experience for you, Mellon. Training a young horse takes skill and patience, and I think it would be a good project."
"But why can't Sandastan do it? Be the Da, I mean."
"They are related," Tur explained. "Vórima and Sandastan share the same sire."
"Okay, but do you think Fînlossen is…"
"Worthy of her?" the Elf chuckled and tousled the boy's hair. "That stallion used to be part of Lord Thranduil's private stables; if anyone is good enough for her, it would be Fînlossen."
And so, it was done and all year, Bowen watched his beloved horse carefully, as her belly grew larger. When Turamarth came home so ill, Ivran or Ruvyn stepped in and tried to answer the endless questions the boy had about this process.
It helped, and Bowen learned a great deal, but that didn't stop his worry.
And that was why, on this night, the boy was wringing his hands and trying not to panic.
"Are you sure we shouldn't get Daeron?" Bowen asked as Vórima paced in her stall.
"Daeron has very little experience with birthing a foal, Mellon nîn." Turamarth ran his hands over the swollen belly of the boy's mare, Vórima, following the strawberry roan around the box stall as she paced. Her udder was full and firm, and her body tensed and relaxed on a regular basis.
"But he came before," Bowen argued. "He told me it's a boy."
"A colt," Tur corrected patiently. "Daeron's specialty is people, and I have assisted at many of these types of births," he gave the boy a small smile. "Do you not trust me?"
"Oh, I do, I really do…" Bowen rubbed his palms against his pant legs. "When will Daffyd get here?"
"Right behind you," the man unlatched the door to the stall and walked in. "Sorry I'm late; we had a last minute call for both carriages. How's she doing?"
"It should not be long, I think." The Elf said, as Vórima stopped her pacing and grunted.
Daffyd stepped behind Bowen and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, massaging them lightly. "And how are you holding up, lad?" he asked with a smile.
"I'm all right," Bowen tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I'm just…"
"It's always a grand thing when new life comes into the world," Daffyd said in a gentle tone. "I'm glad we could be here."
"Will she be okay? I don't want anything to happen—"
"She'll be fine, son. I know you're scared, but females of all kinds have been doing this since the beginning of time. She probably will do this all by herself—"
"Probably?" Bowen squeaked.
"You've seen this before, son." Daffyd put his arm around the boy's shoulder.
"Oh, I know," the boy nodded. "But this is…different."
"Of course, it is," the man told him. "That mare is strong, she's healthy and if she runs into any trouble, we'll help her. It'll be fine, Bow- Oop! Here she goes!"
The mare grunted several times, then folded her front legs and sank to the ground, and rolled onto her side.
"Vórima!" Bowen dashed forward, but Daffyd held his arm.
"It's fine; she's just rolling around to get the little one into place, so he can come out. See what Tur's doing?" he pointed to the Elf who was squatting near her head and speaking softly in Sindarin. "He's helping to keep her calm."
"Daeron said the fathers sometimes help like that when Mams have babies."
"Aye, most of them do, but not all. Some have to be kicked out or carried out." Daffyd quirked one eyebrow at him with a knowing smile. "What do you think? Can you handle it?"
Bowen straightened his shoulders and forced a brave face. "She's mine, like you said. I have to."
"Good lad."
Vórima flopped onto her side again, and writhed with a loud moan, and the Elf's face grew concerned.
Bowen chewed his lip. "Tur?"
Turamarth straightened and gestured him forward. "I think the foal moved, and I need to examine her. Daffyd, can you bring that bucket and the soap?"
"Sure thing," Daffyd picked up the warm water from the corner of the stall, and met him at the mare's tail.
"Bowen?" Tur pulled off his tunic, tied a few sacks around his waist with a rope and began to soap up one of his arms. "She is afraid and in pain. I need to you to talk to her."
"But my Sindarin isn't that good, and I only know a few words of Quenya."
"The language does not matter," the Elf said patiently, rubbing the bar of soap over his upper arm. "This is one of the reasons why I told you to talk to her. Vórima loves you, and she will understand."
Bowen lowered himself in the straw and sat cross-legged pulling the mare's nose into his lap. One brown eye, surrounded by while blinked up at him, widened in pain and terror.
"It's all right," he stroked her nose and ran his other hand through her mane. "Don't be afraid; Tur's the smartest Elf I know, and he won't let anything bad happen."
"You're doing fine," Daffyd said, holding the horse's tail as Tur laid down on the floor and stretched out and reached inside. "Keep talking to her, boy."
Vórima's body went rigid with another contraction. Turamarth grimaced as the muscles squeezed his arm. "Ai!" he groaned. "Daffyd is right, Bowen; your horse is very strong," he joked, as they waited for it to pass.
"I'm not going to leave you," Bowen murmured, still stroking. "I'm right here. Let Tur see what's wrong, and he'll fix it. Nothing bad is going to happen, we won't let it."
Slowly, the mare's face relaxed, and the whites of her eye disappeared.
"What's going on in there?" Daffyd asked.
"One of the foal's front legs is back and his head is up," Tur said, with a sigh. "He is also very big. It is going to be a tight fit."
"You can't let it die!" Bowen gasped. The horse grew tense again, causing Turamarth to let out another yelp.
"Easy," Daffyd cautioned. "If you get afraid, she'll pick up on it and make it worse."
"But—" he cried
"Bowen," Tur ground out, as the horse cut off the circulation in his arm. "This is going to be difficult, but I am counting on you. I promise you; I will not let either of them die. Do you trust me?"
The boy swallowed, and made himself take a few deep breaths. "Yes."
At last the horse's body relaxed and Tur pulled his arm out with a relieved sigh. He rubbed it with a towel to get his blood flowing and lathered himself up again. Daffyd was busy making loops in the ropes and soaking them in another bucket.
"Ready?" he asked the Elf, handing him the first one.
With a nod Tur resumed his position. "Are you ready, Bowen?"
"I'm okay," the boy said, wishing it were true. What should he say?
A memory, one that he'd pushed to the back of his mind since his Mam died, rushed back to him.
Mam liked to sing, whether she was doing dishes or hanging out the laundry in their home in Laketown, or puttering around the house. Da sometimes sang along, when he was home in the evenings, and occasionally, Bowen and Maddie joined in.
But whenever Bowen or Maddie woke with bad dreams, or if baby Owena couldn't settle, Mam would gather her child in her arms, cradled against her soft chest, singing to him in a soft, low voice. It was always the same song, and it was one of the things he missed about her the most.
His eyes filled, and he smiled down at Vórima. Then he opened his mouth and sang.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you shall have,
All the pretty little horses.
Blacks and bays, dapples and greys,
Go to sleepy you little baby,
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby,
When you wake, you shall have,
All the pretty little horses.
Way down yonder, down in the meadow,
There's a poor wee little lamby.
The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes,
The poor wee thing cried for her mammy.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby. 3
When you wake, you shall have,
All the pretty little horses.
Vórima's breathing became less haggard, and purpose appeared in her eyes.
"I have the rope around his lower jaw," Tur called out. "Take the end, and while I push him back, keep up a steady pressure and we will pull his head into place."
"Righto," Daffyd said. "Keep singing, Bowen. You're doing her a world of good."
And he did, while images of his Mam and Da flooded his memory. How Da would always squeeze her arm whenever he walked past her. How Mam always did up his tea exactly the way he liked it at the dinner table. The feel of her fingers as she straightened his hair.
"You would have liked them," he told Vórima, and he knew she understood. "You're going to be a good, kind Mam, and he'll look up to you, just like I do."
"The head is down!" Tur told them. "Now, hand me another rope, and we will get the leg…"
Vórima grunted loudly in pain, as Daffyd and Tur worked, but she kept her head in Bowen's lap, as he sang and stroked and ran his fingers through her forelock. "That's it," he soothed. "We're almost done…"
"We did it, Bowen!" Tur cried in triumph, as he straightened quickly wiped his arm. "the forelegs are presenting."
"Good girl," the boy told his horse. "Good, good girl."
Vórima neighed, and pulled herself up to stand, never taking her eyes off Bowen. He held her halter and kept up the crooning, as she finally got down to business. Turamarth and Daffyd each grabbed a small hoof and kept up a steady pressure. Three more contractions, and a russet-colored gangly mass slipped free and landed in the straw.
"Belain hanni!" Tur cried with glee, as he quickly cleared the foal's mouth and nostrils. "He is perfect."
"There he is!" Bowen cried, stroking the mare's velvet nose. "You did it!" He threw his arms around his horse and buried his face in her neck. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured into her fur.
"What a beauty!" Daffyd grabbed some straw and began to vigorously rub the colt. "You weren't kidding, Tur; he's huge! No wonder the poor lad couldn't get himself lined up right. There wasn't any room in there."
After rubbing her face against the boy's back in a gesture of thanks, the mare turned around and forgot all about him, as she riveted her gaze on her son. She snuffed and cleaned and licked, and within minutes, the foal was on his feet, wobbling over to take his first meal.
"How does he know to do that?"
"It's instinct," a strong, comforting arm fell on Bowen's shoulders. "I'm so proud of you, son," Daffyd's voice was rough. "I don't want to think what could have happened if you hadn't settled her."
Bowen swallowed down a lump in his throat. "You helped save her. For me."
"Of course, we did." The grey-haired man smiled down at the boy as he grasped the back of Bowen's neck and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, my boy…" his large hand rested on the back of Bowen's head. "Your Mam and Da would be so proud of you."
"Really?" Bowen sighed.
"Oh, Lordy…" Daffyd threw back his head and chuckled. "Everything you did, made him bust his buttons, he was so proud of you." Daffyd lowered his hands and stepped back to look into his eyes. "I want you to know I love you, boy. You're everything your Mam and Da hoped you would be, and I'm privileged to be a part of it, but I love you for yourself, not just because your Owen's son."
Here was the miracle; a brand new being, a blank slate, knowing nothing of life or love, and Bowen knew he wanted to be the one to show him. Because at last, he understood. No one could replace his Mam and Da, but it was all right to love Anna and Daffyd, because love isn't something you keep. It's meant to be given away, and in the giving, you end up having more.
Bowen raised his head and met Daffyd's eyes. Then he threw his arms around the man and hugged him. "I love you, too." And he did.
Tur looked on the man and boy with a smile as he cleaned himself up. As he ran the towel over his arms and torso, the newborn foal blinked up at him.
At his feet, the foal blinked up at him, unable to understand this new place, and stiffened in fear and confusion. He squatted down, placed his hand on the white star between eyes and closed his eyes.
Welcome to the world, child, he told the small colt. You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved…
The animal's muscles slowly relaxed. The colt closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. Somehow, he knew it was Tur who had given him this chance to emerge into the air and take his first breath. He knew it was Turamarth's hands that reached in and brought him out to the light, and that those hands were strong, and careful and loving.
The foal sent him such wave of such gratitude and happiness, the power of it knocked Tur off his haunches. With his other arm, he settled into a cross-legged position in the deep straw, and kept his hand on the animal's head, never breaking the connection.
You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved….
Only newborn creatures possessed joy this pure, this innocent, and Tur took a deep breath and allowed it to wash over him. The foal knew all this, somehow and remained perfectly still, pushing his head into Turamarth's hand.
You are safe, you are wanted, and you are very much loved….
At last Tur lifted his hand, wiping the tears that had fallen from his cheeks. The colt seemed to know the moment was over and began to struggle to his feet. Tur laughed, his vision still blurred, and helped the animal to stand and pointed him toward his mother, who inspected her new son thoroughly.
Daffyd had his arm around Bowen's shoulders, observing mother and child in hushed, reverent tones. The boy laughed as he glanced up at his foster father, who return his smile with fatherly pride. A barrier had come down between them, and now things were just as they should be.
Turamarth had grown to deeply care about this boy, and they would remain good friends for as long as Bowen lived, but it was right that Anna and Daffyd take their places in his life.
.
When the Guardian finally arrived home, he took a hot bath and crawled into bed, thinking of the new foal, and how its untainted happiness brushed against the scars on his own fëa, soaking into them, softening them.
And, as always, he thought about Evvy. How her hair caught the light, how her eyes grew bigger when she laughed, and the little furrow between her eyes that appeared when she was thoughtful.
And something in him, something he'd been afraid was gone forever, stirred in him. His hand tentatively moved from his chest down to his stomach. His breath caught, and his fingers curled with apprehension. What if it happened – or didn't happen – again?
It was there, the stirrings had always been there, but like a moth, it pounded against the window to get at the light inside, not understanding why it would never get in. The arousal would make him twitch, and the pressure begin to build. Tur would close his eyes, throw his head back and beg for release—
Then nothing.
With a frustrated Tur took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. No; this night was too perfect to spoil it again with failure.
Evvy's face appeared in his mind again. And he remembered her kisses, how her tongue pushed back against his as they explored each other's mouths. The feel of her breasts as she pressed into him, her small hips curling forward, and her long, long legs…
His hand of its own accord reached for his cock, and to his surprise, it was hard. He carefully curled his fingers around it, and stroked himself, slowly at first, then faster. He ran his thumb over the tip and used the precum to massage its cleft, and he grew harder.
His hips began to thrust up into his hand, as he placed the other one over his mouth to stifle his cries.
Evvy… Oh, stars, his beautiful Evvy, who wanted him in every way possible…
No bad memories this time. No image of a frightened, tortured Elleth beneath him. Just, Evvy, with her creamy skin, her beautiful full breasts and legs locked around him, crying out, begging him not to stop, as her body squeezed him tighter.
Five more strokes and Tur had to grab his pillow to contain his screams as he came all over his abdomen in thick white stripes. He thrust through his orgasm until his cock was finally spent, then flopped back against the mattress, gasping for breath.
"Na mhedui!" he croaked, and threw his arm over his eyes and laughed with gladness until tears flowed from his eyes
At long last, Turamarth Ómarion was whole again.
.
888
.
Lothlórien, 5th of September 2945 T.A.
As hard as it was to leave Turamarth and all the friends she had made in the North, Evranin was glad she came home. The Golden Wood had never seemed more beautiful. Evvy spent weeks looking at her homeland with new, more appreciative eyes. Never again would she take this for granted, she promised herself. The Mallorn trees, the walkways lined with flowerboxes, how the sun's rays peeked through the treetops to the Forest Floor. The first night, at the Lighting of the Lamps, Evvy closed her eyes and joined in the song and allowed the harmonies flow through her, joining the communion with the trees and all the living things in the Forest.
Ada was living with Orlin now, and their former home had new occupants. There was room for Evvy at Orlin's flet, but the Lady of Light had other ideas.
"I have prepared rooms for you in our private home," Galadriel said. "As a daughter you will be to me, for a little while."
"But My Lady, I cannot impose—"
"Please, Hênig," the Lady raised her hand to calm her, "allow me to explain. I owe you an apology, Evranin. I do not like to interfere in the personal lives of my subjects, but in your case, it was wrong of. I always respected your mother, and sympathized with her situation, but that is not excuse for allowing her behavior toward you."
"But you did not know," Evvy said.
"I should have made it my business to find out, I do know that. I could have worked with your mother to ease her anxiety. I could have done something for your father, and I could have eased your suffering, but I did not. It is one of my biggest regrets, and it is only by the grace of the Valar that you are all right." Galadriel smiled sadly. "I must also confess that I want to do this for selfish reasons."
"You could never be selfish, My Lady," Evvy shook her head.
"Can I not?" the Lady laughed. "I have a daughter as well; do you forget?"
"N-no, but—"
"The greatest joy of my life was raising her. I miss mothering, if I am honest. I'd like to do this for you, Evranin, if you will allow it."
Her rooms at Celeborn's and Galadriel's house were large, but not so ornate as to make her uncomfortable. The Lady had installed furniture with simple lines, with a comforter in her favorite color, and added shelves full of books. It was perfect.
Her days were full of satisfying work, long walks and frequent meals with Ada and Orlin, full of laughter and love.
Galadriel did mother her, but it was nothing like she'd had with Vériel. It was surprisingly difficult to accept praise and approval at first, but with time that deep chasm within her slowly shifted until it was closed altogether.
Maybe that was the most important reason to come back home. It was easy to turn a new leaf when she was among strangers in another land, but returning to Lothlórien meant facing her memories, facing the feelings she'd struggled with for most of her life. It was here she had endured her mother's constant disapproval, here where she'd learned to get through the days by curling up inside of herself, refusing to let anyone but Orlin truly see her heart.
On the days when these painful truths haunted Evvy, Galadriel opened her arms and held her tight as she poured out her heart.
"Cry as much as you need to, Aewpîn," she told her softly. "Grief for the lost years, grieve what could have been, do not keep it inside of you." The Lady stroked her head and murmured comfort and encouragement, but best of all, she listened.
But oh, how she missed Turamarth! She dreamed about him at night, longing to be with him, to wake up with him and go about their daily lives together. She also dreamed of them, locked in a passionate embrace, joining their bodies together until their fëas were one. What would it be like? Would she enjoy it? Every part of her longed for him.
Evvy wrote to Tur every day, sealing her letters with wax, and tied the packet with a silver ribbon, ready to for the Messenger to take them, picturing his face when he opened each one.
When the horn sounded and the messengers arrived, Evvy would drop what she was doing, lift up her skirts and race down the steps to the Forest Floor, waiting to be handed a stack of papers tied with a green ribbon, and her name written in his unique backward slant. With a squeal of delight, she held the packet to her bosom run to her rooms and throw herself on the bed and read every single one at least three times.
"Good morning," Galadriel said with a smile as she entered Evranin's chambers. "Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning, My Lady." The Elleth twisted around in her seat in front of the mirror and put down her brush. "Has the messenger come yet?"
Galadriel laughed softly, picked up the brush and ran it through Evvy's ash blonde locks in long, soothing strokes. Then she sectioned out a few strands in the front, brought them to the back and she arranged them in an intricate braid. "They are only a few days late, Aewpîn. Are you afraid your Guardian has forgotten about you so soon? From the thickness of the packet he sent last time, I highly doubt it."
"No," she met Galadriel's eyes through the mirror. "It's just that…" she pursed her lips. "I know he wants me, and I want him, and I know he still struggles from his attack here, but…" she bit her lip. "What is he waiting for? Why does he not write my father?
"Who is to say he has not?" Galadriel tied off the braid and arranged it in lovely swirls on the top of her head.
Evvy twisted out of her grip. "You mean he has? What does my father say?"
"The Lady made her face forward again, and continued to arrange her hair. She tilted her head, then went to the vase of flowers on her bedside table and took a few of the small lavender blossoms and place them in her hair. "You look lovely, my dear."
"Thank you, but please, My Lady; Can you not tell me something?" Evvy begged. "I know you 'see' things, and—"
"This is what I see," the Lady grasped her chin and turned her face upward. Her countenance had changed slightly as her eyes grew serious. "Your Guardian has been waiting, but before you agree to marry him, you must give him a gift."
"What kind of gift?" Evvy's mind filled with ideas. "Is it a tapestry? A piece of jewelry?"
"No, child," Galadriel's voice was kind, but compelling. "Your best gift is to listen without judgement, and once you know his darkest, most frightening secret, you must make him understand that you love him with all your heart." Her blue eyes gazed into Evranin's. "You must prove to him – and to yourself – how strong you really are."
"I do not understand," Evvy's voice trembled.
"I know, but I have faith in you," the Lady released her chin and kissed her brow. "Come; you are ready."
"For what?"
The Lady's smile was enigmatic. "The horns will be blowing in a few minutes. Do you not want to meet the Messenger when he arrives?"
"Oh, praise the Stars," Evvy rose and dashed to the door. Then she stopped and gave Galadriel a hug. "Thank you!"
.
By the time she reached the last step, the blast of the horns signaled the arrival of a visitors to Caras Galadhon. Several Elves had gathered, and gaily chatted amongst themselves as they waited. To have a small crowd waiting for the Messengers was not unusual, but something about this was different.
"Here they come!" one Elleth pointed to the road leading into the City.
"This is more than just a messenger," Evvy said.
"Of course, it is, Aewpîn." A voice behind her said.
She whirled around to see her father and her brother approach with excited grins. "Why are you here?"
"You will see," was all Óhtar would say, as he placed his hands on her shoulders.
The parade of Galadhrim, led by Marchwarden Haldir, along with his brothers Rúmil and Orophin entered Caras Galadhon. All were resplendent in their full dress armor.
At last, the light began to dawn. "Oh," she breathed, "Are they—"
But the rest of her sentence died in her throat. Behind the company of Wardens were six Guardians of the Woodland Realm, and their Commander was an Ellon with long mahogany hair and greenish blue eyes. He looked magnificent in his golden armor bearing the crest of his King, and his stallion was dressed to match. He sat straight and tall in the saddle, full of confidence and courage, but his eyes swept the crowd, searching…
Evranin couldn't stop her joyous cry, and pressed through the crowd, until she reached the front. At last the Commander's gaze fell upon her, and he dismounted, handing the reins to Rúmil, who was grinning from ear to ear.
Evvy could barely see through her tears but somehow managed to reach him. And Turamarth swept her up in his strong arms, lifted her off the ground and kissed her, to the delight and applause of the crowd.
Turamarth Ómarion, newly promoted to Captain, had come as part of the exchange program, and would remain in the Golden Wood – with her - for an entire year.
.
ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Belain hanni! – Thank the Valar!
Rista-Goel - "Terrible Severing," when a bond-mate dies and their fëa is summoned to the Halls of Mandos. Often a spouse fades from the agony, but even if they live, they are but a shell of their former selves.
Na mhedui! – At last!
.
NOTES:
1 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 20: /works/14127870/chapters/34855688
2 An Invincible Summer, Ch. 11: /works/14127870/chapters/33752517
3 From Lullaby Link: