A Very Gondor Christmas

By The Last Evenstar

Chapter Four: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Legolas was choreographing a dance routine for his pageant when it happened. He would remember the moment as on of doubly great joy, for just as Aragorn burst through the hall doors his dancers had gotten the hop-spin-kick-spin sequence right for the first time.

"Everybody stop!" The King's shout rang throughout the hall. "Get out now! The Queen is having her baby!"

At once there was a flurry of activity. Everyone, in trying to get out of the way, succeeded only in getting in it. Legolas looked on helplessly as his dance team broke and scattered.

Aragorn was close to hysterics. "Somebody find Imrahil! Now! Clear the way!" He led a calm Arwen into the hall. "Take it easy! Are you all right? Do you need help?" He turned on a hapless Faramir. "Where's Eowyn? She's supposed to assist the Queen!"

Faramir shrugged. "Out, I suppose. With Lothliriel."

Aragorn guided his wife into their bedchamber, only to find the room full of hobbits playing and elaborate Christmas drinking game. "Out!" he roared. "Out now! The Queen is giving birth!"

Arwen winced and gave him a pained smile. "I'm not giving birth ye –" She winced and doubled over as her first contraction came. "Aragorn!"

"It's all right, I'm here, I'm all right." He laid her softly on the bed. She was almost writhing in pain. The sight stabbed him to the very heart. "Arwen, meleth nin, I'm here, I've got you!"

Her words came through gritted teeth. "This – is – all – your – fault!"

"Arwen, oh, I'm sorry! We'll never have another baby –"

She relaxed as her contraction ended. "I was joking. But please, I need Imrahil!"

Aragorn turned to the array of hobbits, who had been watching their exchange with fascination. "You heard the Queen! Go find Imrahil! She's an old nurse . . . answers to the name of Imrahil . . ." His mind felt like it was escaping. As the hobbits scurried out, he tried to gain control over his thoughts. Unexpected visitors . . . ruined family Christmas . . . Legolas' pageant . . . my child is about to be born!

He kneeled by Arwen's bed and grasped her hand so tight she cried out in pain. "Is it coming? What do I need to do?"

She laughed, a hard edge to her voice. "Relax, Aragorn. It will be hours and hours before the baby comes. I should not be so lucky as to have it soon."

"I'll be right here. I'll stay by your side through the whole thing –"

"Lord Aragorn?" Imrahil entered the room, several nurses in tow. "Your son is crying out for you. I suggest you see him immediately."

Seeing the hesitation in her husband's eyes, Arwen urged him out. "Go. I've done this before; I'll be all right."

He turned to Imrahil. "Send for me directly if anything happens."

She bowed. "Yes, Lord."

The king stumbled blindly down the hall. On his way, he could hear snippets of conversation, but his head was too full to absorb anything.

"I didn't know she was actually pregnant! I thought it was sort of a Christmas-themed costume!"

"Pippin, you are the stupidest of all creatures I know!"

"That's it! Heel-spin-toe-spin-fall! Spirit fingers, everybody!"

"You're saying that my wife and sister are missing and you've done nothing about it?"

"I'm sorry, Eomer, it's been so hectic –"

Hectic, thought Aragorn. Yes, it has been hectic.

He entered his son's room and found the boy wrapped up in a plethora of quilts. "Eldarion, my son! What happened?"

The child's voice was small and weak. "I'm sorry, Ada. I went horsey-ride with Eyore-mir. He got me cold."

The king sat by his son's bed. "That's all right, my boy. I'm not mad."

Eldarion sniffled. "Now I'm sick for Christmas Eve." He looked so forlorn that Aragorn wanted to laugh.

"Ah, you've just got a cold, maybe a case of the chills. You'll be up and terrorizing the populace before you know it."

"Ter-er-eye-zing?"

Aragorn thought. "Behaving like a ranger instead of a Prince."

The boy settled back into his bed, satisfied. "Tell me stories of when you were a ranger."

"Hmmmm." Aragorn smiled as he recalled long-distant memories. "I'll tell you the story of Mirkwoodstock. It was back in the summer of sixty-nine . . ."

"Sixty-nine?"

"2969*. Back in the Second Age. I was a young ranger, your mother had dismissed me and broken my heart, and on my way to Rohan . . ."

". . . and by the time we got to Mirkwoodstock, we were half a million strong! There was song, and celebration . . ." Aragorn looked over to see his son sleeping quietly, sucking his thumb. He smiled and lifted the quilts over the small boy. "Sleep well, Eldarion." Suddenly, he remembered Arwen and the baby. Gasping and jumping up, he pondered how much time had gone by. He raced down the hall, narrowly avoiding four hobbits and a scullery maid.

Aragorn swung open the chamber doors with hasty authority. "Arwen! What's happening? Did I miss it?"

Imrahil glared him into meek submission. Arwen lay on the bed, gasping painfully. Aragorn turned to the nurse in desperation. "Can't you make that stop?"

Imrahil rolled her eyes. "You'd think that he might remember anything at all about last time," she said to Arwen, who gave a weak chuckle.

A young nurse stepped forward. "Only thirty seconds. You have a while yet."

Aragorn groaned. How can I take this? He knelt by the bed and squeezed his wife's hand. "It's all right, meleth. Just breathe. I'm right here."

Imrahil snorted. "Breathe. So he does remember."

A servant girl approached Aragorn. "Begging pardon, Your Highness, but Master Legolas would like a word concerning the pageant to be held tonight."

Aragorn scowled. "I thought I told him to pageant!"

Arwen cut in, her face red and brow damp with sweat. "Let him have it."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "All right. Tell him I don't care, do whatever he wants." Disturbing images immediately filled his mind. "Within reason!"

Faramir was frantic. What could have happened to them? They were just going for a walk! He shook his head and tried to clear his mind. Eowyn and Lothliriel left three hours ago for a brisk, ten-minute walk. Where did they go? It was hopeless. He wandered into the courtyard despondently, hoping that the search parties would find his wife and her sister-in-law. He glanced at the sky. It was quickly growing dark. Eowyn!

"My Lord Faramir!" The Steward turned to see Beregond running toward him. "Come quickly! We have located the ladies Eowyn and Lothliriel in a dire state of emergency!"

Faramir took off. "What is it? Where are they?"

Beregond's breath shone in the cold. "Trapped in a snowbank off of the outer wall!"

Faramir ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He reached the wall where several guards were trying frantically to dig against the pouring snow. "Eowyn! Eowyn! Can you hear me?"

A voice echoed dully from the cave-in. "Jolly-well. Did you bring me snow-be-gone in a jar?"

Eomer had also arrived, and was squinting through the growing storm. "Is Lothliriel all right?"

It was Eowyn who answered. "She's very cold. Her lips are blue and she's half-conscious."

Eomer began to attack the snow viciously. "Dammit, why is it so hard?"

Faramir strained to see his friend. "It's a blizzard, coming in full force! We have to get them out!"

In the icy shelter, they could hear Eowyn trying to make light of it. "Chestnuts rooooooasting on an open fire! Jack Froooooooost gnawing off your nose!"

Eomer groaned. "Make it stop!" With a burst of strength, he succeeded in grabbing Eowyn's hand through the iciness. Faramir looked on in relief as the guards managed to extract the two women. He rushed over to Eowyn and wrapped her in his cloak, heedless of the dropping temperature.

Lothliriel looked half-dead. "That was the worst three hours of my life!"

Eomer guided her gently inside. "Were you that cold? Your coat looks pretty heavy to me . . ."

"I meant being trapped in a five-foot cave-in with your sister."

The King nodded. "That would be terrifying."

Aragorn winced as each contraction came.

"They're getting longer and closer," remarked Imrahil. "It won't be long now."

Just as Arwen breathed deeply for a short respite, a servant girl approached Aragorn once again. "Excuse me, my Lord, but Master Legolas wishes to move the festivities to midnight so you and perhaps the Queen will be able to attend."

Aragorn's nerves were frayed; he spoke sharply. "The Queen will not be attending any festivities anytime soon! Tell Legolas to do whatever he wants, but I'm having a baby right now, so don't bother me!"

The girl scampered off, a little frightened. Aragorn turned back to his wife. "Come on, Arwen, you can do it. Do it for the daughter you want!"

Imrahil watched grimly as the Queen began to moan once more. "Here it comes."

*Check the book. This is in the actual years when Aragorn goes out and has all his ranger-like adventures. *gloats* I am so acurate! Take that, Hanna Soorosh!