ANNÚMINAS
by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Introduction

Rating: R, for some drastic images concerning surgery and other stuff.

Author's notes:
You did not think that getting a male spouse pregnant would be as easy as it goes with a woman, did you? Well, then you are wrong. Obviously.

2. TAKING THE RISK

[The 23rd day of Gwirith, in the year 3020 of the Third Age]

Having the Lord Elrond and his escort safely placed in the guest wing, Erestor, seneschal of Annúminas began with the preparations for the following day's big issue. Master Aiwendil had given very specific instructions of what needed to be done, and Lady Alatar, the only female among the heren istarion needed very specific instruments and rare herbs to make this perilous task work.

She had been living in Annúminas for several seasons by now (Erestor still could not bring himself to think of counting the time according the Steward's Reconing that had been adopted for the new, united realm), working her strong earth-magic on King Aratan's body, forcing it to changes that were never meant to happen to a male body, in order to make it able to conceive and bear a child.

The changes, though not yet visible in the outside, must have been rather unpleasant, mayhap even painful, and Erestor developed a certain amount of compassion towards the admittedly short-tempered King of Arnor, who already endured more indignities for this noble goal than most other Men ever would.

The seneschal made a mental check on all the preparations that had to be done, then nodded in satisfaction and continued towards the royal bedchambers where the actual fertilization was going to find place; for regardless of the outcome, it was a dangerous process, and King Aratan was not alloved to be moved afterwards.

The High King was already there when Erestor arrived, speaking qiuetly with his father and sister. He had discarded his kingly robes in favor of the simple, silvery-green tunic and leggings he used to wear during all his hundreds of years as an Orc-hunter in the Wild. His narrow face, framed by the unbraided, raven-black hair that moved with a life of its own, lifting in the slight morning breeze like the fringles of a silken scarf, was even paler than usual - and fair beyond even Elven measure, which was understandable, considering that the blood of Melian the Maia ran in his veins.

All tongues praised Arwen Undómiel's exquisite beauty, and with right so; yet it made Erestor wonder at times, how no-else seemed to realize the elegant and noble fairness of her eldest brother, looking at whom it seemed as if Dior Eluchíl would walk the paths of Arda once again.

No-else but the Man who just entered in that very moment, of course.

King Aratan was a warrior born, this much was obvious from his movements - if not from his rich attire that mirrored his high position among the children of long-lost Númenórë. A mortal Man amongst the Elves and Istrari, sure of himself in these still unfamiliar surroundings, even though his true home was hundreds of leagues away. The Sword of Elendil that swung sheathed at his waist seemed almost a part of his body, and in his grey-blue eyes there lingered the sad knowledge of the horrors of war that he had learned all too well, having spent most of his life as a soldier.

A noble Man, indeed, Erestor decided, not for the first time.

And fair he was as well, though very different from his beloved Lord and spouse. Kingly he looked, clad in black leathers and burgundy velvets, richly embroidered with gold, just as his shoulder-long, dark mane was interwoven with golden tresses. In sunlight he almost seemed blonde, when the golden beams of Anor created a halo of light around his proud head.

He was less tall than the High King, yet more heavily built, in the way of mortal Men, with strong limbs, a broad chest and great shoulders. Who would have thought that he already bore a womb under all that hard muscle? A womb, that had been cereated by potent herbs and very strong earth magic, and that had grown in him slowly and painfully during the recent seasons.

In he came with the long, swift strides of the born warrior he was, grabbed the High King like some fair maiden (though he would have no chance against the Peredhil's greater strength) and kissed him roughly on the mouth, before the eyes of every one.

''Ready?'', he asked.

Aranel laughed and kissed him back just as soundly.

''Tis that I should ask from you, jewel of my throne(1)'', he answered.

The Man rolled his eyes and groaned.

''Honestly, Elladan, had I known of this silly Elven custom of name-giving, I might have reconsidered wedding you.''

''Would you?'', the High King asked, suddenly very serious; and his spouse sighed.

''Nay, I think not that I could have done that. I need you more than I need air to breathe. Let us do this, love, as long as I can hold on to my courage.''

''I worry not about your courage, King Aratan'', the wizardress smiled. ''Few males would even consider doing what you are about to do; Men even less than Elves. Well; the preparations have been made. It is up to you now - to both of you.''

Unlike the male wizards, she did not look truly old (though Aiwendil, for example, looked considerably younger than Curunír and Mithrandir had looked when they were still alive). She wore the guise of a somewhat short, plump, middle-aged woman, with her reddish-brown hair turned into a tight knot on the nape of her neck, She was clad in blue, of course, just as her brother with whom she had walked the East of Middle-earth during the Third Age, and blue were her small, deep and wise eyes, too, the orbs framed with dark grey rings and spotted with gold.

Glorfindel, who had known her back in the Blessed Realm, said once that she did not look very different in Valinor either, not feeling the need to wear an overly beautiful fana(2) in order to draw attention. Her spirit was shining through her modest outer shell like a living fire anyway.

Now she watched with benevolent concern as Elladan undressed his beloved spouse with great care, bathing him with kisses during the whole process. She let him take his time - for not even she could promise with absolute certainty that the High King would get yet another chance to taste the kisses of his spouse. Boromir might have easily died, either during the fertilization or during the pregnancy or birthing their child... even more so than young Lindir. For what was an advantage in battle, his strong, hard-muscled body, was a hindrance in this, resisting the necessary changes far more than it had been expected.

Though we should have expected it, the wizardress thought ruefully. He never allowed himself to be weak. This goes against everything he was raised to do.

Now that both partners had gotten ready, everything had to be made very quickly, since their seed would not remain fertile long after having left their body. It had to be freshly spent, straight into the prepared container, mixed, so that the child would be born from both of them, and delivered into the womb with the help of a long, slender glass pipe - through a very delicate cut.

When Elladan had first heard that his beloved would have to be cut open both by the fertilization and by the birth, he nearly backed off, throwing rather his whole High Kingdship away. It was Boromir who insisted going through the risky procedure - for he wanted children with his beloved King badly, children that were from their own flesh and blood, not only heirs by adoption.

Thus he now lay on his back in their wide bed, covered with fresh sheets save his abdomen, and clutched Elladan's slender hand tightly with his big one. It was painfully obvious to any one present that he was frightened, mayhap more so than on any battlefield in his whole life - for dying in battle was soemthing he could understood, something he was prepared for.

This, on the other hand, was a path he never intended to tread. This was messing with earth magic and Elven sorcery, and when the healers and the wizardress surrounded him, he was near panic already. Only the closeness of his beloved could keep him from leaping to his feet and running away.

''Hold his shoulders and his legs very tightly'', the wizardress isntructed Elrond and Erestor, while Arwen, with the long apron of a healer bound over her gown, stood ready with the glass pipe. ''I cannot use much of the numbing salve, for the muscles must not go limp, or else the wound would not close soon enough.''

Elrond nodded; as the best Elven healer of the western lands, he had several millennia to learn how the body reacted to medicine and tampering. The wizardress now turned to her patient.

''This shall be rather... painful, I fear. Are you ready, King Aratan?''

''Just do it!'', Boromir hissed through clenched teeth, sweat pouring from every pore of his body. He hated to be afraid, yet he could hardly deny that he was mortified. Being cut open by full consciousness was not his idea of a good time.

With a quick and steady hand, the wizardress made the necessary incision; it was a small cut but rather deep, going through not only the abdominal muscles but through the wall of the newly-grown womb as well. Boromir bit his lower lip to hold back a scream; regardless of the previously applied numbing salve, it still hurt like hell. He thanked the Valar for the strength of deceivingly slender Elven hands that kept him immobile, or else his involuntary jerks would have caused a rather bloody mess, mayhap even damaging vital organs under the knife of his surgeon.

It hurt even more when the wizardress widened the wound with small mithril clamps enough for Arwen to carefully toss the needle-thin end of the glass pipe through the cut and empty it into the womb. In his agony he could feel Elladan's fingers tighten around his hand, as if he tried to absorb some of his pain.

The wizardress now murmured the necessary spell for their seed to bond in the womb; one so powerful that it sent Boromir's whole body into convulsions. Three pairs of hands had a hard time to keep him restrained, while Elrond moved Vilya, the greatest of all Elven rings above the incision to seal it. When Boromir relaxed a little, Arwen brought forth Nenya, to unite its power with Vilya, and the wizardress joined them, bringing in the power of Narya, the Ring of Fire, as well.

With the boundled powers of the Three they were able to seal the wound, leaving behind an angry red scar only, among the many other, faded ones that marred Boromir's body.

''This will fade with time, too'', the wizardress promised, ''though I shall have to reopen it when the time of birth comes.''

''Is it done?'', Elladan asked, cleaning the sweat-covered face of his spouse with a damp cloth. ''Is he safe?''

''For the time being, he is, ''the wizardress nodded. ''You must not let him move for at least two hours; and even after that, the most he is allowed to do is to turn in bed.''

''I shall see to all his needs'', Elladan promised.

''How long til.. we know whether... we succeeded?'' Boromir asked, breathing heavily. The last thing he wanted was another attempt, any time soon.

''Ten days, most likely'', the wizardress answered. ''There should be no further pain for a while - if there is, send for me at once, for that would be a bad sign, indeed.''

''I shall not leave his side til we have certainty'', Elladan swore. ''Father offered me to look after the affairs of our kingdom, so that I can remain with my spouse all the time.''

''Tis a good thing'', said the wizardress, ''for he shall need your support in the next few days more than he ever had or in his whole life. Now, we must take our leave from you, High King Aranel, for our other patient is waiting anxiously for our arrival.''

''What other patient?'', Erestor asked with an icy breath of foreboding surrounding his heart.

The wizardress gave her a surprised look.

''Now, if any one, you certainly should know it, my good Elf. After all, 'tis your own child that should be planted into the body of young Lindir.''

At that, Erestor became pale like Death itself. No, it could not be... All of a sudden he understood the subtle changes he unconsciously registered in his spouse's behaviour: the slight mood swings, the overwhelming need to cuddle and to be hold, the lost of appetite - Lindir was going through the same process as the King of Arnor. He just bore it better, being and Elf and more adaptable. But that his beloved could have done it beyond his back...

''You know that I disagreed with him in this'', he said accusingly. ''how could you allow him to do this, against my wishes?''

''Because it was what he wished badly, and since it is his body he brought to risk, it also was his decision to make'', the wizardress replied sternly. ''In your over-protectiveness you seem to forget that Lindir is a grown Elf - and that he has certain rights as your lawfully wedded spouse. Among them the right to conceive and bear your child, if that is what he wants... and if 'tis doable.''

''And if 'tis not?'', Erestor asked. ''What if something goes wrong and I lose him?''

''Tis a risk'', the wizardress agreed, ''but if he is willing to take it, you have no right to deny him the children he so badly wishes. No-one of us would have considered doing this, were we not deep in preparations for your Kings already. But since we were to do such a perilous task anyway, we could not deny Lindir the same help we provided the royal couple. Nor have you the right to withhold your seed from him.''

Elrond left Boromir's side and laid a comforting hand upon his foster son's shoulder.

''Come now, Erestor'', he said, ''deny not this gift from your beloved. You are one of the very few married male couples in this realm; you must understood Lindir's wish for a fruit of your love. Have faith; he is young and strong and very adaptable - I strongly believe that the risk if very small for him. And have you not said yourself that he would look beautiful, swollen with your child?(3)''

Erestor gave his foster father a weak smile.

''I have, indeed. But at that time I thought that to be a safe jest.''

''Sometimes there are risks you just have to take'', said Elrond gravely. ''Come now. Let him not wait. He has been so anxious that you would be angry with him that he was uanble to eat or sleep for days.''

The healers left the royal bedchambers, and Elladan sat down on the edge of the bed with a relieved sigh.

''I am glad that it is done, beloved. Now, how do you feel?''

''Strange'', Boromir answered. ''I have been feeling strange ever since the whole thing began. As if my body were not mine any more.''

''Well, fortunately I have no doubts whatsoever that it is still mine'', Elladan laughed gently, taking one large hand in his slender ones and kissing each figner separately. ''Are you in much pain from that cut?''

''It hurts'', Boromir admitted, ''though not badly - tis more a tingle than real pain. And I feel dizzy... my mind is somewhat clouded.''

''No wonder; that was a mightily strong spell'', Elladan bent down and kissed his brow. ''Can I do something to make it better?''

''You can'', Boromir smiled, despite his confused feelings. ''Come, lie to me and hold me... and sing to me as you wont, so that I can sleep. I truly need to sleep now.''

''You are not a demanding patient'', Elladan smiled; then he swiftly unclothed himself and slid under the sheet to his spouse. ''Now, what shall I sing you?''

''That song in Old Quenya you taught me after our wedding'', Boromir murmured, halfways asleep already.

Elladan smiled, remembering the playful days after their wedding, and how fond of this rather peculiar song his beloved had grown - then he raised his upper body on one elbow, and taking Boromir's left in his other hand, he softly began to sing.

Ilu Ilúvatar en káre eldain a fírimoin
ar antaróta mannar Valion: númessier.
Toi aina, mána, meldielto - enga morion:
talantie. Melko Mardello lende: márie.
En kárielto eldain Isil, hildin Úr-anar.
Toi írimar. Ilyain antalto annar lestanen
Ilúvatáren. Ilu vanya, fanya, eari,
i-mar, ar ilqa ímen. Írima ye Númenor.
Nan úye sére indo-ninya símen, ullume;
ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel ar i narqelion,
íre ilqa yéva nótina, hostainiéva, yallume:
ananta úva táre fárea, ufárea!
Man táre antáva nin Ilúvatar, Ilúvatar
enyáre tar i tyel, íre Anarinya qeluva?

End notes:

(1) A playful twist of the name Boromir. Bor = faithful wassal, mír = jewel.
(2) The physical form of a Vala or a Maia. As you most likely know, the Wizards were Maiar, in Mannish disguise.
(3) This particular statement of Erestor is made in my third Boromir-story, ''Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love'', at the end of Chapter 3.
(4) The song is an original poem of Tolkien, found on the Ardalambion website, where his poems are also listed. The translation, as it is below, is from the Great Maker, too.

The Father made the World for Elves and Mortals
and he gave it into the hands of the Lords. They are in the West.
They are holy, blessed, and beloved: save the dark one.
He is fallen. Melko [Melkor] has gone from Earth: it is good.
For Elves they made the Moon, but for Men the red Sun;
which are beautiful. To all they gave in measure the gifts
of Ilúvatar. The World is fair, the sky, the seas,
the earth, and all that is in them. Lovely is Númenor.
But my hearth resteth not here for ever,
for here is ending, and there will be an end and the Fading,
when all is counted, and all numbered at last,
but yet it will not be enough, not enough.
What will the Father, O Father, give me
in that day beyond the end when my Sun faileth?