A Very Gondor Christmas

By The Last Evenstar

Chapter Five: What Child Is This?

Faramir shook his head as he stood over his wife. "Only you, Eowyn. Only you."

The shieldmaiden grimaced from her bed in the House of Healing. "So it was my fault. It could easily have happened to anyone else!"

Faramir grinned lovingly and sat down by her. "But it happened to you, like so much else does. One of these days you're going to find yourself in real danger."

Eowyn rolled her eyes. "I've had real danger. It's not that much fun. And no one could have seen that throwing that snowball might cause an avalanche."

"You see what I mean? No one else I know can manage to get an avalanche out of a snowball!"

"You don't know Pippin? My aim was having an off day!"

"Your aim was very precise. You managed to hit the exact spot that would cause all that snow to fall from the overhang. A remarkable feat for a snowball."

"It had a rock inside."

"Oh."

"Yes." They lapsed into silence, Faramir chuckling softly to himself. Across the room, Eldarion began to cry.

"I want my Naneth!"

Eowyn looked around. "Where is Imrahil?"

"Assisting the Queen. Why don't you comfort him?"

"Me? I hate children!"

Eldarion raised his voice. "I'm the prince! Somebody get my Naneth!"

Despite herself, Eowyn collapsed in hopeless laughter. "Faramir, why don't you take him to Legolas' pageant?"

The Steward bit his lip. "He's sick, Eowyn. Aragorn would have my head if anything happened."

Eldarion was now jumping up and down on the bed, wailing. "He doesn't look that sick to me."

Just then, Eomer and a party of Rohirrm entered loudly and bounded over to the bed where Lothliriel was resting.

"Deck the halls with bows of holly!

"Fa la la la la, la la la la!"

The Queen of the Riddermark groaned and buried her head in a pillow. "It was bad enough that Eowyn should sing for three hours straight, worse that I should have to listen, and now you come in here to heap upon my misery?"

Eomer's voice was jolly and more than a little slurred. "Come, my love! Join in the merriment! There's no reason to stay here, you have but a slight cold!"

Lothliriel managed to drag herself out of bed and smile blearily at her husband. "You're going to make me watch Legolas' pageant, aren't you?"

Pippin, Sam, and Merry were sitting in a corner with Rosie, Estella, and one of their friends when a frantic Legolas rushed up to them. "Help! I need your help!"

Pippin leapt up, fumbling with a butter knife. "Who is after you?"

Legolas brushed his hand back. "A few ladies in waiting. But that's not important." He cleared his throat and put on a pleading look. "We need a baby for our pageant."

Sam looked confused. "We didn't bring Elanor, sir. And if we had, she'd still be a bit big."

Legolas looked crestfallen. "You didn't? I'm sure I saw a hobbit child running around yesterday. And, well – she's a hobbit, Sam, no, offense, she could be ten and still the right size."

Merry looked up. "Where'd you see the child, Legolas? I didn't think anyone came but our friends and Rosie's."

"In the kitchen. Silly little thing was taking advantage of the mayhem and stealing cookies."

Pippin felt his face go red. "That was me, I think."

Legolas clapped his hands in delight. "Perfect! You can be Jesus!"

Pippin backed away, his butter knife pointed carefully. "No! Stay away from me!"

"Oh, please!" Legolas pleaded. "It's almost showtime!"

"No!"

The elf sighed. "You have no Christmas spirit."

"Just because I won't humiliate myself by acting as an infant?" Pippin muttered as he walked away.

The other five were laughing hysterically. Rosie's friend looked up shyly at Pippin. "I think you'd make an adorable baby."

The hobbit scowled. "You'd make an adorable dish of custard."

She giggled. "Thanks! I love custard."

"Really? So do I!"

She giggled again. "Let's go raid the kitchen!"

Pippin smiled gratefully for this relief and took her arm. "What's your name, lass?"

"Diamond."

"Arwen! You can do it, Arwen! I'm here for you, meleth nin!" Aragorn's mouth was no longer his own. Behind the words of encouragement was terror. This birth was taking longer than Eldarion's, and seemed to cause his wife more pain than he remembered. Just looking at her in such a state made him furious and terrified at the same time.

Imrahil glanced up. "All right. It's time. Arwen, PUSH!"

The Queen's lip bled as she bit it to sustain from screaming. Aragorn did hear cries of pain as Arwen suffered, but realized they came from himself. In trying to draw them back he choked and fell to the floor, hearing somewhere in his mind the clock strike midnight. When he looked up, Arwen was sobbing joyfully and Imrahil was holding up a bloody child, wailing for all it was worth.

"It's a girl!"

As Arwen's sobs turned practically to jubilant hysterics, Aragorn stared in wonderment at the child. It made no difference that he had done this before; all that mattered was this precious baby, his baby, Arwen's baby, their baby.

The infant was lowered slowly into her mother's arms. Aragorn bent over the bed and Arwen moved to make room for him. They stared at the little child. She was spattered with blood and wet to the touch, but in their eyes she was perfect. Her cheeks were chubby and pleasantly pink, not the unhealthy red of most newborns. The faintest tufts of dark hair gathered at her crown, wet and plastered down. Aragorn touched the tip of her perfect, rounded ears and found a tiny point, distinctly Elven to the touch.

For reverent moments they lay there and cuddled their daughter. Finally, Arwen looked up, tears sparkling in her crystal eyes. "What shall we call her?"

Aragorn spoke tenderly. "It must be perfect. Our little princess, born on Christmas Day."

Arwen looked up in surprise. "Is it Christmas?"

Aragorn smiled and kissed her lightly. "It is indeed. Merry Christmas to you, meleth nin."

Arwen's face lit up as the baby moved her fingers experimentally and touched her mother's face. "Our little angel! We shall call her Silmiesin, our Christmas Star."

"Star of Winter," murmured Aragorn, liking the name and the translation. "Beautiful little Silmiesin. Is that your name?" he asked the child. She gurgled in response and the King laughed. "I guess so."

Arwen was crying softly. "I have a daughter," she said, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

Aragorn kissed the top of her head. "She's almost as beautiful as her mother." And that's the truth, he thought, looking at his lovely wife holding their beautiful daughter. The light from the snow outside glistened through the window, bathing the two women he loved most in radiant shimmer. They're perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And in the dining hall, the curtains opened. Legolas stepped out and cleared his throat. Oh, great, thought Faramir. We're really in for it now.

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