Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien, the master himself.
Author's Notes: Thank you for the kind reviews thus far...I hope you keep reading and enjoying!
****
A Love Beyond All Fear
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The great city of Minas Tirith was half a day's ride from Emyn Arnen, but Éomer made in a matter of hours. He arrived at the White City just as dawn broke on the far horizon of Mordor and was immediately led to the Citadel. The guard at the pinnacle of the city greeted him, but was reluctant to do what Rohan's king asked of him.
"Elessar-king still slumbers, my lord," the man explained.
"Then wake him," Éomer commanded as he dismounted his horse. "It is a matter of life and death."
The guard bowed and with great reluctance allowed him into the Great Hall. He disappeared a moment later, presumably heading towards the royal residence, tucked back into the mountain out of which the city had been carved.
The King did not keep him waiting. He entered the hall still tying the loose belt at his waist. "Éomer of Rohan," he welcomed him.
Dropping to one knee, Éomer addressed the older man. "Your Majesty, forgive me for arriving so early without invitation."
Aragorn gestured for him to stand. "There is nothing to forgive. Tell me, what is the trouble?"
Éomer took a breath. "It is my sister, my lord. She ails in childbirth, and has need of Healing."
"Éowyn ails?" The King's forehead pulled into a deep frown. "Has she no midwife to help her?"
"She does, majesty." Quickly, the frantic older brother outlined the problem. "My sister's husband fears for his wife's life. And I for my sister, as well. We are loathe to burden our King with these troubles, but…"
Aragorn cut him off. "The aiding of friends is never a burden, whatever title one might hold. I will go and do what I can, although I wonder if it will be enough. I know little to nothing of childbirthing."
"Ever modest is my husband and King." The two men turned and looked, only to see the Queen, Arwen Evenstar, enter the hall with the grace of the Elves. Ethereal in her beauty, she presented a breathtaking picture next to Aragorn's rakish figure. "It was he, not the midwife, who brought Eldarion into this world." She paused for a moment. "We will both go to Lady Éowyn's aid."
Éomer lowered his head. "I do thank you, my lady. I am certain my sister will appreciate another woman's help. Save for the inept midwife, she is quite surrounded by men."
Arwen laughed; it sounded to Rohan's king more like music. "Do not fear for the White Lady. She carries the strength of ten men within her, and the will of a hundred. She will make it through this ordeal." She glanced at her husband. "I will make hasty preparations and we shall leave at once." With that, she glided away as silently as she had entered.
Aragorn watched her go before returning his attention to the other king. "Perhaps Faramir should have sent for my lady directly." He clapped a hand on Éomer's broad shoulder. "Come. Break your fast before we go. And do what my queen says. Let your worry rest. Everything will be well."
****
Faramir had seen too much blood in his lifetime. A soldier learned early on to expect blood, even to become numb to it. He thought that he was, that he was immune to the sight, the coppery scent, the foreshadow of death. But that was before he noticed the crimson smears across the bedding upon which Éowyn struggled. This blood was unexpected, out of place, and filled him with fright like he had never known on any battlefield.
"What is happening to my wife?" he demanded of the flustered midwife. "She is bleeding!"
He spoke too loudly even though he was well across the room. Éowyn lifted her head from the pillows. "Bleeding? Faramir…"
"It is not uncommon, my lord," the woman informed them both. "Yet…" She hesitated. "This much…"
"Are you going to stand there shaking your head while my wife bleeds to her death?!" Faramir shouted. A man nearly gone mad with anxiety had replaced the usually mild-mannered prince.
The woman in question called for him again. "Faramir…please."
"I'm here," he reassured her. "All will be well."
Éowyn shook her head. Her hair was limp around her face, plastered in some places to her skin by a fine sheen of perspiration. "I think not, my love. This does not feel…right." Her words caught in the back of her throat. "I am ashamed to admit it…but I am scared."
"Think you that I am not?" Faramir grasped her hand. "But now is not the time to give into our fear. We have not before, and we will not now."
She nodded tightly, bolstered, if only slightly, by his passionate words. "No, we shall not." He smiled as much as he could, and kissed her brow.
"My lord," a servant called through the curtains. "Éomer-king has returned."
Faramir licked his lips, torn between greeting the King and staying with his wife. "I will be but a moment, love," he told her. She nodded again, her eyes closed and her breath shallow as she fought an on-coming pain. He turned a narrow look onto the midwife. "The bleeding will be stopped. Do not leave her side."
The sun hurt his eyes as he came out of the house; he hadn't realized how much time had passed. Just over a day it had been since Éowyn's labor started. It seemed more like twenty.
Riding up the winding path to his home with his sister's brother was the man he had hoped to see, Elessar-king. Faramir let out a pent-up breath. The King's hands had healed both him and his wife; there was no one in Middle Earth whom he trusted more.
Beside the King, mounted on an elegant white mare, was Queen Arwen. This surprised Faramir momentarily, but he had little time or want to wonder why she might have accompanied her husband.
"She is losing blood," was the first thing he said to Aragorn when the riders reached hearing distance. No greeting, no titles, no genuflection. "I beg you…come quickly."
The King did not notice the lack of formalities. He simply dismounted and turned to help his wife do the same. Together with Éomer, they followed the Prince of Ithilien into his home without delay.
****
Unable to be with his sister while the King, Queen and her husband aided her, for propriety's sake as well as to avoid seeing Éowyn in pain that he couldn't bear for her, Éomer sought out his nephew instead. He found him with his keeper in the nursery, and quietly dismissed the woman.
"Elboron." He sat next to the boy on the marble floor.
Without looking away from his toy, an intricately carved horse that Éomer's own hands had formed, Elboron asked his uncle, "Will Mot'er die?"
He blinked. "No." Elboron finally looked at him, as if he needed more assurance. "I am King of Rohan. I would not allow it."
There was much of his sister in the child, but right then, he was the perfect picture of his father as he contemplated this. Serious and a bit too melancholy for his young age. "I want to be a king," he said. "No one would die."
Éomer decided against telling the boy that he had little chance of becoming a king. A prince, yes, but the line of Gondor's kings would be continued by Elessar's son. Still, he had never imagined himself as Rohan's king, so he supposed nothing was out of the realm of possibility.
"Truthfully, nephew, life and death cannot be commanded by any king," he confessed. "But your mother will not die."
"Promise?"
Éomer held up his hand, but he couldn't stop it from shaking just a bit. "I swear it." Elboron seemed satisfied by this and being a child of only four years, returned his attention to his toy.
He wished he could do the same, but as he sat and watched his nephew play, Éomer couldn't help but wonder if he had just taken an oath that he would not be able to keep.
****
"Faramir, friend." Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, Aragorn pulled the expectant father aside. "I have both good news and bad."
Glancing back and forth between his wife and his king, Faramir could only plunge his fingers through his hair and request, "The bad first."
"It is true. The babe has not turned."
"And the good?"
"The herbs have stopped the bleeding." Aragorn set the cloth aside. "I will not lie and say that this will be simple. Breech births are dangerous for both mother and child."
Faramir rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "There must be a way, my lord."
"There is. But…" The King sighed, regretfully. "It will cause Lady Éowyn much pain."
"I told you once," the lady spoke up from the bed in as weak a voice as any of them had heard her speak before. "I do not fear pain." Her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Or death."
The Queen blotted her brow with a cool cloth. "Speak not of dying," she said quietly. "Men, for all their muscle and valor, are easily upset by things a woman merely takes in stride. We must protect them, yes?"
Éowyn wanted to smile and thank the beautiful elf, but she just couldn't do it through the pain. It was continuous now, rather than sporadic as it had been the day before, yet nothing was happening. At last check, Lothelawen had reported that her body had opened enough to allow for the birth, but there was no sign of the babe's head. "Tell the King…to do what he must. I would bear any pain to have this child."
Arwen's lips touched her forehead. She stood, her silken skirts whispering against the bed covers. "The White Lady wills it that her child be born as quickly as possible," she informed the men.
Her husband smiled. "Then it shall be so. We will need plenty of hot water, fresh cloths and a clean knife. Will you see to these things?" Aragorn asked Faramir. The man nodded, but it took a bit of prodding before he left the bedchamber.
Once he was gone, Aragorn went to Éowyn's side and without embarrassment explained what it was that he intended to do. Although her eyes grew a bit wider at the thought of the King's hands reaching into her body to pull her child from her, she simply nodded in agreement.
"I trust you, my lord." Tears blurred the image of his kind face looking down at her. "With my life and the life of my child. But I must tell you…if it should come down to a choice between the babe and me…save my husband's child."
Aragorn frowned. "Lady, your husband…"
"Will not understand." She touched her belly. "Can you not either, my lord?"
"I can," Arwen said softly.
Éowyn's chin trembled. "Perhaps only a woman can ever understand the lengths to which we would go to see our children safe." She struggled to take in a deep breath. "Promise me, my King…my friend."
"I can make no such promises," he told her. "Save for one. I will do everything within my power to make this a day of joy, not of mourning."
Éowyn closed her eyes, too weak to argue the matter any further. Instinctively, her hand reached for Faramir's, but he was not there. At that moment, the Prince of Ithilien sat alone in his study, staring at a cold hearth. Surrounded by the books he had used to teach his wife to read Gondor's language, wearing the shirt she had sewn together with her nimble fingers, and stained with her blood, Faramir wept as he had never wept before.
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Thank you for the kind reviews thus far...I hope you keep reading and enjoying!
****
A Love Beyond All Fear
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The great city of Minas Tirith was half a day's ride from Emyn Arnen, but Éomer made in a matter of hours. He arrived at the White City just as dawn broke on the far horizon of Mordor and was immediately led to the Citadel. The guard at the pinnacle of the city greeted him, but was reluctant to do what Rohan's king asked of him.
"Elessar-king still slumbers, my lord," the man explained.
"Then wake him," Éomer commanded as he dismounted his horse. "It is a matter of life and death."
The guard bowed and with great reluctance allowed him into the Great Hall. He disappeared a moment later, presumably heading towards the royal residence, tucked back into the mountain out of which the city had been carved.
The King did not keep him waiting. He entered the hall still tying the loose belt at his waist. "Éomer of Rohan," he welcomed him.
Dropping to one knee, Éomer addressed the older man. "Your Majesty, forgive me for arriving so early without invitation."
Aragorn gestured for him to stand. "There is nothing to forgive. Tell me, what is the trouble?"
Éomer took a breath. "It is my sister, my lord. She ails in childbirth, and has need of Healing."
"Éowyn ails?" The King's forehead pulled into a deep frown. "Has she no midwife to help her?"
"She does, majesty." Quickly, the frantic older brother outlined the problem. "My sister's husband fears for his wife's life. And I for my sister, as well. We are loathe to burden our King with these troubles, but…"
Aragorn cut him off. "The aiding of friends is never a burden, whatever title one might hold. I will go and do what I can, although I wonder if it will be enough. I know little to nothing of childbirthing."
"Ever modest is my husband and King." The two men turned and looked, only to see the Queen, Arwen Evenstar, enter the hall with the grace of the Elves. Ethereal in her beauty, she presented a breathtaking picture next to Aragorn's rakish figure. "It was he, not the midwife, who brought Eldarion into this world." She paused for a moment. "We will both go to Lady Éowyn's aid."
Éomer lowered his head. "I do thank you, my lady. I am certain my sister will appreciate another woman's help. Save for the inept midwife, she is quite surrounded by men."
Arwen laughed; it sounded to Rohan's king more like music. "Do not fear for the White Lady. She carries the strength of ten men within her, and the will of a hundred. She will make it through this ordeal." She glanced at her husband. "I will make hasty preparations and we shall leave at once." With that, she glided away as silently as she had entered.
Aragorn watched her go before returning his attention to the other king. "Perhaps Faramir should have sent for my lady directly." He clapped a hand on Éomer's broad shoulder. "Come. Break your fast before we go. And do what my queen says. Let your worry rest. Everything will be well."
****
Faramir had seen too much blood in his lifetime. A soldier learned early on to expect blood, even to become numb to it. He thought that he was, that he was immune to the sight, the coppery scent, the foreshadow of death. But that was before he noticed the crimson smears across the bedding upon which Éowyn struggled. This blood was unexpected, out of place, and filled him with fright like he had never known on any battlefield.
"What is happening to my wife?" he demanded of the flustered midwife. "She is bleeding!"
He spoke too loudly even though he was well across the room. Éowyn lifted her head from the pillows. "Bleeding? Faramir…"
"It is not uncommon, my lord," the woman informed them both. "Yet…" She hesitated. "This much…"
"Are you going to stand there shaking your head while my wife bleeds to her death?!" Faramir shouted. A man nearly gone mad with anxiety had replaced the usually mild-mannered prince.
The woman in question called for him again. "Faramir…please."
"I'm here," he reassured her. "All will be well."
Éowyn shook her head. Her hair was limp around her face, plastered in some places to her skin by a fine sheen of perspiration. "I think not, my love. This does not feel…right." Her words caught in the back of her throat. "I am ashamed to admit it…but I am scared."
"Think you that I am not?" Faramir grasped her hand. "But now is not the time to give into our fear. We have not before, and we will not now."
She nodded tightly, bolstered, if only slightly, by his passionate words. "No, we shall not." He smiled as much as he could, and kissed her brow.
"My lord," a servant called through the curtains. "Éomer-king has returned."
Faramir licked his lips, torn between greeting the King and staying with his wife. "I will be but a moment, love," he told her. She nodded again, her eyes closed and her breath shallow as she fought an on-coming pain. He turned a narrow look onto the midwife. "The bleeding will be stopped. Do not leave her side."
The sun hurt his eyes as he came out of the house; he hadn't realized how much time had passed. Just over a day it had been since Éowyn's labor started. It seemed more like twenty.
Riding up the winding path to his home with his sister's brother was the man he had hoped to see, Elessar-king. Faramir let out a pent-up breath. The King's hands had healed both him and his wife; there was no one in Middle Earth whom he trusted more.
Beside the King, mounted on an elegant white mare, was Queen Arwen. This surprised Faramir momentarily, but he had little time or want to wonder why she might have accompanied her husband.
"She is losing blood," was the first thing he said to Aragorn when the riders reached hearing distance. No greeting, no titles, no genuflection. "I beg you…come quickly."
The King did not notice the lack of formalities. He simply dismounted and turned to help his wife do the same. Together with Éomer, they followed the Prince of Ithilien into his home without delay.
****
Unable to be with his sister while the King, Queen and her husband aided her, for propriety's sake as well as to avoid seeing Éowyn in pain that he couldn't bear for her, Éomer sought out his nephew instead. He found him with his keeper in the nursery, and quietly dismissed the woman.
"Elboron." He sat next to the boy on the marble floor.
Without looking away from his toy, an intricately carved horse that Éomer's own hands had formed, Elboron asked his uncle, "Will Mot'er die?"
He blinked. "No." Elboron finally looked at him, as if he needed more assurance. "I am King of Rohan. I would not allow it."
There was much of his sister in the child, but right then, he was the perfect picture of his father as he contemplated this. Serious and a bit too melancholy for his young age. "I want to be a king," he said. "No one would die."
Éomer decided against telling the boy that he had little chance of becoming a king. A prince, yes, but the line of Gondor's kings would be continued by Elessar's son. Still, he had never imagined himself as Rohan's king, so he supposed nothing was out of the realm of possibility.
"Truthfully, nephew, life and death cannot be commanded by any king," he confessed. "But your mother will not die."
"Promise?"
Éomer held up his hand, but he couldn't stop it from shaking just a bit. "I swear it." Elboron seemed satisfied by this and being a child of only four years, returned his attention to his toy.
He wished he could do the same, but as he sat and watched his nephew play, Éomer couldn't help but wonder if he had just taken an oath that he would not be able to keep.
****
"Faramir, friend." Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, Aragorn pulled the expectant father aside. "I have both good news and bad."
Glancing back and forth between his wife and his king, Faramir could only plunge his fingers through his hair and request, "The bad first."
"It is true. The babe has not turned."
"And the good?"
"The herbs have stopped the bleeding." Aragorn set the cloth aside. "I will not lie and say that this will be simple. Breech births are dangerous for both mother and child."
Faramir rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "There must be a way, my lord."
"There is. But…" The King sighed, regretfully. "It will cause Lady Éowyn much pain."
"I told you once," the lady spoke up from the bed in as weak a voice as any of them had heard her speak before. "I do not fear pain." Her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Or death."
The Queen blotted her brow with a cool cloth. "Speak not of dying," she said quietly. "Men, for all their muscle and valor, are easily upset by things a woman merely takes in stride. We must protect them, yes?"
Éowyn wanted to smile and thank the beautiful elf, but she just couldn't do it through the pain. It was continuous now, rather than sporadic as it had been the day before, yet nothing was happening. At last check, Lothelawen had reported that her body had opened enough to allow for the birth, but there was no sign of the babe's head. "Tell the King…to do what he must. I would bear any pain to have this child."
Arwen's lips touched her forehead. She stood, her silken skirts whispering against the bed covers. "The White Lady wills it that her child be born as quickly as possible," she informed the men.
Her husband smiled. "Then it shall be so. We will need plenty of hot water, fresh cloths and a clean knife. Will you see to these things?" Aragorn asked Faramir. The man nodded, but it took a bit of prodding before he left the bedchamber.
Once he was gone, Aragorn went to Éowyn's side and without embarrassment explained what it was that he intended to do. Although her eyes grew a bit wider at the thought of the King's hands reaching into her body to pull her child from her, she simply nodded in agreement.
"I trust you, my lord." Tears blurred the image of his kind face looking down at her. "With my life and the life of my child. But I must tell you…if it should come down to a choice between the babe and me…save my husband's child."
Aragorn frowned. "Lady, your husband…"
"Will not understand." She touched her belly. "Can you not either, my lord?"
"I can," Arwen said softly.
Éowyn's chin trembled. "Perhaps only a woman can ever understand the lengths to which we would go to see our children safe." She struggled to take in a deep breath. "Promise me, my King…my friend."
"I can make no such promises," he told her. "Save for one. I will do everything within my power to make this a day of joy, not of mourning."
Éowyn closed her eyes, too weak to argue the matter any further. Instinctively, her hand reached for Faramir's, but he was not there. At that moment, the Prince of Ithilien sat alone in his study, staring at a cold hearth. Surrounded by the books he had used to teach his wife to read Gondor's language, wearing the shirt she had sewn together with her nimble fingers, and stained with her blood, Faramir wept as he had never wept before.
****
To Be Continued
