Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
My shaking fingers grasp my chamber pot, my knuckles pale to match my face. I cannot remember ever being this sick for so many days. Every day since shortly after the coronation of Aragorn—I mean King Elessar—nausea has assailed me, leaving me heaving and retching just as I am now.
What can possibly be wrong with me?
Stop lying to yourself. You know very well what is wrong with you.
I have been half standing, half hanging, my elbows supported by the top of the washstand—my face inches over my reeking chamber pot. After several moments, I finally feel it is safe to stand without aid. I tip the pitcher I keep on the washstand, filling the small cup I have sitting there with water. I reach for a towel that hangs on a hook on the wall beside the washstand. Pouring a small bit of water onto the towel, I mop the cold sweat from my face and neck. After rinsing my mouth, I again straighten, refusing to look at my image in the mirror.
I let my shaking knees carry me to my small table. I have not even had a chance to change from my nightdress this morning. Slowly I lower myself into a chair, being careful not to jar my still roiling stomach. I close my eyes and tip my head back, stretching my neck. I choose to clear my mind. Thinking of what ails me fills me with such fear, I cannot begin to approach allowing it into conscious thought.
But circumstances demand that I give this the attention it deserves. This has to be the most terrifying thing to befall me in my entire life. The loss of my little family was the most grievous thing I had ever lived through, to be sure. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of them at least once. But it was hardly, I now realize, the most terrifying thing to happen to me. This has to be the scariest thing. I feel a deep, cold void in my stomach every time I think of it. My blood runs cold at the thread of thought I refuse to think about. I am absolutely undone by this.
What am I going to do?
I put both of my elbows on the table, holding my head in my hands. The tears start unbidden, falling straight from my eyes onto the tabletop. How could I have done this? How could I have? I have asked myself this question over and over again. Ever since I had come to the conclusion that what ails me is not an ailment at all—I am with child.
My encounter with Aragorn, before he was crowned King, has come back to haunt me in the worst possible way. A way that is all too real and frightening.
I was going to have the King's baby.
Valar, help me.
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A month after the King's coronation, Elves began arriving in Minas Tirith. Many, many Elves. They were every bit as mysterious and beautiful as I expected them to be. I was invited to a banquet held a week before the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, the Evenstar of her Elven people. The feast was held in honor of the arrival of Lady Arwen and her family—her father, Elrond, Lord of Imladris, and her brothers, Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Her grandparents—the rulers of Lothlorien—the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, were also in attendance. Of course, they had an entire entourage of Elves in service to them. There were more Elves in Minas Tirith than there had ever been before, I suspect.
For the life of me I could not figure out who had invited me to this affair. But one just does not ignore an invitation that is hand carried and is sealed with the Royal Crest. How was I ever going to make it through this evening? Knowing what I know, how can I face Lady Arwen? Or her family?
I worried over my attire for days before the big event and finally chose a dress I had not worn in more than fifteen years—my wedding dress. I could not help the tears I wept as I brought it out of the old chest where it resides and tried it on after all this time. I could hardly believe that it was almost too large—except in the bosom. There it was almost too snug. I was somewhat surprised that my figure was not more enhanced, so to speak, over the passage of time since my wedding day. Yet, if I thought about it, it was hardly surprising that it was almost too large—I had been retching so much that I was sure I had lost at least a few pounds since the beginning of all this.
The dress was not white, for which I was extremely grateful now. There would be no cause at all for anyone to suspect that I owned no formal attire besides the dress I was married in. The dress was the softest color of blushing pink. However, I was no longer a blushing bride, but a widow—a widow who had a tryst with the King. How was it that all my thoughts gravitated to the same matter—my affair with Aragorn and the results of that one night? Valar help me to not dissolve into a puddle of sweat during this evening.
On the night of the banquet, I was quite surprised when of all people, Legolas came to escort me to the citadel. He did look dashing in his formal attire, but I still could hardly bear to be near him. I had tried to reason out why he should vex me so and I finally came up with the answer: I just really disliked this Elf. I hated the way he spoke to Gimli when we went on our walk those many weeks ago. The fact that Gimli seemed more amused than hurt or angry, cooled my own anger somewhat. And that prank he had played at my expense did not help to elevate my opinion of him. On our first meeting, Legolas had treated me as a female who would break under the weight of the soldier I was helping to the wards. Adding insult to injury, he then surmised that I was merely an aide in the Houses of Healing, when in fact, I was the one in charge. After all the pain, trouble, and frustration—not to mention obstacles unceasing—I had earned the right to be recognized as I deserved. The fact that he did not know this was beside the point. He just irks me to no end. I am sure that as soon as all the festivities in Minas Tirith are over, Legolas will find somewhere else he'd rather be—at least I hope so.
I was kind to him, at least I tried to be. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt that he would not say something inane to me between the time he arrived at my door and the time we arrived at the banquet. Surprisingly, and to my great relief, he said nothing on the brief walk to the citadel. After the way I had insulted him the first time I was introduced to him, I could not be sure I would be able to refrain from doing so again, if provoked. No, not if—when—provoked. I had confidence that were we to be in each other's company for more than just a few minutes, he would be sure to step on my toes—figuratively speaking, of course.
There was one thing about me that I always thanked the Valar for, because it came in handy from time to time, since I was on my own and alone. I had an uncanny ability to quickly and accurately make a judgment of character upon meeting someone for the first time. It did not take long for me to decide whether the object of my scrutiny was bent toward good or evil—or even somewhere in between. Without fail, those I took an instant dislike to always turned out to live up to my expectations—or down to them, whichever way you saw it. I tried giving them every chance to prove me wrong, but the stronger my dislike upon meeting them, the worse the individual turned out to be. I had sized up thieves and abusers correctly too many times to believe my intuition was not a gift.
Legolas did not fit into either of those categories. I had no doubt that he was not evil. You could see the goodness in him. It was his irritating personality that got to me so. I was wondering, since I had such feelings of distaste for him, if Legolas was a true representative of the Elves. I had no inclination to spend this entire evening being insulted, unintentionally or not. I believe that people are mostly the same, whatever their race. Even though Legolas was the first, and only Elf, I had thus far met in my life, I found it hard to believe that all Elves would be so irritating.
The hall where the banquet was held was one of magnificent proportions. This is the first time I had really been into the Citadel. I had, of course, been in the lower circles before, but the seventh circle was held in awe by the common folk like me. I was not surprised to find that the hall was plainly decorated. I, of course, did not know Lady Arwen, but even the brief time I spent with Aragorn—I mean His Majesty—I could tell he was probably not the sort that enjoyed tasteless and gaudy excesses that most royalty were known for.
The Royal family, as well as the bride-to-be's relatives, was to be seated on an elevated dais along a formally set table. Down on the floor level were many other tables aligned end to end. The final picture was of a large square. It was all most lavish, and I was in total awe. I struggled to keep my mouth closed, for the awesome spectacle tended to leave it agape. I hope I was successful; I did not wish these dignitaries to believe I was here only for the purpose of elevating my nonexistent prestige. No, I was here by Royal command only. I had no desire to be anywhere near the bride or her family, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were Elves. I tried very hard not to let Legolas know I was quaking in my shoes. I do not know how successful I was. A few times he looked down on me with knitted brows, and asked, "Are you well, Mistress Maeren?" To which I replied, "Yes, I am quite well, just a bit nervous to be in such exalted company." I sincerely hoped he did not think I included him with the exalted ones, but he did not ask and I did not volunteer the information.
The evening was interminable. I was delighted, however, to be greeted just within the door by Gimli. I felt that I could easily be fast friends with Gimli, but I knew not if he held my company in the same esteem. He was resplendent in his finery, his bushy red hair and beard combed and braided to perfection.
"Maeren, how wonderful to see you!" He said enthusiastically. You would think we had not just this morning seen each other. Soon after the war was over, and things had settled down somewhat, Gimli had started meeting me each morning, and joining me on my walk. He would wait by the same lamppost he'd been leaning against the morning of my tasteless prank involving the drunken soldier and his 'tangled' boot strings.
The tables were lavishly set and arrayed with foods unceasing, some of which I had never even seen before, much less tasted. Those must be contributions from the Elvish side of the family. As soon as the meal was finished, all those in attendance repaired to the next room—the ballroom—for more lavish entertainment. The musicians were attired in formal wear to match the royal attendants and were very accomplished violinists, cellists, and harpists. I only wished to go home. My stomach had begun its usual protest and I could feel the nausea returning. I was fervently hoping that my evening meal would not be called forth before I could take my leave of the palace.
The King escorted Lady Arwen around the room, introducing her to the various groups of people who were surrounding the dance floor. When at last it was my turn to be introduced to her, I was sure I was as white as the tablecloths adorning the refreshment tables. I sincerely hoped it was not noticeable that I was shaken to the bone, though in truth, I did not know how it could not be obvious.
"Arwen, may I present Lady Maeren, daughter of Maedren of Rohan, the Warden of the Houses of Healing?" The King stated this with the dignity of one who has not slept with the woman whom he was introducing to his Bride-to-be. Men—there was just no figuring them. I bowed my head slightly, as was proper, and said, "It is my honor and my pleasure to meet you, My Lady." Could they hear the tightness of my voice? Could they see my hands shake? I prayed not.
"It is my pleasure to meet you as well." Arwen's voice seemed to sing the words instead of merely speak them. I was awestruck by her presence. She continued, "I hope to become better acquainted with you—as soon as all the ceremonies and festivities are over."
"And I, you," I answered politely.
Then, they were off to the next group of people, much to my relief. Would I live through this evening? I had extreme doubt that I would.
When the introductions were completed, the King and soon to be Queen began the dancing, while the others not dancing conversed quietly off the dance floor. Lady Arwen was exquisite. There was just no word to describe her beauty and grace. She seemed to glide instead of walk and she danced with the same gracefulness. I was introduced to Lord Elrond and his sons, and found them to be most pleasant company. My, they were beautiful. Could one use that word to describe males?
Elladan, one of Lady Arwen's brothers, escorted me onto the dance floor. Thankfully it was a slower dance than were some of the others. I was beginning to feel decidedly unwell. Elladan seemed to sense my discomfort. He asked after my health. "Lady Maeren, you look pale. Are you well?"
"I think it a bit stuffy in here," I said. "Perhaps I will go get a breath of air after this dance." I hoped I would make it until the music ended.
After our turn around the dance floor, Elladan and I again joined Lord Elrond and Elrohir, who were having a good-natured argument about the piece of music that had just been played. I really could not think of much except the turning of my stomach, so to speak, so I cannot say who exactly emerged the winner. Just as I was thinking I may be saved from disgracing myself, who should join us but the King? I only thought my stomach was in turmoil before. Now it truly began to send me messages of impending doom.
"I see you have met the Warden of the Houses of Healing," Aragorn said to those surrounding me.
"Ah yes, and a delightful healer she is, indeed," said Elrond, with a smile and a dip of his head to me.
"I have come to ask her to dance with me. Maeren, will you do me the honor?" He offered his arm to me and unfortunately, I could not think of any valid reason—that was also common knowledge—not to do so.
We began the dance, thank the Valar it is not a fast one, and I began the conversation. "Think you it is wise for us to be dancing like this?"
"I can think of no reason for us not to do so," he replied. "In fact, had I not asked for this dance, it might have seemed amiss of me. Better to err on the side of caution, since the reason we would not dance is not known by any others but ourselves."
I found I could not argue with this, so I let the subject drop. Soon, thankfully, the dance was finished and I was returned to Lord Elrond and his sons. I had barely made it off the dance floor, when I knew my meal was coming up to greet us all. I knew not where to turn. I was disoriented and did not know the palace. I ran for one of the nearly empty punch bowls and lifted it from the table, squatting behind it just out of sight and retched my guts out—again.
I was mortified. I wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge again. I shoved the now nasty punch bowl beneath the table, pushing the tablecloth aside, wiping my mouth on it, and dropping it again to hide my disgrace. My cheeks were hot from the embarrassment of it all and I thought I would faint when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up to find a very concerned Lord Elrond at my side. I rose slowly.
"Mistress Maeren," he said "perhaps we can find a couch upon which you may recline until you feel well enough to return to your home." His hand on my shoulder slid down my arm as I stood, and held me steady as I trembled from faintness. He looked into my eyes. I hoped he did not see written in them my guilt and shame. For a moment I was transfixed. It seemed as if he had asked my permission to gaze into my heart and I had given it without conscious thought.
I came back to myself and stammered, "Oh no, thank you Lord Elrond. I just need to go home and I am quite well enough to do so."
There was now a royal crowd around me—the King, the soon to be Queen, her grandparents and brothers—even the Steward of Gondor, Faramir, and his fiancée, Eowyn. I sighed in relief as I also spied Gimli and I breathlessly asked him, "Gimli, my dear friend, would you be so kind as to escort me home?"
He sketched a slight bow and said, "T'would be my pleasure, my lady."
He took my arm and I murmured my thanks and regrets to all around me and left with Gimli.
Thanks be for punch bowls and dear friends.
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When we reached my door, I invited Gimli inside. I warned him that it was just one small humble room, but he assured me that if I had a table with some chairs in which to sit, it would be a fine place for us to visit. If I was up to it, that is.
I closed the door after us and invited my friend to sit at the table. I put the water on for tea and set out cups and saucers. "Do you take honey or milk with your tea, Gimli?" I asked.
"Maeren, go to no trouble for the likes of me. You are feeling poorly. Now come and sit yourself down," he said. I smiled at him. I could tell he was completely sincere.
"You are more than worth the trouble, dear Gimli," I said. "But it is truly no trouble, and I feel a good cup of tea may settle my stomach somewhat."
I did sit down, waiting for the water to boil. "I am mortified by my behavior at the banquet," I whined. "How could I have done such a thing? And in front of the King and Lady Arwen, and her family and—oh, I just cannot believe it!" With my elbows on the table, I buried my face in my hands.
"Maeren, you were ill," Gimli admonished me. "Tis nothing to be ashamed about. Everyone there more than understood the situation and were only concerned with your health, I am sure." Gimli was such a sweet person. "Maeren, I hope not to exceed the limits of our friendship, but I have been worried about you of late. Is there aught I should know? Are you sure you are not more ill than you are letting on?"
I felt that deep-seated fear that had become one of my most frequent companions of late. How I wanted to confide in Gimli, but I had not even told Aragorn as of yet. I had not even voiced the truth aloud at all. I just could not bring myself to tell Gimli in any case. I feared his reaction. It would hurt too much were he to condemn me.
"I am sure, Gimli," I said. However I did add, "I have been feeling poorly of late, that is true. But it is nothing that time and taking care of myself will not cure." That was certainly true enough, in the most basic definition of my condition. I hoped he would think so if—or when—he heard the complete truth.
The tea was ready and I poured, and we drank, and we talked. We actually laughed, which felt good for a change. I had not had much to smile at lately, much less laugh about. After an hour or so, Gimli took his leave of me and left. My room suddenly felt very large and lonely.
I got myself ready to go to sleep. I unpinned my hair, swiped a damp cloth over my face and donned a nightdress. I blew out all the lamps, save the one on a stand near my bed. I lay down and pulled the sheet and quilt up snugly around me. It was certainly not cold and spring was in the air, but I needed warmth and security and this quilt was the only thing I had that would offer such a thing to me tonight. After lying there for a few minutes, I blew out the lamp and settled my head back into my pillow.
I tried to imagine that the quilt was Dustin, with his arms tightly around me, lying here in our bed. Just the two of us in our bed, like it used to be. How I missed him. How I wanted him. How I needed him.
Would he understand the state I now found myself in? How would he react were he here to witness my downfall? Were he here, there would be no downfall to witness. I would not have been despairing in a shabby city in Gondor, in a tiny not-so-secret garden. I would not have needed another's arms around me; his would still be here to hold me instead.
Merciful Valar, please let me sleep. No dreaming. My dreams were of things I no longer had, and upon rising in the morning, they would vanish with the coming of the dawn.
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