A/N: Okay, when I finally finished this chapter, this site goes into upgrade mode, so I couldn't load for TWO whole days!!! I'm SORRY!!! You're going to kill me when you finish reading, and just please remember: if I'm assassinated, I can't write more!
Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Keep up the great support, and don't kill me when this chapter's done!
Chapter 42: Feast gone awry
For Eomer's eighteenth birthday, Theoden ordered a grand feast; a feast that his son was not present at in Meduseld.
His niece and daughter-in-law however, were, and they welcomed Eomer and his eored as they entered Edoras.
The next night at the feast, they sat with Theoden and Eomer at the head of the table, along with Grimbold, the leader of Eomer's eored.
"He should be promoted, Theoden King," Grimbold was talking about Eomer, "He's been great since the beginning, but now after a year with us, he's the best in the company! He'll take my job soon if you don't promote him." Eomer glowed with pride as both Theoden and Grimbold beamed at him.
"He should join my company," Elfhelm, always grinning suggested, "I can find some challenge for him yet."
After listening to Grimbold for a while longer, Theoden stood up, causing everyone else in the room to do so also, and raised his cup, "A toast, I deem necessary. To my sister-son, Eomer, may you keep your valiance in battle and happiness find you." Everyone raised their cup to the boy, and moments later, the hall was refilled with sounds of laughter, chatter, and the consumption of ale and food.
Soon, music was sounded, and before long, the floor was filled with dancing couples, from the lowest scullery maid and her gallant stable lad, to young Lord Eomer, attempting to waltz gracefully with his sister.
A chorus emerged from a group of increasingly intoxicated riders, and though it was raucous, the tune warmed the hearts of those that heard.
Ho! Ho! Ho to the bottle I go!
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow
And many miles be still to go
But under a tall tree I will lie
And let the clouds go sailing by!
Yet only one did not participate in the celebrations. Her head throbbed with an intensity she had never felt before; the mere smell of ale was rendering her nauseous, and she felt a growing pain in her stomach. It was not the repeated contractions the midwives had warned her about, so it could not be labor. It took every nuance of strength and discipline in her to keep an unpained expression upon her face, and not to collapse right then and there. Something drove Elentari to keep her mouth tightly shut, letting no one know about her pain. It was not that all the men were enjoying a well-deserved feast, nor that Eomer would be even unhappier with her, and he had never forgotten his initial dislike, if his celebration was disrupted on her behalf, but just a quiet yet intense voice within her told her not to; that it would pass.
Men came and went, passing by the lady with a respectful bow, or some of the more intoxicated ones, a rowdy grin. Elfhelm asked for a dance, which she politely denied, ensuring him that she was fine when he pressed her concernedly.
Yet as the night wore on, the men got louder and louder, and the pains increased with it, until she felt there were serpents clawing at her stomach, her back, chest, and her head throbbed with pain and heat. Finally, she could endure it no longer, and slowly, grasping the table for support, she tried to rise. Standing still, clutching onto the polished wood like a shipwrecked sailor, she felt her head shift, and the world seemed to blur for a moment. Then, she began taking steps to her chambers, but she did not get far.
It was Elfhelm who caught her, as her body arched into a graceful curve as she finally allowed an excruciating shriek to free itself. The last thing Elentari remembered was a shooting pain through her entire body, and something sticky and wet soaking her dress and her legs.
Eowyn hurried through the corridors, following the anxious and irritated midwives who had been called out of the celebration as Elfhelm yelled for help. He had immediately carried the unconscious woman with dark, fresh blood all over her pale gown that looked worse than any battle wound to her chamber. He was immediately ushered out, while the healers and midwives gushed in, all with different ideas and propositions on what had happened; all knowing that the future of Rohan depended on their actions.
Elfhelm himself, along with a few others of the fastest riders were sent to Dunharrow with all haste to fetch Theodred, and all the others, from Theoden King to the serving maids could do nothing but wait.
The midwives fawned over the unconscious form, holding smelling salts to her nose, until at last, she moaned and clutched at the now stained bed sheets. A healer cut away the lower half of the bloodied gown and propped up her legs. As midwives held cloth to her brow and spoke soothing words to her, all she did was moan weakly, unresponsive to the healer's questions.
"My Lady, where is the pain?"
No response.
"My Lady, please. Tell us so we can help you. We cannot ease your pain if we do not know what it is."
Realizing that she would be of no help, the women gathered in panicking counsel.
"It cannot be a miscarriage. It is too late," one argued.
"The blood signals one though," an older woman rebutted.
"The child is too formed by now to be delivered in blood. There must be a body. This is not miscarriage," the other women murmured in assent.
"She is too early for labor though!" the disagreeing woman exclaimed passionately, "and it does not explain the blood."
The women were quiet for a moment, till the oldest and most revered member spoke in a calm, slow voice, "Do you remember, years ago, when a woman in Edoras began bleeding in her seventh month, just like our Lady?"
Only a few nodded, and she went on, "The woman went into labor after the bleeding slowed, and delivered a few hours later."
"So you believe our lady will do such as well?"
"I have reason to believe it," the old woman said calmly.
The other women murmured for a moment, before one piped up, "But wasn't the child—she was cut off by disapproving looks from the other women. They all knew what had happened; the tale was renowned amongst the midwives of Edoras. After hours of pain and struggle, the unfortunate woman had given birth; given birth to a monster. The child was not fully developed, with unformed hands and feet, its face disfigured, and the little back curved at a grotesque angle. The midwives there had screamed in horror as it was born, its life ended before it began. None of the women wanted to think of the prospect of that happening to the Prince's child.
They gazed back at their lady, drying blood all around her, sweat upon her brow, her moans flowing through the room. "She burns," one of them said, continuing to wet her brow.
"Is there nothing we can do?" one asked as the minutes inched by.
"Wait," the elder said resolutely, "Wait and watch."
Eowyn paced agitatedly in the hall outside the birthing chamber, while her uncle, brother, and many others of Meduseld sat austerely, straining their ears for any sound beyond that forbidding door.
A midwife had reported excitedly, "It has begun! The prince is coming!" but that was hours ago. They could hear a bustle of activity behind the door, and nothing could stifle the sounds of Elentari moaning in pain. The night deepened as many began to drift away in sweet sleep, though Eowyn could not; the struggle inside filled her mind.
As the old midwife had predicted, labor had come for Elentari. Delirious from fever and pain, she barely followed the midwives' orders, she screamed when each pain hit her, gasping for air and calling for various people. They held her hand, tried to bring down the soaring fever, permeated the air with herbs and smelling salts to get rid of the stench of blood and other fluids, spoke soothing words that had no avail, and waited for the babe. The terror in her glazed eyes was unmistakable as contractions sharper than the one preceding hit her.
The hours passed by slowly for her, the interval between the pains decreased, while they, like her screams, increased in intensity. Daylight came, as the stars became veiled by the brilliance of Anar, but still there came no prince. The women passed in and out of the room for shifts, many dozing on chairs scattered around the hall. The lady showed no signs of being towards the end of her labor, and as long as she was not, they had nothing to do, except the few dedicated ones that stayed by her side, trying to make her comfortable and lowering the fever. There came no child still.
As dusk fell, the dozing heralds rushed to take up their trumpets, announcing the arrival of Prince Theodred. Ignoring the greetings of the people, he rushed into Meduseld, a fanatical fire in his eyes, leaving the best riders of Rohan struggling to keep up with him, save Elfhelm, who remained ever faithful, in pace with his friend, understanding his anxiety. He had ridden all night to Dunharrow, and found Theodred awake by the dying fire, as all the other men were enjoying the last few moments of sleep. Surprised by his arrival, Theodred instantly guessed the worst, that something had happened to his beloved wife, and to his dismay, this time Elfhelm could not reassure his friend. They had ridden without stopping, and since extracting the news from his friend, Theodred had not said a word, only furiously urging on Brego to reach Edoras.
Now, as he practically sprinted into the hall, Elfhelm closely trailing him, his eyes darted frantically from person to person, urging them to tell him the news, until a piercing, unhuman shriek came from behind the wooden door, and his eyes grew wide, fixated. Only the restraining arms of Elfhelm and the reminder of tradition kept Theodred from bursting into the chamber where his wife was in utter agony.
Elfhelm truly felt sorry for his friend of many years, sitting there, knowing how helpless he must feel. Theodred could fight Orcs, Wargs, or any foul minions of the Darkness; he was the best rider in Rohan, but he could do nothing to help his wife. Every scream and moan that came from that room pierced his heart, and at last, Theodred buried his head in his hands, unable to withstand the tension.
No matter how horrible her cries had been throughout the night, they were uncomparable to the culminating one, as the entire land of Rohan seemed to shake in martyred creation. A serving maid dropped her tray, nearly fainting at the hearing, as both Eowyn and Elfhelm tightened their grips on Theodred.
A few gasps for air, a low moan, and then—silence.
A/N: I didn't want to end it like this, but I figure, I get tortured with those cliffies all the time, why not try one for myself? (TAKE THAT SUSAN!!!) DON'T HURT ME!!! (especially Mag) Review!