A/N: "The Tree and Tavern", "The Rose Garden" and "The Laughing Oliphaunt" belong to Aeneid and her wonderful story "Adraefan", which can be found at the Henneth Annûn Story Archive. The general outline of Minas Tirith used in this chapter is from the atlas of Karen Wynn-Fonstad, who has recently passed on. I greatly admire her work. The fandoms of both LOTR and Pern will miss her very much.

oooOooo

101. Babies and Butterflies

"You hold her against your shoulder and softly pat her on the back," Arwen advised me. Arwen was holding little Celair in her arms. Celair was deeply, contentedly asleep. Celu, propped up against my shoulder, had a very red face; her eyes were pressed together in angry slits and she was most definitely not asleep. At least she was not yet howling with fury. How her sister could sleep with the ruckus this tiny bundle of half-elven was making, was a complete mystery to me.

On the other hand: her father had managed to ignore the direst circumstances during the travels of the Fellowship in order to snatch a bit of sleep. Celu's temperament had to come from somewhere else then. I sat and patted the small, warm back. Promptly, a tiny, irascibly waving fist was knocked at my temple. Celu might be only eight months old. But she packed quite a punch.

"Ouch," I growled under my breath and glared at Éowyn who was excused any auntie-duties due to the now considerable girth of her belly. My own midsection was swelling sweetly, too, though with the formal dresses that I wore most of the time at Minas Tirith I would not show for some months yet. Apart from my breasts, perhaps, which had indeed ripened in a way that a visit to Darla of the Golden Scissors had been necessary for some adjustments to my wardrobe. Much to the delight of my husband, I might add.

Éowyn watched the scene with eyes that were crinkling up with mirth. Arwen remained unmoved, only softly rocking little Celair in her arms. Celair made a small snuffling sound and turned towards her mother, pressing her rose-bud mouth against Arwen's breast. Her dark hair was tousled, revealing an almost translucent, delicately pointed ear that was still pink from the effort of nursing. Arwen groaned a little. Although the twins had only just had their fill of mother's milk, Celair's mouth pressed against her breast had instantly drenched the gown of the queen with an outburst of fluid again. Not much, but enough to show an erect nipple straining to meet the mouth of the sleeping infant in a dark, wet circle. A shiver ran down my back and I felt my own nipples tingle in a strange, instinctive response at the sight. But I had not much time to wonder at how deeply those primal drives of caring and nursing are rooted in our biological make-up, be we elves or men, because Celu was not at all happy with her present position at my shoulder and showed that as violently as she could.

Enough was enough. Holding her with my hands under her arms, I held her out on my lap in front of me. The baby positively glared at me in a silvery-grey stare that was strangely familiar. The girls might have the beauty of their mother and her pointy ears, too. But the cast of their features was all Aragorn. Thinking back to a rather memorable shouting match with Strider one evening in Lórien three years ago, I arrived quickly at the conclusion that we had probably also to thank their father for this volatile temperament. Not that they were not the sweetest little babies for most of the time. Because they were. Except when they were not.

"Look here, little one," I told the tiny half-elven on my lap. "I know that I am not your mother or your favourite auntie. But look, your sister is very tired and asleep on your mother's lap. Your auntie can't take you because she has her own baby to take care of. So you are stuck with me. And no, your ada can't take you either at the moment. He has to be king and do king-things right now. So, please calm down! If you are not tired yet, we can play a bit."

I realized that eight months were probably a little young for that explanation. But I was beginning to feel fed up with little Celu's attitude. I favoured Arwen who had a hard to time to hide her grin with a glare of my own. But to my immense surprise little Celu's features suddenly relaxed. For a very weird moment I had the feeling that she had understood exactly what I had said. But she also gave a soft burp, so maybe she had only needed another position to get rid of the air she had swallowed along with the milk. Now she smiled at me and waved her pudgy arms at the flower bed to my right.

We were sitting on one of the benches surrounding the fountain in front of the White Tower.

A promise was a promise. I sighed. With an envious look at sleeping Celair, I asked, "Is it okay if she picks apart your roses?"

Arwen laughed in a low voice, clearly taking care not to disturb the sleeping beauty on her lap. "I don't think she's a real danger to them yet. Go ahead, but take care with the thorns."

"Sure thing," I hoisted Celu up against my shoulder once more and rose from my seat. "Let's go and have a look at Mama's roses, shall we? Just the two of us."

I walked over to the nearest flower bed and narrowed my eyes at the roses. No, there did not seem to be any nasty thorns on the flowers closest to us. For a moment I considered squatting gracefully, but uncomfortably, in the dirt of the garden path. Then I thought what the hell and simply knelt down on the ground. I positioned Celu in front of me, so that she could reach the roses, but that I could see what she reached for before she did. Soon the air was filled with the delicate scent of roses of Imloth being plucked apart by tiny fingers and the merry warble of a baby's laughter. From behind me I heard the gentle splashing of the fountain and the voices of Arwen, Éowyn and Elaine in quiet conversation.

Next year, I mused, next year, probably round about the same time I would be sitting in the garden of the Golden Hall of Meduseld, amusing a baby of my very own in this manner. My heartbeat quickened at the thought and I felt butterfly wings of excitement flutter in my stomach.

"Yes, that is a beautiful red rose, my sweet. And this one is white. And look, a butterfly!"

A butterfly?

Again there was this tiny flickering feeling in my stomach.

In my stomach?

Freeing my right hand from Celu's grasp I worked my hand under my dress to touch the soft swelling of my belly. Nothing to feel from the outside. Only the warm, rounding flesh.

But there it was again!
Butterfly wings inside me! Bubbles of too much coca-cola burbling up inside me when I had not drunk any!
And again!

And then, nothing. Only a sense of peace and wonder.

I sat there in the sunshine, little Celu in front of me warbling at the rose blossoms in her hands, with my hand resting on my stomach hidden by the fabric of my summer dress and a huge smile on my face.

My baby had moved!
My baby had moved inside me for the very first time!
He was really there! Inside me!

He was really there, living and growing, until one day he would look at me wonderingly, out of round dark eyes that would be just as beautiful and trusting as Celu's were.

oooOooo

A family dinner.

A real, big family dinner. Something that I had never experienced before, growing up with my eccentric mother and my solitary step-father.

We would be quite a big company tonight: Ada and Míri, Elphir and his betrothed, Númendil, Meluir as well as Éowyn and Faramir, Elaine, Éomer and I. As I was waiting for Éomer to be happy with the arrangement of his warrior braids, I went over the names of my Middle-earth family in my mind.

Imrahil – still the mere thought that there was a man I could call father in this world was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Míri – friend and almost-mother, the mother I had never had, yet longed for guiltily.

Elphir – sombre, least known brother of my Middle-earth-family, and his betrothed: no more than a smile of green-grey eyes, a curtsy and a name, Golothwen.

Númendil – little brother and ally in the foreign lands, hero, too, since the last war, page to my lover and my husband, the daily miracle of growing up, right in front of my eyes.

Meluir – now on the verge of boyhood and not a child any longer; he would join the ranks of the pages at the Guard of the Citadel this autumn. He was young for it, but the training master was willing to take him on after testing him thoroughly. An honour for Mel and all of the family.

Éowyn – sister-in-law and trusted friend, soon-to-be mother of a child that would be so close to my own in age and station.

Faramir – the gentler of the brothers; but how long would it take for that shadow of darker eyes and a face that was a little blunter, a demeanour that was just a little fierce to fade out of mind and memory?

Elaine – still distant, still mysterious, though closer to me now that I knew of her unhappiness. And the one whom I trusted with my life and the life of my unborn child.

And Éomer?
What was there to say about the love of my life?
Except that he was obviously still not happy with the way his carefully weaved warrior braids looked?

I kept comfortably pondering the plans of the evening, knowing better than to comment on or interfer with, my husband's efforts to look his very best without the help of a female touch.

Míriël had at first raised her eyebrows disapprovingly at her husband, when Ada had suggested that we go out to dinner, and to a public house on top. But Faramir had quickly reassured her that "The Tree and Tavern" was up to the highest standards.
It was a public house on the sixth circle, right by the gate to the fifth circle. Éomer knew it, too. "It's quite the upscale gesthús. The guards of the Citadel go there, as well as many nobles. I have been there more than once, with Boromir before the war and then this year with Faramir and some of our captains."

The way he said "upscale" made me grin. It sounded so definitely not his style. I tried to think back to the halcyon days after Cormallen, when I had stayed in that white villa with the rest of the Fellowship. There had been some nights that I had sneaked away from the watchful eyes of Míriël for some ale in pleasant company…

"I think 'The Rose Garden' or 'The Laughing Oliphaunt' would be more your kind of places," I winked at him.

Éomer frowned at me. "And how come, my lady, I pray thee, that you know those establishments from more than their names?"

For a moment I tried to stay serious. But then the general spirit of cheerfulness broke through in a bright giggle. Chalk that up to the pregnancy hormones, I thought. I'm entitled to some silly behaviour!

Out loud I replied, trying for a wicked grin and keeping my voice level at the same time, "Well, those weeks after Cormallen, when you went a-hunting with those elves and the other warriors, my lord, you know, I had to do something in the evenings… pining for a man is amusing only for so many nights!"

I could not wait to tell him about the tiny fluttering I had felt this afternoon. But I wanted to have peace and quiet for that and not be almost on the way to have a nice, relaxed family dinner in a nice, friendly pub…

A knock sounded on the door.

"Are you ready, my lord? My lady?" That was Elaine, sent to alert us that it was time to leave.

Outside the palace we were met by the rest of the family, with Faramir and Éowyn seated in a white buggy drawn by a dun mare of clearly Rohirric origin, though of course not one of the nobler breeds. Éowyn was too heavy now to walk down to the pub, although it was not far, just down through the tunnel to the sixth circle of the city and then to the gate to the fifth circle. But Éowyn's back and her hips were aching something horrible with this late stage of her pregnancy, especially in the evening. However, in spite of her discomfort she had refused to stay behind for tonight's dinner. Therefore Éowyn and Faramir were up on that buggy and we others got to walk.

I ignored Éowyn's scowl. Instead I accepted Éomer's proffered arm. Lightly placing my hand in the crook of his arm I allowed myself to be led towards the carved white marble of the gate that led from the Place of the Fountain down into rocky keel jutting out from the hill of Minas Tirith and to the sixth circle of the city. Faramir and Imrahil did not take guards, but Éomer and I were as usually accompanied by half a dozen men from the king's guard.

Inside the tunnel I noticed for the first time that to the upper sides of the wall and to the roof of the tunnel glinting murals of precious stones had been added. It was a good thing that Éomer supported me, or I would surely have stumbled and fallen, walking with my head tilted back and trying to make sense of the mosaics around me. The murals showed how Aragorn had found the sapling of the White Tree that was flourishing near the fountain again.

"Wow! But those are beautiful!" I said to no one in particular. "I don't think I noticed them when we arrived."

Éomer's hold on me tightened. "You were asleep on your feet, or rather, on your horse, dear."

Ada turned around and smiled at us. The light of the torches made his silver-blond hair flare like mithril. "It's the work of the dwarves of Aglarond and the elves of Ithilien. Minas Tirith has become more beautiful than it was in many centuries since the War of the Rings. Sometimes I feel that only if all the free peoples of Arda work and live together, she will truly flower."

As he said that I felt an icy shiver run down my spine. It seemed to me as if the world held its breath for a moment and then released it in a soft sigh. Almost, as if in that innocuous sentence Imrahil had touched upon one of the deepest secrets of creation…

I shuddered. Probably just the draught of cooler air here in the tunnel and the mystical atmosphere created by the beautiful murals in the flickering light of the torches.

Then we were out of the tunnel and back in the sunshine. To our right the stables of the Guards of the Citadel stretched out against the cliff in high white walls and the unmistakable whiff of horse and hay. A little way off, to the outer edge of the circle, were the Houses of Healing. They were hidden behind another length of white walls with their quiet hallways and well-lit chambers and with their gardens of tall trees whispering in the breeze. Now, at the height of summer the green of their leaves was dimmed to shades of reseda and sage, blending in with the walls covered in the slight coat of dust that was the residue of long weeks of warm and dry weather. I remembered the days I had first walked the shadowy paths of those gardens in Éowyn's and Faramir's company and once again I was filled with wonder at the thought how far we had come since those days between darkness and light.

The Tree and the Tavern was also built against the outer edge of the sixth circle, just on the left side of the gate to the fifth circle. The large common room was at ground level, its only windows to the front with pots planted with red geraniums from the Lebennin, its walls – a quite daring fashion statement – washed in a gentle reddish hue with white borders around windows and doors. Different from the pubs and taverns of the lower circles there was no counter for the consummation of beverage in front of the pub. Above the common room were one large and two smaller rooms for dining, with large, clear windows looking out to the lower circles of the city, a breathtaking view! The third floor provided a bunch of private rooms for the lords to smoke their Haradric cigars in and do some private politicking.

We had the better one of the small dining rooms for ourselves, the one that is parallel to the walls of the sixth circle. I admit that I was glad to be appointed a seat that granted me full view of the lower circles. And next to Éomer, of course.

"This is indeed more pleasant than I remembered," Míriël observed as she scrutinized the walls panelled in gleaming mahogany, the chairs comfortably upholstered with smooth green brocades, the long table decked out in heavy white linen.

"Would I ever subject you to a place not to your liking, melethril nîn?" Imrahil asked Míri, comfortably settling down at the head of the table.

Míri sat down on his left and replied, raising one delicately slanted dark eyebrow. "You? You would never dream of persuading me to come to the Laughing Oliphaunt with you, wouldn't you?"

Imrahil reached for her hand and dropped a symbolic kiss on it. "Didn't I just say that?"

Elphir, sombre in the uniform of the captain of the Guards of the Citadel, helped his betrothed into her chair, and then sat down across from me. He shook his head a little at the good natured bantering of his parents, then smiled fondly at his betrothed. Lady Golothwen of Anfalas was very young, just eighteen years, and very pretty, in a shy, but self-assured way. She had the dark hair of most Gondorians, but her greenish-grey eyes hinted at ancestors of a different heritage. There was also the delicateness to her feature that I recognized as a strain of the people of the Bay of Belfalas of whom it was said that there was elvish blood in their background. She was one of the ladies-in-waiting of Arwen and although I had only met her a couple of times I genuinely liked her. In the few conversations we had had she had been friendly and observant, with a warm, wry humour. It was good to see that Elphir was so happy around her and positively doting on her.

Númendil, who was seated to my left, stared out of the window in fascination. When he noticed how I followed his gaze, he turned and smiled. "It is so different from the way I remember it," he commented, his voice breaking between the remnants of his high boyish voice and the deep commanding baritone that he would have as a grown man. "All that green in the lower circles."

I nodded. Although I did remember that I had found Minas Tirith already very much changed during my last visit on my way from Dol Amroth to my wedding at Edoras, I also remembered how differently changes are perceived as a child or teenager. And in way, the view astounded me as much as it did him. My first and most poignant memories of Minas Tirith were of a city that was all stone and smoking ruin at least in the lower circles.

"It is very beautiful now, with all that green down below and the Fields of the Pelennor fertile and flourishing again," I agreed.

Faramir, who had listened to our exchange turned around to look at the view of the city of his birth that had inspired our conversation. I could see how his eyes lit up with joy at the sight of city and fields blooming like that. "There were so many dead after the War of the Rings that the buildings in the Lower Circles that had been destroyed were simply never rebuilt," he explained. "When the elves from Eryn Lasgalen moved to Ithilien, they laboured for a whole year to turn the ruins into gardens and parks. Now the Lower Circles are quite the fashionable quarters of Minas Tirith…"

Our conversation was interrupted by servants carrying large trays with glasses filled with white sparkling wine from the Dor-en-Ernil.

Soon all glasses were lifted to toast the future and the new children of the line of Dol Amroth to be born soon.

"Health and happiness!"

oooOooo

The evening went by all too quickly, rich with good food and pleasant conversation, spiced with the happy knowledge of good things to come.

Faramir and Éowyn were the first to leave. Éowyn's remark at our careful and cumbersome parting embrace was a rather coarse Rohirric expression aimed at her unborn child, while Faramir only smiled and held out his arm to her. Elphir was the next to depart, together with Elaine and the boys.

Finally, when the full moon was already high in the sky and the bells had tolled the midnight hour in low, ringing voices of well-forged bronze, Imrahil, Míriël, Éomer and I were on our way back to the palace, the guards pale-faced and tired, after an evening spent on watered-down ale in a swanky common-room with their betters dining and partying the night away.

The Houses of the Healing gleamed soft and silent in the moonlight and from the stables of the Guard I could hear the low noises of horses, hooves in stalls and the snorting into the remnants of an evening's hay. The entrance to the tunnel that lead up to the Citadel – during daytime looming dark and deep – was now bright and inviting with the light of many torches and the brightly glittering colours of the murals. As we passed through the tunnel I realized that it did not smell tunnel-like at all, but warm and dry and clean, perhaps a bit cool, but of resin and herbs. Perhaps they burned incense with the torches now and again?

Leaving the tunnel it seemed to me for a moment that we were walking straight into the stars. With only torches and fires to light the darkness of the light, the stars very bright and near, blazing on a night-sky of velvety darkness caught between black and blue. I did not know many constellations and stars. But there was what I had once known as the Big Dipper and Orion. However, that single, low and very bright star next to the White Tower, just above the jutting shoulder of Mount Mindolluin, that was a star that I knew only from this Middle-earth: Eärendil, the elves' most beloved star. You don't cross yourself in Middle-earth; but when the elves behold that star, bright light in the darkest night, they touch their foreheads and their hearts and ask Varda for Her blessing. And so did I, that starry night in Minas Tirith.

In front of the southern palace, the houses of the most esteemed guests of the Court of Gondor, we bid Imrahil and Míriël good-night and Éomer released the guards from their duties – to a well earned draught of unwatered beer or a quiet bed.

"Now it's only us," Éomer whispered, when the guards and Imrahil and Míri were gone. He drew me closer into his embrace. "Would you care for a walk in the moonlight?"

Any other night I would have welcomed that romantic offer. But not tonight. There was something important that I needed to tell him. And tell him in the peace and quiet of our own bedroom here in Minas Tirith.

"Actually," I said slowly, trying to ignore how the gleam left his eyes to be replaced by worry and apprehension. But I wanted to lie in bed next to him when I told him my news! "Actually, I'd rather we go to bed. If you don't mind?"

He did not mind, but his concern was evident in his every move, the way he tried to support me up the stairs and tried to make me wake Ini and Sorcha to help me undress and get ready for bed. I refused steadfastly and laughed at him, telling him not to be a "dummer Junge", a stupid boy – which seemed to reassure him, enough at least to send him off to his own bathroom to undress and wash a little for the night.

I could undress alone although it was a formal dress. This one sported a row of bows; not buttons, but silky bows kept it closed at the front. I could not dress myself, because I was not able to tie pretty bows, least of all from my throat down to my toes. But I could open them. The dress sighed to the ground in a whisper of easy silks. Although there was not much to show of my pregnancy yet, Elaine had decreed that I should not wear any constraining dresses, so I had been outfitted with a collection of extravagant exotic gowns that owed their style in part to elvish, in part to southern fashion.

I stood in front of the dresser with the mirror and the washing bowl and stared at my reflection. I loved the soft swell of my midsection, the way the navel was changing its shape, the way I could almost move my hand now below the gentle bulge. I found my breasts beautiful and enticing, growing rounder and heavier every day, and oh so sensitive! It seemed to me that the nipples were forever erect and reaching for a touch…

…and at the moment the desired touch was not yet that of a baby's hungry mouth. It was another desire, another kind of hunger. As if in answer to my thoughts, there was the familiar prickling and tightening low inside me, luring me into bed and to offer myself to Éomer's touches. But this answer to my thoughts in turn provoked another reaction in my body, a reaction that had nothing to do with me, and all to do with the tiny occupant of my womb.

Butterfly wings tickling me from the inside out!

I giggled and caressed my belly in answer to the precious fluttering.

Then I ran from the bathroom and quickly climbed into the four-poster bed where Éomer was already waiting for me. I snuggled up to him, inhaling gratefully the musky scent of his body, and again experiencing that extraordinary reaction of desire and love come alive inside me.

"Léofest, there's something I would like to tell," I whispered and moved closer to Éomer. I could hear my smile in my voice. I guess so could Éomer, because I felt him relax. His right arm hugged me still closer to him, while his left hand travelled unerringly to where my right hand rested: that soft sweet bulge that said we would be a family come next spring.

"And what might that be, my love?"

I covered Éomer's hand with mine and enjoyed the feeling of his gentle-callused touch on my naked skin. "I felt the baby move for the first time this afternoon! He's really there! He's alive and he's growing!"

"Really? You felt the babe move?" Éomer sat up in the bed, his dark eyes glowing brighter than the warm darkness of the summer night that filled our room. He spread the covers aside and lifted my nightshirt, placing both his hands on my belly in the lightest caress. "How does it feel?"

"I don't think you will be able to feel anything from the outside yet," I cautioned. "He has to grow some more for that. But inside, it felt just like Sorcha said: like the wings of a butterfly or a moth beating against the flesh of my stomach from the inside out, like little bubbles bursting against the skin… as if I had too much coca-cola or of that sparkly white wine from the Dor-en-Ernil…" I smiled at Éomer, caught up in the memory of that feeling; for at the moment my womb lay quiescent.

"I envy you," Éomer whispered. "To be so close to our child, to hold this treasure as it grows and unfolds, like a rosebud growing from a tiny grain of green to a full flowering bloom…"

He began caressing my body with both hands, gently stroking my sides, my belly, up to my breasts. "You guard my greatest treasure, my lady," he whispered. "You who are the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon me…" He bent down to kiss my breasts. I gasped for breath, surprised at the direction his response was taking. "You are boundless, my léofe, in your beauty, in your love! I could drown myself in your desire; I would anchor myself forever in the haven that you are to me…"

While he whispered those sweet words to me, he trailed kisses down my body, taking care to cover every inch of my skin with loving attention. Soon his poetic words were rushing away over my head like rain in heavy winds, as my awareness faded to those touches of silky fire, his lips on my skin…

He laughed softly, when he noticed that I was almost beyond paying any attention to his words. "Don't mind me, my lady and my love! For I am a fool in love tonight! And now I'd better do what all fools ought to: shut up and concentrate on the task at hand!"

That's exactly what he did.
And damn was he good at it.

oooOooo

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter.

Thank you for your many comments and congratulations on chapter 100!

Your good wishes and encouragement really means a lot to me.

Yours

JunoMagic