A/N: Yes! Here is another chapter!!! Hehe!! No more bombardment!! Please! JK. Bombard all you like. Every author likes to know her work is well received. We finally discover the fate of poor Elentari...

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a special welcome the new readers. I won't name them all right now because I think you want to get to the story! Please review again!

Chapter 44: Aftermath

Theodred could no longer stand the accumulating silence. Elentari had not screamed, yet there was no cry of a babe, nor was there a midwife to come out and deliver the news, good or bad. They could sense activity behind that forbidding door, much of it, but they were left in the dark.

He made many attempts to dart at the door and break it down; it was so easy, but the withholding arms of Elfhelm and Eowyn, and his own respect held him back.

Finally, the door opened, just a sliver, and Theodred darted to it, pulling it open. Two midwives stood there, their bulky figures blocking the doorway, but Theodred could see the pale form of his wife laying there, matted in sweat and blood. Before he could call out or look clearly, they shut the door behind them. Theoden, Eowyn, and Elfhelm gathered behind him.

The midwives looked like they did not know where to begin, until finally, the daunting stare of Theodred made the elder one speak, "It was a long and strenuous labor."

Eowyn stared at the woman. Was that all? Anyone could tell by the screams and the long hours that it was long and strenuous. Was that all they could tell them? What about Elentari? What about the child?

No one spoke for a long moment, until Theodred finally barked, "Tell me about my wife and child!"

"The Lady exerted herself greatly, and is now resting. Delirium seems to still have a little hold on her, and she is still feverish."

Theodred looked worried, and his eyes were raised toward the door, until Elfhelm, in his brusque, yet caring way demanded, "And?"

"And," the midwife who had been talking the entire time stuttered, jabbing her companion, forcing her to talk.

"The child, the child was born," the younger one forced out, to the glare of all who listened to her. They knew she was trying hard to conceal or delay some information, which made it even harder.

"Out with it woman, before I have you flogged!" Theodred roared. Even Elfhelm, who knew his friend better than all, was taken aback by this threat.

"The child was delivered too early, my Prince," it all came out, "It came too early. Poor thing had no chance for survival. It was not fully developed yet."

The other woman added, "It had no lungs, no way to breathe. Its limbs were unformed."

"We're sorry," the first finally said, "The Lady doesn't know. We tried to tell her, but she was too exhausted and too delirious to understand us. The healer gave her something to sleep immediately afterwards. He said it was easier that way."

Theodred was barely listening by now. His head had slumped onto Elfhelm's shoulders, who in turn tried to comfort his friend. Eowyn had tears flowing down her cheeks, as she thought of how devastated her cousin and Elentari must be. Theoden managed a voice to ask, "Was it—

"A boy," the midwife answered, knowing the question. It seemed to make the loss even more devastating, and though Eowyn knew why, she did not agree.

After standing there uncomfortably for what seemed an eternity, the midwives turned to go back in.

"Wait," Theodred's broken voice commanded, "Let me see her."

"My Lord, she is asleep. She won't know you're there," one of them protested.

"Besides, she doesn't recognize anyone. The fever has overtaken her. She keeps calling for 'Faramir' and 'Boromir, and you, my Prince."

"Let me see her," he ordered in a firm voice, his eyes flashing terribly.

"Yes, my Prince, of course," the women melted away.

As he entered the room, Theodred's eyes were fixed upon the bed, the bed that had previously been smeared in blood, sweat, and other fluids; the bed on which his love was lying. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, the dark strands covered in sweat emphasizing her colorless face. Her eyes were closed, and were it not for the healer's reassurance, Theodred would not have believed her to be alive.

He sat beside her, his coarse hands worn from riding holding her delicate one. Exhaustion suddenly hit him, all the exhaustion accumulated from anxiety, from riding all night, from waiting, and from the devastation of the stillbirth, and he could not longer support himself. Careful not to hurt her, he positioned himself so that his upper body was lying on the bed, while he still sat in the chair, his arms around her, and let sleep take him.

Time went on unnoticed; when Theodred awoke again, he sensed her breaths grow shallower and felt her now familiar stirring. Hurriedly, he sat up again, waiting till her eyes opened.

He saw fog in those melancholy eyes that he loved, the fog that fever and pain brought on; the fog he saw when he tended to a man wounded in battle. Yet she recognized him, after staring at him for a few moments.

"I'm here, my love," he whispered, kissing her hand, "Everything's fine now. It's all over."

She did not say anything for a long time, as if trying to regain her grasp on consciousness, trying to remember what had happened to her. Finally, she touched her now-empty stomach, and looked up at him, "The child…"

A healer seemed to have heard this, for she rushed over, "My Lady, the child, it, it did not grace this world for long."

Elentari stared at both of them with wide eyes filled with horror, "No. No," she whispered, unwilling to believe them.

"I'm afraid it was too eager to join this world. So eager than it had not yet acquired the required parts to survive," the woman continued. Theodred watched his wife turn her face away, as she always did when she heard something not to her liking. It seemed to him that she believed that if she did not face something, it would go away. "I'm sorry, my Lady," the woman finished.

Motioning the woman away, Theodred swallowed his own anguish, and said, "Don't worry, love. There can be others. Next time…"

He didn't finish, for she turned back, her tear-strung eyes staring at him, "Next time? No Theodred, there will not be a next time," before she finished her sentence the tears spilled over, and she choked into sobs. He cast out his arms to comfort her, but she pushed him away with what little strength she had left.

"Please Theodred, leave me," her voice was so pathetic, so pitiful. He had no choice but to obey her, for fear that she would harm herself further if he did not abide.

Outside, Elfhelm, Eowyn, and Theoden were all waiting anxiously.

"How is she?" Elfhelm and Eowyn asked in unison.

Theodred could not find the voice to tell them.

"Well?" Eowyn couldn't restrain herself. She saw that her cousin was shaken, but she didn't care.

"She, she told me to get out," was what they distinguished.

"Is she awake?" Eowyn asked, "Can I see her?" Theodred did not answer. He was too occupied thinking of her face, the way she looked when she had received the news. Those eyes, those large, sorrowful eyes had taken the look of a wounded animal, and he thought it was better to be plunged into oblivion than to see that expression on her pale face. The fact that she had told him to get out, not wanting to share her grief with him, not allowing him to comfort her, to be with her, had wounded him more than the death of their child had. She did not seem to understand that he suffered the same devastation, the same agony. He hoped that it was ignorance of this that caused her to shun him, for if it were not, the pain would be unbearable to him, for it meant that she did not trust him, did not love him enough to share with him, or so he thought.

Inside, her face still turned towards the wall, away from the women attending her, as silent tears flowed down her face. She did not know what she wept for more: the lost child or herself. She had desperately wanted a child, if not for the child itself but for the promise of happiness it brought. She had kept herself alive for the child, found happiness in the prospect of one. But she knew then that she would never bear another child. She turned her face, and saw one midwife snoozing near her.

She called the woman over, "Bring me my child."

The midwife was startled, "But my Lady, the healers, they will not approve. It is not wise."

"Do as I say," she ordered, her voice more firm than what she felt, "Who's roof do you live under? The healers or mine?"

The midwife hesitated, "This is beyond my authority." She scampered off, and returned with one of the head healers.

"Let me see my child," Elentari demanded.

"My Lady, that is not wise." It was an unwritten protocol for midwives and healers to not allow parents to see a dead baby. Most of the time, they didn't even tell them what gender the child was, for the less parents knew about a child, the easier it was to let go.

"I did not ask you if it were wise. I asked you to bring me my child," she commanded, uncharacteristically.

"My Lady, in all honesty—she did not allow the healer to finish, "Bring me my child before I order you to be thrown to the Orcs."

Deterred, the healer reluctantly went into the next room, and returned momentarily with a small bundle in her arms. Without a word, she placed in it the outstretched arms of Elentari, and both she and midwife left.

Left alone, she looked down onto the tiny bundle, and with her finger, delicately traced the minuscule forehead. She could see and feel the beginnings of hair growing on it; tiny strands the color of hers. The dark hair seemed to be the only thing her son had taken after her, for he had the robust complexion of the Rohirrim, and as she gently pried open the shut eyelids, tears came to her eyes as she saw the azure blue of Theodred's in those tiny eyes never to open in this world. It seemed to her unfair. Dozens of children were born every day, yet it was her child that had to suffer this fate. Those that didn't deserve to live, such as Orcs and foul scum like Grima Wormtongue lived on, yet an innocent babe as this child of hers would never grace this world.

Tears flowing, she clutched the babe to her breast, until a healer later found her asleep, traces of tears still fresh upon her face.

The news spread out of Meduseld like wildfire. Before the day was over, everyone in Edoras knew, from the lowest scullery maid to the merchants on the street. With the news came the gossip. Why had the child come so early? Why did the Lady push away Prince Theodred? Did she blame him? Who was to blame for the stillbirth? Why did she refuse to see anyone? Many then recalled her hidden tears at her wedding, and the sorrowful look constantly in her eyes. She always seemed sickly, or at least not as robust as a childbearing woman should be. And why was there always a mournful look about her? What were those tears, never far from the surface there for? Most of them ended up blaming her, blaming her for not taking care of herself, for thinking herself too good for Rohan, for looking down upon them, for the death of the child. Elfhelm heard these whispers, and tried to put them down, and tried not to let Theodred or Elentari hear them.

Eowyn sat with Elentari for long periods at a time, reading to her from her favorite scripts, talking to her, or just being there. Once Elentari drifted away to sleep, as she was wont to do, Eowyn would let Theodred in, and leave the two. Yet as soon as Elentari stirred, Theodred would hurriedly leave, for his wife still did not wish to see him. When she had found him in her room once, she refused to look at him, her eyes guilt-stricken and full of tears, she commanded him to leave. It broke his heart, but he obeyed her will, trusting her unknown reasons, and hoping that she would tell him in her own good time. He did not understand why she turned away from him. Did she believe that he blamed her? Did she believe that he could be so heartless?

It was on one such occasion when she was sleeping that Theodred watched her. She had taken to sleeping for large portions of the day, something the healers told him would make her stronger, but he caught the faint lines of worry when they said this. But instead of making her stronger, the more she slept, the more she craved rest, and the weaker she felt. He was lost in her pale face when she suddenly awoke, and seeing him watching her, she turned away.

"Leave," came the whispered command once again; the command that gutted him.

"Elentari please," he begged. He didn't want to leave this time without getting some information from her, some way to know why she wouldn't face him.

"Leave," he could tell from her voice that she was close to tears. He could barely stop his own from pouring from his eyes.

"Why are you doing this Elentari?" he pleaded with her, trying not to choke on his tears, "It's been a week. If you are still grieving, then why not let me grieve with you? Why have you built these walls to isolate yourself? Please, my love."

There came no answer.

"Please Elentari."

She turned; looking him straight in the eyes, green on blue, yet he saw no tears in them, they were beyond them, only the deepest sorrow, "Leave, Theodred. Leave," she said in a firm, emotionless voice.

Tears spilling over, Theodred submitted to her will, broken. He went straight from her room to the stables, saddling Brego, and alone, rode out onto the plains.

Elentari lay there, dry-eyed, praying that she had not hurt Theodred too deeply. She did not want to, but she couldn't bring herself to face him and if hurting him was the only way to keep him away, then that was what she would do. He would never understand why she did it; no one would, not Eowyn, not Elfhelm, not even Boromir if he were here. Her thoughts instinctively turned to Faramir. It was all because of him; if he had never existed then she would have no second thoughts of her marriage. Yet if he had never been in her life, she knew she would have made it this far. It was because of these thoughts that she refused to see Theodred. She could not bring herself to look into those innocent blue eyes full of love and not want to throw herself into the sea for not being faithful to him, though her wandering had been only in thought. He had given her nothing but love and dedication, yet she had allowed her thoughts to drift, to think of Faramir; after all he had given her, she couldn't even give him the child he so earnestly wanted. She hated herself for failing him, even though he would never say it, would never blame her, and that made it even worse. If he raged at her, if he blamed her, hit her even, it would've made it easier. Yet he did nothing like that, only looked at her caringly, with nothing but love in his eyes. She didn't want to live. Yet if she let him in, let his love seep back into her heart, her determination would be swayed once more. No, she could not. She couldn't hurt him any further. She could not torture herself any longer.

A/N: I knew you guys would love this return to my simple introspection that fills the majority of this story! Or at least I hope so. Please review!