Acknowledgments: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful friends, readers and experts that continue answering my questions on the issues of pregnancy and birth.

This is for:

Aranel
Ellenflower
Frigg
Narwen and her mother.

Thank you very, very much!

oooOooo

97. One Lótessë Morning…

It was the end of Lótessë. And we had a holiday coming up. Nothing important, a local Rohirric holiday to celebrate the advent of summer, the season of growth and fruitfulness. The holiday involved the slaughtering and the eating of suckling pig.

This was definitely not my kind of holiday.

Once again I found it really difficult to leave my upbringing behind me. Those piglets were so cute, as they tumbled over one another in the pen, searching for the most nourishing teat! And they were not the pink hairless ugly pigs I had seen on earth. These were shaggy, spotted animals that had real personalities – or so I was assured by Gamble, the gnarled Rohirrim in charge of the royal pigs.

Yes, there were pigs that belonged exclusively to the royal household. There were all kinds of animals that belonged to the royal household. And I am not talking about cats or Éomer's beloved dogs here. The ham on the table and the eggs in the pancakes have to come from somewhere.

Although I did enjoy the Rohirric ham and the one made of the royal pigs, too, I refused to participate in the ceremonial slaughtering of said suckling pig.

Éomer laughed at me for my squeamishness, but he indulged me and allowed me to stay away. The important part of the holiday was apparently not the slaughtering as such, but the consumption of a gruel made with the blood of that unfortunate animal in the morning of the holiday and of the roasted carcass in the evening.

It was early in the morning and it was a rainy Lótessë morning. A gentle, silver veil of rain covered the roofs and roads of Edoras before me. I inhaled the cool, soft air gratefully. I often felt queasy when I rose first thing in the morning, something to do with my low blood pressure. During the last days – probably due to the change of the weather from the sunny dry spell to these cooler, wetter conditions – it had been worse than usual.

My gaze rested on the thatched roof of the house closest to the palace of Meduseld. A blackbird was perched on the gable and singing in the rain, with no care for wet feathers. A family of sparrows was flitting in and out of the nest, busily feeding the baby sparrows. Unconsciously my hand stole to my stomach. There was the hope, of course, that the queasiness that I experienced in the mornings was not due to my blood pressure and a change of the weather. I had missed my monthlies, too. But I was wary of taking this as a sure fire sign for the pregnancy that I was hoping for so much. Here in Middle-earth, without the assistance of the pill that had me kept regularly back on earth before I had switched to the Implanon, I was irregular as hell. Twice before I had thought that I was pregnant, but both times Elaine had had to disappoint me. My stupid body had only thought it cute to miss a period.

"What has you frowning and looking so worried, my lady?" Sorcha asked, smoothing down the heavy blue-green skirts of her dress, as she left the shelter of the roof to come and stand next to me in the light drizzle. I glared at her. I was trying to get her to call me "Lothy" and "Lothíriel" again when we were alone. I did understand about the need for courtly etiquette in public, but when we were alone, I needed her to be my friend, and not my lady-in-waiting. At the moment we were alone, apart from Orn and Helmichis, and the door guards of the palace, all of them standing at the great doors of the Golden Hall. If we did not raise our voices, they would not be able to hear if Sorcha called me "my lady" or "Lothíriel". Most nobles did not seem to care overly much what they did and said in front of guards, anyway. A mistake, by the way. Ini, my maid-servant, was being courted by a handsome young guard of Éomer's, Ederyn – and he was a positive mine of information after standing guard at councils and assemblies. I looked over to the guards who stood tall and unmoving, staring stolidly ahead. I grinned. No… Not all of them were staring stolidly ahead with that cool and empty look of a guard on duty. One head, blond, dark eyes widening, bearded cheeks flushing, quickly turned away. Helmichis was on duty far more often than he ought to be, as second in command of the queen's guard. So far, to no avail. Sorcha stubbornly ignored the young warrior's patient efforts to get closer to her. But if someone was to ask me to place a bet in this game, I would choose Helmichis. The young guard's quiet tenacity would win through in the end. Or so I hoped, at least.

"My lady?" I ignored her. Sorcha sighed. But she was not the only one who could be stubborn in the palace of Meduseld, though I seldom allowed myself that luxury. "Lothíriel, what is the matter?" Suddenly Sorcha moved closer to me and unexpectedly put her hand on my arm, squeezing it comfortingly. "You know, you might be pregnant this time."

I drew a shivery breath. Normally I did not care much for the fact that my ladies-in-waiting and my maid-servants were in on those intimate details of my bodily functions. But Sorcha was my friend.

"I wish I was!" I said, more heatedly than I planned, feeling hot tears of frustration pricking in my eyes. "Oh, damn it. How I wish I was! And Éomer wishes for it, too. He knows that he needs an heir. I know that he needs and heir."

"But it is not only that, isn't it?" Sorcha asked gently.

"No, of course not!" I retorted, raising my hands in an angry, helpless gesture. These days everything seemed to irritate me. "I want us to be a family! Éomer wants to have a real family. But he is frightened, too. The way he lost his parents, the way he almost lost his sister in the war… He is afraid of the same happening to any children we might have. And yet…" My throat constricted, remembering the look of painful longing on Éomer's face. "When he speaks of Éowyn, so happy in her pregnancy and of Arwen's girls…

I swallowed hard.

"He loves you and his sister very much, Lothíriel. He is a young man still. It is only natural that he gets a bit sentimental about his only sister carrying her first," Sorcha commented, her tone calm and soothing. I rubbed my forehead with the fingers of my left hand, trying to smooth away the tension. I had the feeling that dealing with me was becoming a tedious full-time job for my ladies-in-waiting.

"How do you feel about getting pregnant? I imagine that you are a bit nervous, maybe? Such things will probably dealt very differently with, where you grew up?" Sorcha asked, unperturbed.

I exhaled heavily, my hands clenching automatically. I felt so torn! I wanted Éomer's child, more than anything else in the world. But I was also frightened to death with the thought of it. No real doctor to control things. No ultra-sound to tell me that everything was alright. No blood-samples to prove that I was getting all the right kinds of vitamins and trace-minerals and whatever is important during pregnancy. And then, no hospital for giving birth. No epidural. No emergency equipment. I felt my hands tremble and quickly crossed my arms in front of my breast. "I am a bit nervous," I said finally. My voice was shaky enough to tell Sorcha that "a bit nervous" was probably not quite accurate a description for the state of my nerves. "But I want a child, Sorcha! Every time I see Solas, or Tally or Danso, I want a child of my own! Every time I see Anrid smile and pet her belly, I want to smile like that, too! But I am frightened, too. Maybe it is the fact that both of us are in two minds about having a child that keeps me from conceiving…" I trailed off and stared bleakly into the misty Lótessë morning. "I want to have a child so very, very much, Sorcha!" I whispered.

After a long moment of silence I breathed deeply, trying to calm down my jumbled thoughts and feelings. But from somewhere down below the smell of sewers drifted up to the terrace and promptly made me gag. However, with me any feeling of nervousness and excitement is directly linked to my stomach and my heart rate. Éowyn gets the shivers and icy hands. I feel nauseated and my heart starts racing. If you are waiting for tell-tale signs of pregnancy in a world without pregnancy tests to be bought in the drugstore at the corner, an easily upset stomach is a pain in the…

Sorcha looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, and then she raised her eyebrows at me. "Your wish for a child might be fulfilled sooner than you think, Lothíriel," Sorcha said with a bit of curious concern in her voice. "I really think that this time your queasiness is a bit intense for a change of weather or for rising early and having had no breakfast yet. And if you don't mind my saying so, you do seem to be a bit excitable these last few days."

My hand stole down to my stomach again. The wave of nausea had passed as quickly as it had come. My heart was pounding and hopeful excitement made my stomach flutter. "Do you really think so?"

Sorcha shrugged. "I am not a healer, and when I had Solas, I had no morning-sickness at all. But I have seen you on quite a number of mornings now… so I think that I am able judge what is normal for you and what is not. Maybe you should ask Elaine to have a look at you, later today?"

What Sorcha said was true. We had lived together in Edoras for almost eight months now. She knew what a grouch I was in the morning. She knew that I often felt a bit off-colour in the morning and with the change of weather. Perhaps, this time it was not my body acting up…

I closed my eyes, trying not to get too dizzy with hope for a tiny, golden haired boy to smile up at me with Éomer's dark eyes and perhaps a hint of my mother's brilliant smile…

"But please, don't say anything at breakfast," I asked Sorcha. "If it is only me being irregular again, I don't want to disappoint Éomer."

His understanding and comforting words and his embraces had been almost more than I could bear the last two times when I had thought that I might be pregnant.

"Of course," Sorcha nodded. "That is nothing to bother him with, until we are sure of your condition. But don't worry, even if you should not be pregnant this time, either. You may be a bit older than most, for your first child. But you are a young woman still, and strong. You have time enough to have many children."

I sighed deeply. But before I could answer, the doors of the Hall were opened and Mistress Gosvintha walked towards us, the hem of her long, dark dress rustling on the stone floor of the terrace. "My lady, it is time. Breakfast is ready to be served and the Harper has prepared a hymn to Yavanna for this holiday, and to Bema. Éomer King sends me to ask for your presence in the Hall now."

I nodded and turned. Some hot gruel and some songs to Yavanna and Oromë would not be too hard to take, I thought, and entered the hall in front of Sorcha and Gosvintha.

oooOooo

In the Golden Hall I was delighted to see that this holiday called for a relaxed order of seating. The high-backed throne like chairs were nowhere in sight, instead two of the heavy wooden benches that normally stood at the side of the hall were placed on both sides of the long table.

I felt a smile spread on my face. If I got to sit close to Éomer and not on a bloody throne for it, I guessed that I could come to like hot gruel laced with pig's blood.

Éomer answered my smile with one of his quick, surprising grins. He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. He came to meet in halfway to the table, courteously taking my hand, but drawing me far closer to his body than courtly manners called for. As always, I enjoyed the firm grip his hand and the warm strength of his body pressed to mine. But when I inhaled happily, the spicy scent of his body and his perfume was mingled not with the comfortable scent of hay and horse, but with the rather pungent smell of pigs. Promptly my stomach tightened up uncomfortably.

Perhaps I was really pregnant?

On the other hand, did I want to feel queasy and nauseated for weeks?

Éomer inconspicuously sneaked his arm around me. I felt my heart melt for him. Even though he smelled like a pig at the moment.

Yes, I definitely wanted to feel queasy and nauseated for weeks, if only that meant that we would be a real family!

Then breakfast was served and I reconsidered.

The gruel or grits was hot with steam curling above the big bowls placed on the table. I swallowed hard. And it smelled rather strongly like… well, perhaps not like blood, but certainly like hot liver sausage or some such. A warm, tangy smell with a metallic undertone that seemed to clog the back of my mouth. I swallowed again. My stomach rebelled.

The Rohirrim looked happily at the bowls.

I realized that I had to be strong now.

One of the servants placed a well filled bowl of gruel in front of me. Up close it was worse than the smell. It was a brownish, sluggish mixture with bits of freshly made sausage in it. A feast for the common people in Rohan, I did realize that. I did understand why it would be a holiday when the first young animal of the season was ready to be slaughtered and eaten. I did understand why it was important for the king to share these holidays with his people.

But damn it all to hell, why did that holiday have to start with a breakfast consisting of hot cereal with curdled pig's blood?

I had not even been fond of Blutwurst and Pressack way back in Germany, and no one had ever been able to persuade me to try a Metzelsuppn.

I clenched my teeth and stared at the bowl in front of me, wishing nothing so much as that it would disappear. Éomer raised his mug of ale for a holiday toast. When I lifted my beaker I was glad to see that there was only cider in it.

"Wes ðu hal! Hail!"

Fortunately Rohirrim toasts are short and concise, most of the time, keeping things down to what is absolutely necessary before it comes to the drinking. Eagerly I gulped the cool, mild cider, hoping that it would settle my stomach. Indeed, my stomach felt better with the tart taste of cider on my tongue and the cool liquid running soothingly down my throat.

I took up my spoon.

It was hot. And slimy. I swallowed quickly, not daring to taste. My stomach was fine with hot and slimy. A pleasant warm weight expanded in my stomach. I ate quickly, drinking deeply from my cider between spoonfuls. After a time of single-minded, concentrated eating, I sufficiently relaxed to lean back and sigh with relief. My stomach seemed to be all settled now. Probably it was only the weather, once again. Or it was the onset of my monthlies that had me a bit queasy. I balled my hands into fists to keep me from wistfully touching my belly again.

When the morning meal was finished and the bowls and dishes cleared away by swift-footed servants, the Harper allowed Tally to lead him to the centre of the Golden Hall. I don't think he really needed any assistance, blind though he was, but Tally was so sweet in his insistence to aid his master in any way he could that the Harper accepted more help from the small boy than was really necessary.

This morning the Harper would sing and Tally would play the harp, the small round Rohirric lap harp that was a favoured instrument by many artists and would-be musicians at court.

I inched a bit closer to Éomer, hoping that in his holiday mood he might be inclined to forget about courtly manners today. Indeed, he put his arm around me again and even rested his head against mine, settling down to listen to the bard comfortably.

Somehow the renewed knowledge of just how easily we might lose one another to war and death, and the joy at being together again had changed things between us. We were closer than before Éomer had gone to help Aragorn hold the border of Harondor and we were easier in our daily dealings with one another. Also, both of us had grown into our respective roles during the months spent apart. The security that came from that did much to smooth and strengthen our relationship.

So I leaned happily into Éomer's embrace, ready to enjoy the singing.

oooOooo

After a few minutes of listening, I began to feel a bit edgy and uncomfortable. My stomach, moments ago comfortably settled, felt now unbelievably stuffed and heavy enough to bring the bench down on which we were seated. I swallowed hard and moved away from Éomer a bit. Swallowing was a mistake.

The working of my throat brought back an intensive aftertaste of mealy gruel with an intensive livery flavour that was thick enough to fill my mouth almost like the real thing.

The Harper sang of blood and war.

What else would he be singing of, in Rohan? I thought irritably, trying to think of anything else but blood. But my mind could not be swayed. The stale, metallic taste in my mouth intensified.

Now the Harper was singing about the blood and milk that nourished the people of the Rohirrim – the black cattle of the Emnet, given to the Rohirrim by Bema, just as he had given them the Mearas…

That brought my mind back to the piglets and the way the piglet must have squealed that had let its life for the grits of this morning and the roast for tonight. How the blood must have splashed… how it had curdled in the heat of the cooking grits…

My stomach coiled up.

I gulped.

Gulping did not help.

I heaved, got a mouthful of the grits back into my mouth along with sour fluids. I tensed up and swallowed it back down.

I would have to run.

I turned to Éomer, barely able to keep my breakfast down. Urgently I prodded his arm. "Éomer," I whispered, my teeth clenched, my stomach tightened, hoping against hope that I would be able to make it out of the hall. "Éomer, I have to leave now, I am not well!"

He frowned at me. "Leave now? In the middle of the hymn? What is the matter with you?"

My throat working dryly, I tried to summon the strength for an answer.

"Lothíriel, my love, what is the matter? You look so pale suddenly!" Éomer reached for me, his expression anxious.

But this slight touch, this little movement, was enough to make me lose what control I had over my upset stomach. I started heaving, heaving, tried to turn around, but Éomer was still holding me, tried to cover my mouth with my hands, but with the violent convulsions that gripped me there was neither aim nor restraint.

When I collapsed onto the bench and opened my eyes again, Éomer was dripping all over with regurgitated grits and curdled pig's blood, with a bit of what undoubtedly began the meal as a bit of sausage tangled in his hair.

I coughed and gasped and stared at Éomer, light-headed and relieved of that terrible nausea and heaviness to my stomach. Éomer stared at me. Then he looked down his front, the dripping tunic and shirt, the way slimy bits of vomit slowly dripped down to the floor. He looked utterly disgusted, but also shocked and worried – and: thoughtful.

His eyes grew calm; I could see that he was thinking hard. He looked at me, with one of his long dark looks. Suddenly a smile started at the corners of his eyes, crinkling the skin, lighting up his eyes, tugging at the corners of his lips, widening his mouth to one of his most brilliant smiles. He smiled at me and then he asked, "Lothíriel, my love, is it possible that you are with child?"

I stared at him. Involuntarily my hand dropped to my stomach. Never before had I puked like that for no good reason. An unbelievable rush of joy and happiness spread through me.

"I am not sure," I answered honestly, my voice shaking a bit. "Maybe?"

oooOooo

Elaine spread the covers over me with a surprisingly tender gesture and sat down at my bedside.

After Éomer and the others had overcome the first moment of shock at my "explosion" I was carried to our bedchamber by Elfhelm. Once there Sorcha, Anrid and Elaine proceeded to fuss over me. I was undressed and put to bed like a child.

Then Elaine had sent everyone out of the room and proceeded to question me about how I was feeling. She already knew that I had missed my monthlies once again.

Was I feeling rather tired lately?

Oh, yes… But I had thought that was due to Éomer and me spending a good part of every night awake…

Was I prone to mood swings that I could not quite explain?

I felt rather irritable at that question. How should I know that? But I guess that was an answer all by itself.

Were my breasts more sensitive than I was used to?

Er… yes… But again I had assumed that was rather caused by Éomer's fortunate return and our resumed marital activities during the nights.

Did I experience strange appetites? For things that I would not normally eat or drink? Did other things inexplicably make me sick?

Was it really inexplicable that hot grits with curdled pig's blood made me sick?

But I had to admit to a rather hopeless desire for coke. Coca Cola. One of the things that I would definitely not be able to get here…

At last Elaine smiled at me, one of her rare, beautiful smiles. "Well, Lothíriel. I think that you are indeed with child. It's still a bit early, but if you don't get your monthlies in the next two weeks, I think we can be sure. And I don't think you will be disappointed this time. There are too many signs, this time. Sensitive breasts, a certain irritability, the need for more sleep, an easily upset stomach… Now, I want you to take it easy for the next few weeks until we can be really sure that you are really with child. You don't have to stay in bed, but for the time being rest a bit more than you usually do. And no more weapons' training and no hard riding. Just to be careful." She patted my reassuringly. "Now, is there anything you might want to ask me?"

I stared at her. I still felt light-headed and now my mind was completely blank – and a wild jumble of thoughts, all at the same time. Again, my left hand stole down to my stomach. Was there someone in there? Was I not alone in this body anymore? Was a tiny life in there that belonged to both Éomer and me? A new life that our love had created?

I stared at Elaine, trying to sort out my thoughts and come up with some kind of coherent comment or question, but nothing came to mind.

Elaine laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I will be around when you have any question later on. And please, if you sense anything amiss, speak to me at once. You are older than most women are for their first child. And you carry the heir to the throne of Rohan. We have to take extra care with you."

I swallowed hard and nodded wordlessly. I knew that twenty-six was really not old for a first child – at least on earth. But on earth medicine was on a very different level than it was here. I felt my heart speed up. No need to worry, I told myself. You are healthy… and women have born children without ultrasound and hospitals for hundreds of years… there's nothing to be afraid of…But I was afraid, of course.

"I think Éomer King will want to talk to you now," Elaine said and rose from her seat at the side of my bed. She went to the door. I could hear her talking in a low voice to someone who had been waiting outside. The voice that answered her was dark and deep. Éomer!

And then he was at my side, sitting down where Elaine had sat only a moment ago. He was dressed in a fresh shirt and tunic and his hair framed his face in damp curls.

"My love," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Oh, my love!"

Suddenly an immense feeling of joy enveloped me. My hand still rested lightly on my stomach. For the first time I was sure that it was true. I just knew it was true. I carried our child in my womb. A child of love and joy and peace.

I smiled at Éomer.

I felt that I would never be able to stop smiling again.

oooOooo

A/N:

"Blutwurst" and "Pressack" are similar things, something like blood sausage. They can be very good! "Metzelsuppn" is the broth in which blood and liver sausages are boiled. Sometimes a sausage will burst in the process of cooking and the contents stay in the broth. "Waste not, want not" is probably a universal truth where farmers are concerned; anyway, in rural Frankonia "Metzelsuppn" is the traditional evening meal on the day of slaughtering.

oooOooo

A/N: Some more thank-you's and comments.

Thank you for reading and commenting, Narwen, Aranel, Christina, Milissa, Mortal Evenstar, Lucretia, Frigg, Eirwen, Soccer-bitch, Mija, Arwen101.

Special thanks to Eyes of sky for explaining that "ah". I am glad that my story provoked such a sound!

More special thanks to Calenia, I am very happy that you found, read, enjoyed and reviewed my story.

I hope all of you enjoy this perhaps a bit unconventional revelation of Lothy's pregnancy!

Yours
Juno