ANNÚMINAS
by Soledad
Disclaimer: see in the Introduction
Rating: R, for some rather... descriptive surgery.
Author's notes:
The time we all feared is finally there. The royal family is
about to get their offspring. But the way there is not easy.
CHAPTER 6: THE BIRTH
[The 25th day of Gwirith(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age]
Aud of the deep eyes, Queen of Rohan, awoke from her nap and got ready to visit the newest member of Annúminas' Elven population. The treatment she was getting from the Lord Elrond and that strange wizardress was not always pleasant and made her sleepy and dizzy most of the time, but at least gave her the hope that she would be able to have children, after all. At her age(2) she could not hope for more than one child, actually, but that still was more than she had ever dreamed of, and Théoden was overjoyed, of course, even though he had already named Éomer as his rightful heir(3). But the King of Rohan wanted a child much more than he needed an heir, and his wife shared his opinion.
Alas, the same sentiment made Théodred so over-protective that it cost Aud some effort to lead a more or less normal life. They decided to remain in Annúminas for some time, til her treatment was completed (giving Éomer the chance to try out his ruling abilities), and Aud soon enlisted the help of the Elven servants to get away from her husband's suffocating protectiveness every time and again. Luckily for her, the Elves proved to be very practical and down-to-earth creatures, despite their ethereal looks, and readily conspired with her every time she needed a little air to breathe.
Like right now.
Not that in this particular case she would have needed much help, for they stayed in the guest room of the royal palace, only a corridor or two away from where Erestor and Lindir, considered part of the royal family, lived. So, while that venerably-looking, gold-haired Elf-lord whose long and complicated name she was not able to spell yet, distracted Théodred with some hair-raising tales about slaying ancient monsters, she could easily slip away to see the baby.
The baby! With customary Elven reliability, sweet little Linnis(4), the first Elven-child that had been born in centuries, arrived at the precise first anniversary of her conception - with quite some help, of course, since her mother, well, was not a mother but another father. The Elves had a peculiar word in their Ancient Tongue(5) for male child-bearers - one that could not be translated, not even into the Elven tongue they spoke now(6). Still, calling Lindir the baby's mother sounded weird for Aud's ears.
Nevertheless, the sight that greeted her in Erestor and Lindir's bedroom was one of blessed motherhood if she had ever seen one. Lindir sat in a large armchair, nested in the embrace of Erestor and nursed their baby. The little one seemed to be an earnest feeder, resting her tiny hands on Lindir's chest, devoted to her task, not the least disturbed by her parents kissing passionately while she ate.
Aud cleared her throat politely to make the two distracted Elves notice her arrival. They looked at her and Lindir blushed like a maiden; it was, indeed, hard to recognize him as a male at times, though he had once playfully offered to get naked and show all the proof that was needed... which offer earned him a jealous scowl from Erestor.
''Lady Aud!'', he greeted her cheerfuly. ''Came to see our little sunshine? Have a seat, we are almost done, then you can hold her.''
''You would let me?'', Aud asked, surprised and moved at the same time, aching to have the baby in her arms. Lindir grinned mischievously.
''If you mind not the blurping... she likes being held. I do believe it runs in the family'', he added with a silver laughter, burrowing himself even deeper into Erestor's arms.
''Well, tis very enjoyable for both sides'', Erestor commented, nibbling gently on his earlobe. Lindir shivered visibly; Aud was sure that it came not from the cold.
''Not now, melme. You know to what this would lead and we should not embarrass the Queen of Rohan, should we?''
''We of the Mark are not easily embarrassed'', Aud laughed. ''But what about Boromir... I mean King Aratan? Is he not overdue?''
''He is'', Erestor sobered at once. ''In fact, the lady wizard and the healers decided to take the babies in the next morrow. The little ones seem to be faring well enough, but King Aratan cannot bear them much longer. They ate up all his strength.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Alas, this was very much the sad truth: the wizardress had come to the hard decision to take the babies, regardless of ''the time of their own choosing'', as she said.
''Which would be hard to determine anyway, under these circumstances'', she added drily.
''But you were able to determine Lindir's time!'', accused Éowyn, feeling, as usual, very protective about her brother-in-law(7).
''True, but Lindir allowed his baby to grow undisturbed, instead of fighting her all the time'', the wizardress sighed. ''His acceptance made things for him so much easier... his body had shown very similar reactions to that of a woman. King Aratan, on the other hand, has been fighting an ongoing battle, ever since we began with the whole thing... not only against his own body but against two stubborn, pig-headed fathers who simply cannot accept his and the High King's choices.''
''The Lord Denethor is known as a man of very strong opinions'', Éowyn agreed sourly, remembering what little her husband had told him about his childhood.
''And you think Elrond is any better?'', the wizardress snorted. ''I regret to say, Arwen, but your father is being just as unreasonable as Denethor is... with even less excuse. He still sees in Aratan naught else but the filthy mortal who has taken his firstborn from him, instead of seeing the fulfillment he had brought to his son's life.''
''And Boromir knows that'', Éowyn added angrily. ''He knows he is tolerated at best; though all these haughty Northern Dúnedain should be grateeful to have such a good King. He might have his faults, but he is a very brave man who would do anything for the good of his land, and they just cannot see it!''
She chose not to speak of her own less-than-pleasant encounters with Dúnadan haughtiness. But she could understand Boromir's sorrow better than any one else. She, too, was only tolerated for her husband's sake, after all. But at least her father-in-low seemed to like her - as much as he could like any one.
''Honestly, his troubles as a King are less urgent at this very moment'', the wizardress said. ''I wish we could make his father to go to him and give him some support. He would sorely need the help of his family right now.''
''Faramir does what he can!'', Éowyn answered defensively. Indeed, her husband spent more time in his brother's bedroom than in their own, but the Lady Steelsheen(8) did not mind. Boromir needed support more than she did - and should Faramir turned as over-protective as Théodred had, it surely had driven her mad.
''I know'', the wizardress sighed, ''and his efforts are highly appreciated. But tis his father's support Aratan craves more than anything else, and it would be of great importance for him to have it, if we want him to survive the upcoming day.''
''Is it?'' Éowyn rose, and her fair, pale face became cold and hard like ice; had either the wizardress or Arwen seen her as Dernhelm on the battlefield, they would have found that expression eerily familiar. ''Then I shall see to it that he gets what he needs. If I have to drag that brick-headed old man by his beard to his son's bed, then by Béma, I shall do so!''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
What ever she had told the Lord Denethor, it remained their secret, but the Steward of Gondor did show up in the next morrow before the royal chambers.
''One does not argue with the Nazgúl Slayer'', he drily answered to Faramir's astonished question concerning his appearance. ''Not when she has a sword at hand.''
But his eyes were full of sorrow and regret, and Faramir knew perfectly well that it had been more than just Éowyn's threats, no matter how earnestly spoken, that finally moved his father to give in.
''Boromir shall be grateful for your presence'', he said quietly; ''and so am I. Come with me, father.''
He led the old man in the inner bedchamber that was well-lit for a change, for the heavy curtains had been pulled aside, so that the healers had no difficulties to see by this delicate task. In the middle of the chamber there stood a low, marble-plated table, and Boromir already lay upon it, covered with fresh white sheets, except his abdomen, his head resting on Elladan's lap - who, just like the healers themselves, was wearing a long, loose apron. The wizardress, Arwen and Elrond were just about to begin.
Hearing their footsteps approaching, Boromir turned his head towards the door and gave his brother a weak smile... then he froze.
''Father...? Elladan, too, looked up, hesitating between fear and hope.
''May I... can I stay with my son?'', Denethor asked. His throat was so tight he could barely speak. Ere someone could answer, though, Boromir stretched out an arm towards him.
''Father... You have come.''
''I should have come earlier'', Denethor took his hand in a tight grip. ''Forgive me, my son.''
''You are here now'', Boromir murmured, knowing well how much such a public apology must have cost his proud father, ''when I need you most... We can begin, lady wizard. I am ready.''
And he truly was. For the very first time since that dreadful day when his father had confronted him about the true nature of his affections, he was truly, completely in peace.
The wizardress gave him a long, piercing look - then she smiled.
''Good. Tis about time. Now, we have some poppy extract here. Do you want to sleep through the process?''
''Nay'', said Boromir quietly but firmly. ''I might not wake up - and if anything goes wrong, I wish not to die in my sleep, without a last look at those I love. Cannot you use that numbing salve on me again?''
''We can'', Arwen said, ''but that will be of little help. This is no small incision we shall have to make. To take two babies and remove the womb itself needs a really long, nasty cut. There will be much pain.''
''No more than by being slashed across one's stomach by the battle-axe of a cave troll'', Boromir answered, ''and I have survived that.''
The healers exchanged questioning looks; then Elrond shrugged.
''Tis your choice. Numbing salve it is.''
Arwen applied said salve upon and around the neatly-healed scar of the original incision they were about to re-open rather than make a new cut, for its position was the most promising to reach the babies swiftly and with as little blood loss as possible. This time Elrond had been asked to make the cut, having the steadiest hand and the most experience with the scalpel, while the wizardress had the gory task to go for the babies.
''He must be held perfectly still'', Arwen warned. ''Faramir, hold his legs tightly. I know he is brave, but the pain will be brutal. At least Lindir had the common sense to let us put him to sleep'', she murmured to herself, but loud enough even for Denethor to hear.
The old man tightened the grip of his gnarled hands around his son's, watching with morbid fascination the slender hand of Elrond bringing the thin, razor-sharp mithril scalpel in position. Elladan grabed Boromir's shoulders with bruising strength to keep him still and nodded.
''Now, father. Go on.''
Elrond's hand, indeed, was steady and mercifully swift. Ere Boromir could have realized what was happening, the long, diagonal cut across his abdomen had been made, and while Arwen was blotting up the blood, the wizardress reached into the wound.
''We were right'', she said, carefully feeling around, ''the womb is wide open. And I can feel one of the babies halfways out already. Arwen, bring me a blanket, I shall pull the baby free.''
Boromir gritted his teeth; the pain was blinding, more so than he had imagined, but the tight grip of his father's hands held him like an anchor and the soft, reassuring murmurs of Elladan kept him from going mad. Then he felt something else than the hand of the wizardress slip through the wound - something small and slippery -, and shortly thereafter the hoarse cry of a newborn broke the heavy silence.
Someone touched his face and he opened his tightly-shut eyes to see Arwen, holding the tiny, red-faced baby on her arm. A small, dark-haired baby with round little ears, eyes pressed shut, tiny mouth opened to a toothless cry.
''She is a perfectly healthy and adorable baby girl'', the Elf-lady smiled. ''Do you have a name?''
Boromir only looked at Elladan, not having the strength to speak. They had found an agreement considering possible names for both male and female children moons ago.
''Finduilas'', Elladan answered his sister, ''after his mother.''
Denethor stiffened in surprise hearing this. The choice was uenxpected for him, always thinking that Faramir had been the one truly close to his late wife. It seemed he did not know his sons half as well as he had thought, after all.
''Besides'', Elladan added, ''the name occured in my mother's family as well.(9)''
''What about the other baby?'', Faramir asked with some concern. The wizardress frowned.
''Still no sign of moving out. I say we should remove the womb and cut the baby out of it afterwards. Tis a risk, but a lesser one than butchering around inside of the bearer's body.''
Elrond agreed and began the process of severing the womb from the other parts of Boromir's body and closing the inner wounds with the help of Vilya's powers(10) simultaneously. He had to be quick and efficient at the same time, or either the baby would suffocate or Boromir die from the blood loss.
But the Lord of Imladris was not called the greatest healer in Middle-earth for nothing. Just as Boromir thought he simply could not endure any more torment, finally the hands working inside his body were removed, together with a melon-sized (and rather bloody) bundle, and as he blicked down on himself, he could see the wound closing slowly - more than that, he actually could see beyond his abdomen, something he had not been able to do for at least half a year.
''The baby...'', he managed to whisper.
''Be still, just for a few more moments'', the wizardress instructed, moving her own Ring above the closing wound. ''Arwen is freeing the baby right now.''
Boromir restrained himself with some effort. Luckily, the less-than-pleasant sight of Arwen cutting the second baby out of the still-protecting womb and patting gently on the small back to start the breathing was out of his line of sight. Finally, the crying of little Finduilas was accompanied by the sweet, soft sounds of unintelligible baby talk that nevertheless signalled that the second baby was content with the world it had come to.
''Well, well'', the Elf-lady said, clearly pleased, ''this one does look like a little elfling, does he not, father?''
Elrond finished closing the wound and shot a glance over his shoulder, noticing that Arwen had been right. The baby boy on her arm had slightly pointed ears, grey eyes and black hair - not dark with golden threads like his sister but raven-black like every single one of his own House.
''Indeed, he does'', he answered in surprise.
''Here'', Arwen stepped to Boromir's side and lowered the baby so he could see the tiny, sprite-like face; ''elfling or Man-child, a fine little boy he is. How will you name him?''
''We were planning to call him Húrin(11)'', Elladan answered with a helpless shrug, ''but he does look more like an Elf-child, it seems. I am not so certain any more that such a Mannish name would suit him.''
''Regardless what he looks like, he is a Man-child, after all'', said Faramir; ''though tis hard to tell, indeed. What say you, brother? You did all the hard work, you should choose.''
Boromir admired the perfect little fairy on Arwen's arm and smiled, feeling better already, though very, very tired.
''Why not give him... two names?'', he answered with some effort. ''We could... have him recorded... on the lists... as Húrin, in order to... honour... our House, but... in the family, we could... call him... Eldarion(12). For that is... true for him, as well.''
''A wise choice'', the wizardress nodded in approval. ''Now, let us move King Aratan into his own bed and clean up here, ere we send in Lindir to introduce him to the endless joys of nursing!''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
About two hours later the oversized bed of the royal couple looked like a market-place. Boromir lay in the middle, wrapped in blankets and supported by pillows, resting in Elladan's arms, two similarly wrapped-up, well-fed babies sleeping nestled safely between them.
At the other end of the bed Erestor sat, cross-legged, stroking Lindir's hair who lay curled up around their sleeping daughter and resting his head upon Erestor's knee, and explaining a wide-eyed Éowyn the fine points of advanced pregnancy. Arwen, Elrond, Denethor and Faramir sat on low chairs near the bed and listened to him, trying very hard not to laugh.
''He is lying through his teeth, you know'', Boromir said when Lindir started to trail off into hair-raising exaggarations. ''He was not sick for a day, and save the leg cramps, he had no trouble whatsoever. He is just envious of all the attention I got because of being in pain all the time.''
''Of course'', Lindir agreed with an amiable smile, stretching like a big, graceful cat. ''But you cannot deny, my Lord King, that I beat you by delivering my baby at the proper time.''
''Well, I had two to produce, in case you have forgotten'', Boromir pointed out, feigning being insulted.
''True'', Lindir nodded earnestly. ''How sneaky of you, achieving double results for the same effort. This stubborn Elf here'', he pointed with his thumb towards Erestor; ''would not let me have another one.''
''One child is more than I have ever planned to have'', said Erestor quietly, ''and far greater a risk than you ever should have taken. You have had your wish against mine; now be content with it. As much as I adore our daughter, I want not to endanger your life again. Ever.''
''I share the sentiment'' Elladan said, rubbing his face into Boromir's hair. ''And I am glad it is finally over. Being parents might prove tiresome, but at least it is not life-threathning.''
''Unless you die from the lack of sleep'', Elrond commented drily. ''If your twins will cry half as much during the night as you and Elrohir did, you shall forget the very meaning of the word sleep.''
''I can learn to go on without much sleep'', Boromir shrugged. ''I have slept for years in advance lately, or so it seems. Tis good to feel more like myself again.''
''You still are not quite your old self'', Elrond warned. ''Be careful not to over-extend yourself. The inner wounds need at least an other twelve days to heal completely.''
''I know'', Boromir sighed, ''and I shall not take any unnecessary risks. Naught that could slow down my healing. I am sick and tired of being confined to bed.''
''Yet in bed you should remain, at least for a week'', said Elrond; then, looking down at his tiny grandchildren, he added with a smile. ''At least from now on you will have some company.''
''Oh, he will have all the company he needs'', Elladan grinned. ''Now that I shall have to return to the affairs of state, I would crave company more than ever afterwards.''
They all laughed; then Arwen rose from her seat.
''I believe we should let the four of you rest now. When do you intend to announce the birth of your heirs?''
''In the next morrow'', Elladan answered. ''Let this one day belong to us alone.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) Approximately April.
(2) She is 44 or 45 - not a young woman for one of the Rohirrim,
and older than her husband.
(3) Which is, unless I have misinterpreted something, binding
according the law of the Eorlingas.
(4) ''Musical maiden''. She has a Quenya name since that is
Lindir's mother tongue. It's a long story. Called
''Innocence''.g
(5) Quenya.
(6) Sindarin. Aud, of course, is not well-versed in
Elven lore.
(7) The reason of which is another long story. Called ''The White
Lady of Rohan''. Yes, I am mean and manipulative. What's
new?g
(8) A nickname the Rohirrim gave Éowyn's grandmother, Morwen of
Lossornach. Since Éowyn was her very alike (according the
Appendices), I simply assumed they called her thusly as well. She
deserved a name like that, after all.
(9) Finduilas, daughter of King Orodreth of Nargothrond, was the
first-grade cousin of Elladan's mother, Celebrían. I go with the
Sil here, concerning family ties.
(10) No, in this AU the Elven rings did not lose their powers
after the One was destroyed. Also, I am making up this whole
process here, so please don't argue with me about biological
possibilities. I do know that all this is not possible.
(11) After the first known Steward of Gondor, probably the nephew
of King Aldamir, the founder of Denethor's House.
(12) Means ''of the Eldar'',a ccording to Robert Foster. Of
course, in canon this was the name of the only son of Arwen and
Aragorn. The name reamins in the family.g
And just who has said that I can't write anything with a happy end? Story finished, Epilogue coming right in tail.
