100. Reaching for a Golden Future
My womb felt as if it was filled with rocks, heavy and painful, jarring the tender flesh from the inside out and dragging me down into the deepest pits of despair. I stepped to the window, but the thick round pieces of glass set into frames of lead allowed barely a glimpse outside. I was caught in dim green twilight. I raised my hand to the glass and traced the round frames…My hand was heavy, my movements slow and sluggish. My child was dead… dead before he was ever born… and all that was left of my joy was a feeling of rocks in my womb…Tears began rolling down my cheeks. I felt them on my skin, running down at the side of my nose, gathering in droplets at the corners of my mouth. Then the tears turned into sobs and suddenly I was shaking, convulsing in an agony of grief. I sank down on my knees, watching as if from far away how my outstretched hands slid down the window panes. I collapsed on the floor, weeping as I had never wept before…
I woke from the sound of weeping. I opened my eyes and only dimly realized that I had woken from the sound of my own weeping. I blinked against the tears filling up my eyes and tried to make sense of my surroundings.
The child! The blood!
Wildly my hand reached down to my stomach – but was caught by another hand, before I could touch the soft swell of my womb. With my heart racing and nausea rising up in a sour wave of bile I was suddenly wide awake.
Elaine sat at my bed and held my hand.Her face was calm and composed.I gulped for breath, wishing I had never even opened my eyes.I could not bring myself to say anything; I only stared at the healer silently.
"Are you awake now? Lothíriel? Do you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying?" She held my hand tightly.
I nodded mutely, tears still flowing down my cheeks.
"Everything is alright."
I stared at her. I felt my mouth drop open.
She repeated slowly, "Everything is alright. You are fine. Your baby is fine. Do you understand me? You are healthy. The baby is healthy. There is nothing to worry about."
Everything was alright? But there had been blood! Blood! There ought to be no blood when you are pregnant, even I knew that much!
"But… but… the blood…" My voice seemed to come from far away and the nausea was growing so strong that I felt dizzy with it.
"There was only a little blood, only a bit of a brown smudge. That is entirely normal, especially for someone who is very active – as you are, riding from Edoras to Minas Tirith. It is only dangerous when the blood is bright red and when there is pain. You are a bit excitable, and you tire more easily than you are used to. You have to take care not to overdo things and stay calm. That is all. There is really nothing to worry about," Elaine told me, watching me closely.
"Everything is alright with you and your child," she repeated again, calmly, soothingly.
Suddenly the knot of agony and anxiety inside me burst into another bout of sobbing, with the sobs turning into heaves as my stomach convulsed. Elaine quickly reached out and turned me to the side of the bed, where a bucket had been placed in foresight. Elaine held me and stroked my hair back as I wretched an unspeakable mess into the bucket, and she kept holding me as I collapsed into a heap after the heaving finally subsided.
After a while, Elaine made me gargle with a bit of water and then drink a few swallows. The water tasted horrible, tepid and a bit salty. But it did help to settle my stomach. Afterwards she gently helped me to lie down on my back again and gently placed my hand on the soft round of my stomach.
"There, reassure the heir of Rohan that everything is fine… I am going to get you a bit of broth. You need to eat and calm down. Your husband is waiting outside. Do you want to see him?"
I nodded weakly. "Yes, please."
I felt too exhausted to even feel sorry or embarrassed for my overreaction. My only thoughts were about my baby… that my baby was safe, that he would not die…
At the mere thought my eyes filled with tears again. I closed my eyes tightly. I would not cry again. Everything was fine. I was fine. The baby was fine.
But then the door opened and Éomer entered the room, looking thoroughly dishevelled and very pale. He was at my side and I was in his arms within seconds, enveloped in his warm, spicy scent and his strong embrace, my harbour of safety in this world, in this life. I cried again. But comforted and soothed by his closeness, these were silent tears and with each tear that soaked into his white linen shirt the horror of my fear and my nightmare subsided.
oooOooo
When I woke again, my sister-in-law was with me. She sat in a high backed chair next to my bed, her legs stretched out, a very round and ripe belly thrust out, her eyes closed.
The sight of her pregnant body, cocooning a baby almost ready to be born, I was instantly awake. For a moment my thoughts were a horrified jumble, but then I remembered and exhaled deeply.
It was only a dream. Only a dream!
As my heartbeat slowed down again, I watched my sister-in-law. Relief turned into mirth. Suddenly I felt many small giggles bubbling up inside of me at the sight of the proud shield maiden and White Lady of Ithilien stretched out so ignominiously. I shook my head.
It had been too long since I had seen her the last time! Almost a year!
I sat up in my bed. For a moment I felt hesitant about disturbing her rest and incredibly embarrassed at my collapse and slightly hysterical behaviour. But then I gathered my courage and smiled at her. "Éowyn!"
Éowyn slowly opened her eyes. For a moment she looked decidedly grumpy at being disturbed, but then she looked at me searchingly for a moment, the expression on her face one of deep concern. Then, apparently satisfied with her scrutiny, she smiled back at me. A brilliant, a radiant smile.
"Lothy, you sleepy-head! Finally awake, are you? How do you feel?" She looked pointedly at the floor next to my bed.
I followed her gaze. A new bucket was placed next to my bed. I rolled my eyes at her.
"I don't think so. No," I paused for a moment, trying to assess how I really felt, now that I had calmed down. Finally I decided that I felt good: rested and almost peaceful. But I had lost track of the time. "I feel fine. Really. But I have no idea how long I slept… what day is it?"
Éowyn raised her eyebrows at me. "Are you sure? Arwen always said that… and then she puked all over the place. And it is Menelya, the 27th of Cermië. And I wish this Prince of Ithilien would stop kicking." She arched her back and rubbed her hands in soothing, circular motions over her rounded midsection. The dark memory of fear and a nightmare made me swallow dryly. My own hand involuntarily made the journey down to my own barely swelling stomach. My child was fine. My little prince… they would be really close in age, I realized, my baby and Éowyn's. A prince of Ithilien and a prince of Rohan, born within months of each other…
"Do you think they will like each other? They'll be so close in age…" I asked hopefully and immediately felt rather stupid.
But Éowyn laughed only. "Well, the present Prince of Ithilien and the King of Rohan get along well enough, so I should think there's some hope that their respective offspring will do the same." She groaned at another kick delivered by the baby inside her womb. "My, but he is active today…" She shook her head at her belly. Then she turned her attention back to me. "You are supposed to stay in bed for another day, just to make sure. Now, there's nothing to worry about, so don't. This is more to reassure my panicky brother than that it is necessary for your or the baby's health. Tonight we get to have dinner with the king and the queen – without the girls, I hope… so you won't be missing anything. And for meeting the squirrels Aragorn calls his daughters you really should be well rested."
"Squirrels?" I stared at Éowyn, mirth bubbling up inside me again. Éowyn's brisk manner and quirky humour had not changed during the year we had not seen each other. Like her brother she was not big on writing letters and those she did write were rather formal. It was good to see her again!
"Well," she barely managed to hide her grin. "They are just as lively as a couple of squirrels. And they do have sharp teeth. So when you get to meet them, make sure that your fingers don't get too close to their mouths."
"I can't wait to meet them," I said, smiling happily at my sister-in-law.
"That's what you say now…" was her reply – but she winked at me as she said that. Then she heaved herself to her feet, a slow, cumbersome movement that seemed out of place for the strong and graceful shield maiden. But with barely two months to go, Éowyn was quite heavy and obviously her centre of gravity was not where it had been. A glare from bright grey eyes made me swallow any comment of question I might have wanted to utter.
"I'll go see about some breakfast for you. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Thank you." I said, already feeling silly lying in bed with my stomach still mostly flat, while Éowyn was up and about in spite of such obvious discomfort. But before I could say anything else, the door closed behind my friend.
oooOooo
I have no idea how I managed to feel sleepy again just after breakfast, but Éowyn simply smiled and told me to take a nap – and assured me that she would do the same.
I shared a quiet lunch with Sorcha and Elaine. Although I wanted to meet my family from Dol Amroth, Arwen and Aragorn, somehow I felt hesitant, almost apprehensive about meeting them after my… Collapse? Hysterics? So I was glad for a quiet lunch, with no real conversation, but a shared, comfortable silence.
And guess what… after lunch, I was tired again. Elaine actually ordered me to take another nap. I contemplated arguing with her: somehow I felt it was my duty to get up now and meet the others, Faramir, Míriël and Imrahil, Arwen, Aragorn and their daughters. But even as I opened my mouth to argue, I was overwhelmed by a huge yawn. Perhaps I was even a little grateful for another few hours' of respite.
As I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that one day I would become normal again.
oooOooo
When I woke from my third extended nap that day, it was early evening. The light that flooded the white stones of the floor was tinged in a delicate hue of pink. The windows were open and the soft breeze that always blew on the topmost circle of the city moved the almost sheer blue drapes that were drawn in front of the window openings.
My eyes felt a little gritty from sleeping almost all day long, but my head was clear and the memory of the nightmare and my fright had faded into a distant shadow in my mind. I sat up and swung my legs around. The bed was one of those queenly ones, so high that my feet did not reach the floor when I sat with my knees at the edge of the bed. Sitting like this I suddenly felt small again, almost childlike. My traitorous hand sneaked down to my midsection. Was it only imagination, or had I become considerably plumper during our leisurely ride to Minas Tirith? How would it be, to have a son or daughter sitting next to me on a high bed like this, take the hand of my child and jump to the floor – daringly and laughing all the time?
Somewhere a bell tolled. Soon it would be time for dinner.
I hopped off the bed and padded over to the huge wardrobe in the adjoining room. I opened one door after the other. All our clothes were here, tidily pressed and whatever it was you could do to clothes to make them look neat and smelling fresh. I chose a comfortable outfit, cream-coloured shirt and loose mint-green tunic delicately embroidered in thousands of leaves and rosebuds. Once again I was grateful that while it was perhaps not the most usual women's attire, trousers as part of the female wardrobe were not frowned upon. I swept my hair up in a simple knot and was ready to go.
Getting ready all on my own for once. I smiled to myself. It happened perhaps once a week or so that I got the chance to have my "morning routine" or the winding down time of an evening all to myself. I knew that it was catering to the quirks of the young queen and not what my ladies-in-waiting and maidservants thought was appropriate. But I luxuriated in those few mornings and evenings I had to myself – with no one fussing over hair, health or dresses. Just as I wanted to turn away and leave the dressing room, my sight caught on a golden circlet that had been laid out on top of a large chest, beneath the only mirror of the room. I suppressed a sigh. I did recognize a hint when I saw one. Sometimes. Could I pretend that I had missed that circlet?
I frowned. Probably not. I picked it up and carefully placed on my head. At least it was my favourite crown-like jewellery. Light and gold and genuinely Rohirric, crossing and re-crossing strands of gold, so that it looked as if it had been braided.
There. Finally ready to go.
My thin leather slippers barely made a noise as I walked through the bedroom to the door. Outside two guards in the black and white livery of the Citadel bowed to me. I gave them a smile and tried to get my bearings. And failed. I had never stayed in the guest quarters of the Citadel before, and while we undoubtedly had the very best of the guest apartments, I had no idea how to get from here to the where I was supposed to go.
Oh rats.
I turned to the guards. "Please, could you indicate the way to where the King and Queen and my husband are most likely to be at the moment?"
The older of the guards at once stepped forwards smartly and bowed deeply. "That will be in the Sun Room, my lady." I must have frowned, for he went on to explain.
"It is the hall above the Tower Hall. At the Queen's request it has been turned into a hall for smaller dinners of state, banquets and the like. If I may show you the way, my lady?"
It would be smarter to allow him to show me the way. It would be thing a queen of Rohan ought to do. But wanted to be alone for a little while longer… I wanted to savour the return to Minas Tirith.
"No, thank you," I said lightly. "I think I can find my way. We're in the Great Guesthouse, right?" Slowly the outlay of the Seventh Circle of Minas Tirith returned to me. The Great Guesthouse was the palace south of the White Tower, where all the visiting dignitaries were accommodated.
"Yes, my lady. The main stairs are at the end of this floor."
I smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
He stepped back and I turned around, walking to the end of a broad corridor. Tapestries on the left showed scenes of Gondorian mythology, large windows on the right flooded the length of the corridor with soft evening light. The only sound was my light leather-soled steps on the red carpet. Guards don't breathe and don't move when on duty. They look as if made of stone. I could never be a guard. At the end of the corridor another set of guards bowed to me. As I stepped out into the staircase, I remembered dimly how Bergil had shown me around the Seventh Circle of Minas Tirith during my first visit here. We had been given the best apartments in the Great Guesthouse, on the first floor, facing east, running across the whole side of the palace. Well, that was probably a visiting king's and friend's due.
I could go weeks, no, months by now, without ever thinking about where I had come from three years ago. But sometimes, the knowledge of that other world out there somewhere, that world that I had escaped from to find a true home and love here, in this world… sometimes that knowledge was suddenly and overwhelmingly present – the knocking the wind out of me and making me gasp kind of present. I felt the need to jump on the stair, to jar my body with the impact of jumping. I felt the need of hitting the elaborate masonry of the stair's rail, to make sure that all this was real… that I was real.
But I did not. The guards that waited at the large ebony doors in front of me would have probably thought me slightly mad for it. Instead I acknowledged their bows with a polite inclination of my head and waited for them to open the heavy doors for me and bow again, holding the doors open for me. Another reason why I would never be any good as a guard. I would never manage bowing and holding a heavy, two-man high door open without falling flat on my face.
Then the doors closed softly behind me. I inhaled deeply. The air was gentler here than in Edoras, though the height of the Seventh Circle of the city added always a hint of mountainy crispness to the taste of the air. The evening sunlight was more golden outside, though as I looked up at the white peak of the Mindolluin, pink reflections flickered on the glacier already. Somewhere a blackbird was singing its heart out at the peaceful summer evening.
I inhaled deeply and allowed myself a soft sigh of "Oh my", as my gaze trailed the white spire of the Tower of Ecthelion from its wide base to its elegantly tapering top. My heartbeat quickened as I recognized the flags curling in the breeze up above. Aragorn's black and silver. Faramir's white banner. The galloping horse of Rohan, bright green and red. And the blue and white of the swan and ship of Dol Amroth.
We were here once again.
Lothy, you horrible sap, I scolded myself and started for the White Tower.
oooOooo
When I had almost reached the square in front of the White Tower with its great white flagstones and the impressive white stairs leading up to the Throne Hall, the sound of low laughter stopped me in my tracks. The laughter was deep, rough at the edges, but sweet as honey at the centre – and familiar beyond any other laughter in the universe. Éomer!
I walked forward slowly. For some reason I did not want to intrude on whatever made him laugh like that. Luckily, a large bush of flowering red roses grew at the edge of the way, hiding my presence from Éomer and whoever else was standing there between the tower, the fountain and the white tree. If I was careful, I would be able to see who was there, and perhaps be able to discern what had made my husband laugh before revealing myself and possibly destroying the cheerful mood with my presence.
Peeking cautiously around the corner, I got a good view of the three most powerful and – looking at them from my hiding place like that, I could not help but notice – probably also the three best looking men in Middle-earth.
Aragorn had gotten rid of his beard. He looked younger that way. He was also paler than I remembered him, as if he had seen more council chambers than sunshine during this summer. His dark hair curled softly down to just above his shoulders, shining and well-groomed. His clothes were kept in black and silver. By now I knew enough about fabrics to know that his outfit was worth a fortune. I could not help but give a little sigh. Even the rather modest queenly attire that I wore at the moment would – converted into foodstuffs – feed a poor Rohirric or Dunlending family for a few months.
However, it was not just the lack of a beard and the pretty clothes and cleanly combed hair that was different about Aragorn. There was a softness to his features that I did not remember. A twinkle in his eyes, a warmth to his smile…
I smiled to myself. Marriage obviously agreed with the King of Gondor.
Faramir looked older than I remembered him. When I had first met him, he had seemed to be a younger, softer version of his dead brother. Now the haunted softness was gone from his features, replaced by a demeanour of calm authority sweetened with lines of laughter at the corners of his eyes and around his wide lips. He wore his hair longer than most Gondorian men, almost Rohirric style. To please Éowyn?
Although it had been Éomer's laughter that had alerted me to their presence, my husband was the least cheerful of the trio. There were shadows under his eyes. It was obvious to me that he was tired – and more: he looked shaken. I bit down on my lip. It had not been my intention to worry everyone so much. But when I had seen the blood… a cold shiver ran down my spine with the memory… I had felt as if my whole world was crumbling down around me… I clenched my hands into fists, forcing back the newly rising emotional turmoil.
It's only hormones, Lothy…I told myself and forced myself to take a few gentle, calming breaths. In. Out. Go with the flow…
This time Aragorn's voice caught my attention.
"…they change us, our women. There's nothing to do about it." Aragorn clasped Éomer around the shoulders in a brief gesture of comfort. "Once the heart is well and truly given, nothing stays the same. You should have seen me during Arwen's pregnancy…"
Éomer gave his wry grin, raising his left eyebrow a little. "I remember, my friend. I was with you a time or two. I can't say the experience made me look forward to the nine months of waiting for my own child to be born."
Faramir's low chuckle said more than words. Then the Steward squeezed Éomer's shoulder comfortingly. "I am glad that everything turned out the way it did. Lothíriel and the babe are healthy. All will be well. And at least your wife is normally not as… er…" Faramir realized only at the last moment that he was speaking to the brother of his wife – a renowned warrior who just might take offence even at his brother-in-law speaking less than respectful about his sister.
But Éomer just laughed, his dark and merry laugh, releasing his tension and thumped Faramir's shoulder right back – with a resounding smack that made the Steward wince a little. "Hot-headed, maybe? Volatile? A shrew, at times? She is all that and more. You have the measure of your wife quite accurately by now, then. And so you should. But praytell, my friend, would you have her any other way?"
For a moment, the three of them were silent. Faramir's gaze was distant, but filled with a warmth beyond the beauty of this summer's evening.
"No," he finally said. "Even if I could change her, I would not. She is smart and brave and strong. She's my courage; she's the one who healed my heart when I thought it wasted and barren for good. But –" he heaved a sigh, "sometimes I do wish she'd be a little more careful in her endeavours. Little did I know that her interest in the arts of healing would extend to training a unit for rescuing wounded soldiers from the battle-field."
Éomer snorted. "Yes, that does sound like Éowyn. She was always able to turn occupations proper for a young maiden into an adventure. I should be grateful that my Lothy's only wreaking havoc with the narrow-minded loremasters of Rohan." Suddenly serious, he continued, "She is not only wife to the king, she is the queen Rohan needs. With her at my side I can lead Rohan into a golden future. And that is more than I ever dreamed of in my most adventurous dreams."
"We are indeed blessed in our wives," Aragorn agreed. He touched his forehead with his palms turned up to the sky, a gesture of gratitude to the One up above. "But I do hope that the next pregnancy will agree with Arwen a bit more than the last. A faint and a fright is not the worst that a pregnancy can do to the otherwise gentle disposition of a woman…"
I winced and decided quickly to come out of hiding. Although I felt incredibly touched by what I had overheard, I did not want to listen to any other confessions that were meant to be kept between the three friends.
"Good evening," I called out and quickly walked around the corner. In an unusual display of public affection, Éomer came to meet me in three long strides, catching me in a careful, but tight embrace, even kissing me low on the cheek, close to my right ear, predictably making me gasp. Releasing me, he offered me his arm and led me to Aragorn and Faramir.
I was already dropping into the curtsy that courtesy required when presented to the King of Arnor and Gondor. Rohan might be a sovereign kingdom, but the oath of fealty and the fact that we were in Gondor, not in Rohan demanded a proper curtsy no matter that I was a queen in my own right. But before I was able to bend my knees, Aragorn had caught me at the elbows and raised me up again. "No need for that, Lothy. We've come too far." His eyes were warm and kind, lit with a smile. "I am glad to see you well!"
I smiled back. "I am glad that I am well, too."
This was surely the underestimation of the century. But I guess he knew what I meant.
Faramir greeted me with a quick embrace. "Éowyn will be with us shortly," he said. "She needs more time getting dressed at the moment than she is used to…"
I winced. Éowyn was not a friend of spending a lot of time with mirrors and gowns. She was worse than I was regarding female frills and frivolity. I could see easily how the width of her mid-section would make dressing up more difficult for her at the moment. Something that would not improve her temper…
Éomer's hand tightened on my arm. "I don't mind waiting for my sister. She's entitled, in her condition." Then he whispered to me, "Same as you are, my love, so stop looking so worried."
"They are always entitled," Aragorn put in only half in jest.
At that moment, someone who had been standing at the edge of the fountain turned around and began walking towards us. A slender figure in flowing white gowns, crowned with dark braids and a mithril circlet. Arwen. And she was holding something in her arms that looked heavy and awkward. Something? Or rather someone. No, two someones, in fact. As she walked towards us, her heavy burden was quickly recognizable as two squirming baby-girls with dark curls and brilliant silver eyes – and ears that were just a little pointy at the tips.
"They are entitled," the king of Gondor repeated softly, almost to himself. "Because they bear a golden future."
I felt Éomer nod in agreement, as he put his arm around my waist.
Why do I always have to blush like an embarrassed tomato?
oooOooo
A/N (1): It is not dangerous to bleed a little during pregnancy. For the time being Lothy & Elfwine are safe and sound. evil grin
Cermië August
Menelya Friday
oooOooo
A/N (2): Chapter 100. Finally.
Due to real life circumstances, this chapter is very late. I am so sorry!
For the future, if you are waiting desperately for a chapter, have a look at my LiveJournal now and again. I post about the progress I make and sometimes even some sneak-previews of my WIPs there. Feel free to comment there, too, signed or anonymously. That way I can easily answer any questions you might have. The link to my LJ is on my profile at FFNet.
For the rest:
I never, ever dreamed to reach chapter 100. Now I am here at the end of chapter 100, and there are about 20 more chapters to write.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you, my readers and my reviewers.
Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for your many encouraging comments and your constructive and friendly criticism.
Thank you!
Yours
JunoMagic