A/N: Though this is really short, it's really one of my favorite chapters so far. I don't know why. Maybe I just desire the same thing she does.
This one's for Nayana. Happy birthday! I'm sorry it's a day late. I hope you keep reading and liking.
Special thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter: Roisin Dubh, Jade Fairy, Larka Vanimelde, Kitty and Kenny, and Serulene, with welcomes for all but the first! (Of course Susan, you are awesome too.)
Chapter 45: Guilt and Defiance
The healers of Edoras seemed never far from Lady Elentari's chambers. After staying in her chambers for an extended period of time after the misfortunate birth, Theoden had sent healers to examine her. They could find nothing physically wrong with her, except for something they called, "the will to die". She was completely docile to their efforts, never complained about anything, and when spoken to, answered with a peaceful, yet enigmatic smile of one who is content to keep a secret. They could not find anything medically wrong with her, except that she was still weak from the confinement and fever, and there was still a rather high chance of further infection and fever. Other than that, the major problem seemed to be that she did not want to get well. The healers had had plenty other things to worry about as well, for Eowyn had caught a chill and been ordered to bed. Theodred had been commanded to take some rest, for he would not stop worrying over Elentari. They prescribed a sleeping draught, and sent him to Eomer's room to rest, for his wife would still not allow him in her presence.
Unbeknownst to them, when she heard the news that Theodred was asleep in Eomer's room, she dismissed her maids, and crept over.
Stopping abruptly as she heard the door creak behind her as she entered, her heart softened when she saw his sleeping form. Trusting the sleeping draught and his exhaustion, she knelt beside the bed, gazing upon his peaceful face. With great difficulty, she restrained herself from stroking his loving face, marveling at the tranquility she found upon it. She loved watching people sleep, no matter who it was, from Theodred and Eowyn, to Boromir and Faramir back home. It seemed to her that sleep washed away all the grief and cares that weighed down upon him during the day. She remembered the saying he had once told her, "Only in dreams can man truly be free; 'twas always thus and always thus shall be." She wondered what he was dreaming of that moment, whether she was in his dreams, if he was angry with her for shunning him. If only he knew that she loved him, in her own guilt-full way, she adored him. The guilt she felt attacked her from all different directions; she was guilty for loving him as she did, and even more guilty for the guilt she felt at loving him, for she wanted to tear herself apart for being unfaithful to him, if only in thought. To top it all, she hated herself for failing him, for not giving him the heir they all coveted, and for not wanting to bear any more children. She thought herself selfish and wretched, for hurting him to save herself pain, for wanting to die and leave him.
Unable to resist, she touched the strand of golden hair that always seemed to cling to his face, and tucked it behind his ear, knowing that it was of no use and the strand would find its way back. Seeing that he did not stir, she caressed his cheek tenderly, and held his head between her small, porcelain hands. She thought of his face early in the morning, during the time where both rising and staying in bed seemed dismal options. His eyes would be half-open, his hair clinging to his face, and in his sleepiness, he was both the child and the husband she longed to love. She remembered all the times he had staggered in unexpectedly, late at night, when she was already asleep. She would awaken in the darkness to his tender kisses that set her on fire. Did she really want to give it up? Did she not love being his wife?
But these thoughts of release and ending were not the first she had. Did she not long for it when she was home in Minas Tirith? Had she not been willing to give all of it up? Boromir? Even Faramir for release from the labor of living? Gently, careful not to wake him, she planted tender kisses on his face.
For a moment, she lost her resolve, tempted to wake him, beg his forgiveness, and feel his arms around her, yield to his gentle love. Yet as quick as the weakness came, the faster it dissolved. She would not torment him any longer with her guilt, with her indecision and longing. She would not torture herself any longer. She had given up too much of her life to all these men in her life; to Denethor, to Boromir, to Theodred, to Faramir; she would take back the reins, even if it meant the ending of that life. Elated, she felt the strange pleasure of power course through her, knowing that she could decide something, had control over life, and that at her will, these men could know what she felt like, could die a little each day, could shed some of the tears that her eyes had now run dry of. With a strange new feeling of resentful defiance that though unjustified, made her feel better than she had ever before, she turned back to her own room, exhausted both physically and emotionally by her little excursion.
She did not rise unaided from there again.