Acknowledgements: many thanks to Ellenflower, Frigg, Aranel, Narwen and Narwen's mother for stories, answering questions and good advice.

oooOooo

102. Elboron

I stared at Elaine.

"I am supposed to be with Éowyn as she gives birth?"

That was what Elaine had just told me. Wisely not in Éowyn's presence. Apparently she had anticipated that I might react not quite appropriately. Therefore I now found myself in this small salon, seated on a high backed chair, and very grateful to be sitting, too.

"The customs about what is appropriate and what is not appropriate for the time of birth vary considerably between Gondor and Rohan," Elaine explained patiently. "In Gondor the father is not present at birth, but there have to be a notary and seven witnesses in the room to document that the birth took place, that the child was born alive and if it is a boy or a girl. If those procedures are observed, the father has to accept the child as his – if he cannot prove that someone else has lain with his wife within nine months. In Rohan, the father is supposed to support the mother during her labour. And the father is the one to accept or reject the child after birth. Rohirric customs have always been a little more direct in their approach, shall we say? However, one custom is true for all the lands north of the Poros: the female relatives of the woman will be with her during her time, to support her and encourage her. And, of course, to help with the necessities of birth."

I gaped at Elaine. And I felt my heartbeat quicken with a mixture of excitement and dread. There was no going back for me… my time would come as surely as Éowyn's. She was due any day now. But I was not at all sure if I wanted to witness the grisly details of birth up-close and personal before it was my time. Now it looked as if I would not be given a choice in that matter.

"Now, in Éowyn's case it will of course not be expected of you or the Queen to actually help with the preparations and such; for that work there are healers, the ladies-in-waiting and the maid-servants of the Lady of Ithilien. But you are expected to be present and to assist her during labour. I know that the Lady of Ithilien is your friend. It is only natural for you to be nervous, with your time not too far off now, too. Never fear, my lady! I will be there and advise you exactly on what you are to do to help the White Lady." Elaine paused and gave me a scrutinizing look. "Do you think you will be able to do that?"

I realized that Elaine did not think I would be. I felt heat rise to my cheeks. I was still more than a little embarrassed about my collapse and… well, there was no pretty word for it, my hysterics upon my arrival in Minas Tirith. I managed not to glare at the healer or grind my teeth. But only just. "I think so," I replied finally, my voice colder than I wanted it to be.

"Good," the healer nodded, apparently satisfied with my reaction. "It will be any day now. The babe has already changed its position and is pressing downwards. This is why Éowyn has been so very uncomfortable during the last days. I think it might even start today. Well, we'll see. If you have no questions or other duties for me at the moment, my lady? I should see about the preparations for the birth."

I swallowed and nodded. "No, of course not. Thank you, Elaine."

She curtsied prettily, her face tense, her gaze on my midsection. I knew what she was thinking. I remembered well that night's talk on our way from Edoras to Minas Tirith. When I had given birth, she would… do whatever she needed to do. And I would cover for her.

It was a deal. I hoped the deal would go well for her. I was not worried about my part in the deal. Maybe Éomer would not much like it and there'd be some kind of scandal, but I did not think that there would be any dire consequences that I would have to be wary of.

oooOooo

Éowyn did not scream. She also did not curse Faramir ceaselessly for getting her into her present condition. I guess I thought she would do both. I mean, that's what you read in all those romance novels, right?

Well, she did neither. She kept silent, her teeth clenched tightly for the most part. But what she did do was almost break my arm, as Arwen and I helped walking her in circles around her room. That was the bit of the process the romance novels had right. Elaine told me that it was good to keep on your feet and walking for as along as possible, if things were as they ought to be. That made the labour quicker. It did. The bruises on my arms would prove that to the most casual observer.

I glanced at the window. I had not heard the bell ring the hour, so I had to judge the time from the sunlight that was still flooding the room. It was 21st day Yavannië; the daylight hours were already diminishing. Summer was over and the fiery colours of autumn were turning the fields and forests of Gondor into floods of gold and red. Maybe five o'clock, I thought. Éowyn's pains had started just after lunch. In an hour the sun would set.

I suppressed a moan of pain of my own, as Éowyn clenched her fist around my arm in another convulsion of pain. I saw how the skin on Arwen's high cheekbones tightened and paled almost imperceptibly in reaction to Éowyn's grip.

No wonder Éowyn had wasted that witch-king. She was just as strong as any warrior. Her eyes turned glassy with the contraction. Her breath came in gasps. There was no doubt. The pains were coming in a regular rhythm. They were also getting worse. And the bouts of pain followed closer and closer together. I could see the ripples of the contraction pass through Éowyn's flesh even through her loose nightgown. Wet with her sweat the thin fabric was positively plastered across her mighty womb. The child simply had to be a boy. Or an elephant. An oliphaunt?

Arwen was able to keep up some kind of conversation, reassuring Éowyn, talking with me and the other ladies. I nodded for the most part, answered in monosyllables and made what I hoped were comforting noises at the right intervals. For the rest I tried to keep my thoughts in the room and away from my own condition. Éowyn's vice-like grip helped there.

Éowyn did not speak at all. She only hissed now and again, apparently determined not to moan, scream or curse at all.

How long could this take?

We had been at it for hours now!

I knew that Arwen's labour had been very quick; her elven half gave her more control over her body than mere mortal women had, in spite of the added difficulty her first birth being twins. I knew that Sorcha had been in labour for almost two days. I did not want to contemplate that. Either for Éowyn. Or for myself.

Elaine stopped our march. "Let me have a look, to see how far you are along."

Éowyn nodded mutely and allowed herself to be led to the bed. Her legs were shaking so that Arwen and I had to help her get them up and to the sides, so that Elaine could check how things looked down there.

I did not want to look.

That was so horribly intimate.

And there were already so many people in this room! Apart from Elaine, Arwen, Míriël and myself, there were three other ladies and four maid-servants, though two of them were waiting in front of the room for the most part to run errands should any need arise. Then there was the notary, ensconced in a comfortable chair in a corner of the room, with parchment, quills and seal-wax ready on the table.

In the adjoining room Faramir was waiting, along with Aragorn and Éomer. If I were them, I would be getting drunk as a skunk to soothe my frazzled nerves. Last I had seen Faramir, before we retired to Éowyn's bedroom, he had been white as a sheet and trembling worse than Éowyn in an onslaught of labour pains.

Mistress Ioreth was also present, but after her first examination of Éowyn she had proclaimed in her somewhat callous manner that it would be after midnight. Therefore she would go and see some other patients now. I hoped she had given Faramir a calming draught on her way to her patients. I would have liked one for myself.

I did not want to look.
But I could not not look.

Éowyn's midsection looked swollen to the point of bursting. The veins were standing out against her white skin. Everything down there was red and looked swollen and painful, too. And I could see that her body was trying to provide an opening that was big enough for a baby to get through.

I gulped and felt vaguely sick. When I looked up again, Arwen was giving me a stern look. I swallowed again and gave a tiny nod. I was alright. My job was to help Éowyn, not to get frightened and sick.

Elaine examined Éowyn's progress calmly and quickly. Every move, every touch spoke of the assertiveness of an expert who knows exactly what she is doing. That in turn calmed me down again.

"Well," Elaine said finally and motioned for Arwen and me to help Éowyn sit up again. "I think you may prove Mistress Ioreth wrong again. I think it will not be very long at all now. Do you want to keep walking? Or do you feel like settling down?"

There was a wooden chair-like thing Éowyn could use to squat on for delivery. I had been told that many Rohirric women gave birth squatting, being held by their husbands. In Gondor it was more customary to give birth in bed. Though I was told that you cannot give birth lying; you have to kind of sit upright, being held by your attendants.

Éowyn blinked twice. Her concentration was obviously completely on her body giving birth. I wondered if she had understood at all what Elaine had told her. But then she licked her lips and answered in a hoarse voice, "Walk some more."

So we towed her back on her feet and resumed our circling of the room, going round and round and round in endless wavering circles, as the daylight of a glorious autumn's day slowly waned outside the Citadel.

Two hours later Éowyn suddenly turned to sit on the bed, surprising us with the vehemence of her movement.

She had barely settled down on the bed, propped up against Arwen and me, with her knees drawn up and back, when that happened what is commonly called the "breaking of the waters". Well, not so much water. But there was a gush of… fluids.

Elaine remained unperturbed and had the maid-servants remove the soiled sheet from the bed. I felt positively sick now. I was glad that I could sit down on the bed. My knees felt quite weak. But Éowyn would not let go of my arm, her grip like iron. I clenched my teeth and tried breathing through my mouth unobtrusively. Random thoughts jumbled around in my mind like marbles on a beach. Epidural anaesthesia… what if anything went wrong? Would I be able to get through this without screaming like hell?

As if she had telepathic talents, Mistress Ioreth was suddenly back. I had not even noticed when she entered the room. But suddenly she was at my side, she smiled at Éowyn and patted me on the back in a reassuring way. "You just insist on proving me wrong over and over again, don't you, my lady Éowyn?"

Arwen and I were commanded to hold Éowyn's hands and to kneel behind her, to keep her propped up in an angle that would help her push out the baby. Sorcha and Golothwen were told to hold her legs knees up and parted, as her knees were wobbling uncontrollably. Then Ioreth went down on her knees in front of the bed and examined the progress of the birth once again.

The old woman was slow and careful in her examination. When she rose from her kneeling position at the foot of the bed, she smiled at Éowyn. "You are doing well, my lady. Whenever you feel like pushing that little prince into this Middle-earth, just tell us so that we can prepare a suitable reception for the little lord."

Éowyn only moaned a hissing noise that sounded not quite like a 'thank you', then she gritted her teeth, her jaw muscles straining as another wave of pain shuddered through her slender frame – well, apart from the huge, rippling bulge of baby in her middle, Éowyn was terribly slender.

Turning to Elaine, Ioreth nodded approvingly. "Well done, my lady healer."

Catching my probably slightly greenish complexion, Ioreth furrowed her impressive old woman's brows. But she did not comment. Lucky me. Just don't pass out, Lothy. Not now. Not now.

Ioreth was right.

It did not take long now.

Quite suddenly Éowyn struggled into an almost standing position, heavily supported by Arwen and me and for all I could tell seriously intending to break my arm after all. Éowyn's usually pale face was suddenly flushed with effort and between grunting moans she reverted back to her native Rohirric, "Nu! Ic - beþurfe - scufan! Now! I – need – to – push!"

Sorcha and Golothwen held Éowyn's legs firmly spread apart. Ioreth was busy controlling the development between her legs. Míriël was standing at the ready with soft towels, Elaine with a maid-servant at her side who was holding a tray with scissors and needles and other frightening surgical implements. The notary had readied his seal-wax, ink and parchment and now stepped forward from his corner to have full view of the proceedings.

"Not yet, my lady," Ioreth called out in a commanding voice.

I don't know how Éowyn managed to contain the obviously overpowering urge to push that had gripped her body at that command. Maybe it was a shield maiden thing. For she did. Her head quite read with the effort, her jaws moving with the need, she kept control of her body, as the contraction seized her.

Gauging the peak of the contraction apparently by a simple, experienced look at the way Éowyn's body convulsed, Ioreth suddenly called out, "Now! Push as hard as you can!"

Éowyn did push.

She grunted.

We grunted.

She heaved.

We followed her movements, supporting her weight as firmly as possible, trying to help as best we could. Ioreth shook her head. "No, that was not yet enough. It would have been a miracle. But you are almost there, my lady. Almost there. Maybe even with the next pain. Now: breathe. Deeply. Stop. Gasp a bit. Yes, well done. We'll have to wait for the next contraction. But I really do hope that the enxt pain will get the little prince out of his warm nest. Don't worry, my lady, you are strong and it is almost over."

Éowyn shut her eyes. She gasped. She breathed.

We did not have to wait long.

Suddenly her eyes flew open again and a deep moan escaped her lips.

This time, the contraction and the way she pushed with it was so enormous that this exertion of strength seemed to travel almost like an outburst of electrical energy right through my arms holding her, through my body, right down to my toes. I could hear that Arwen gasped at the same time as Éowyn's grunted in her effort to push will all her strength.

Éowyn's body convulsed in a weirdly undulating wave, as if a huge fist was gently, but relentlessly squeezing down around her. The contraction passed down her body, and suddenly there was a huge red and slimy thing between her legs. It moved. It did not look like a landed trout or something. If anything it looked like an alien. An ugly alien. But before I had time to take a closer look, Míriël picked up the baby with the white towels she had been holding ready and turned to Elaine with the babe safely in her arms. Elaine quickly cleaned the baby's face and there was a huffy sound, a grunt – a tiny version of Éowyn's – and then a sound that reminded me of the high-pitched squealing of an annoyed piglet.

"A healthy boy, Éowyn!" Míriël called out, her voice bright with happiness and relief. "He is beautiful!"

Éowyn's face shone up like the sun after a thunderstorm in the summer sky. I followed her suddenly brilliantly happy gaze to the bundle held out to her by Míri.

"Wlitig," she whispered huskyly. "Wlitig and swiþ! Beautiful and strong!"

Not as far as I could see. He was slimy, reddish-purplish and pruny. He was not as huge as I thought at first, though certainly pudgy. And he was still attached to his mother. The umbilical cord was a greasy, whitish-bluish writhing thing that was suspended in the air between Éowyn's legs and the bundle in Míriël's arms. I stared at the pulsing cord and felt now acutely sick. Elaine suddenly had silver scissors in her hands and without further ado cut the cord in two. The lower half of the cord fell down to the bed with a wet smack. I could not see what they did with the other half, as they turned away from the bed to take care of the baby, probably they tied down the cord and cleaned it and all that.

Éowyn's torture however was not yet over.

Ioreth had been busy examining Éowyn while I had stared at the umbilical cord and the baby. "No deep tears, only minimal bleeding. Well done, my lady Éowyn, well done indeed! Now, one last push and we can get you comfortable!"

"Support her well," Ioreth told Arwen and me. "I am going to help her push out the afterbirth. Now, breathe, my lady, gasp, and breathe deeply, the way I taught you. Yes! Now! One more time!"

I could see how exhausted Éowyn was, her face muscles were looking cramped, her eyes were staring wildly and seemed to lie suddenly deep in their holes with her golden hair plastered around her face in sweaty tendrils. This last contraction passed over her body in a heavy shudder and her grasp on my arm was suddenly slipping. I reached for her and held her as firmly as I could, my eyes desperately searching for the healer's. Ioreth was busy pressing down on Éowyn's stomach in a movement that looked almost as if she was kneading dough. She knew what she was doing, too. With a sound like a wet fart, the afterbirth slithered out from between Éowyn's legs in a lump of blood and slime and mucous. Éowyn collapsed weakly against us, her eyes fluttering shut as the remnants of labour washed over her body in ebbing, painful waves.

We settled the Éowyn gently back on the cushions. Then I slipped off the bed and collapsed on the high backed chair placed at its side. The maid-servants hurried forward to take away the soiled sheets. Apparently there had been several layers of additional sheets on the bed, so that they had only to remove as many soaked layers as necessary to get to clean ones to make Éowyn comfortable. To clean up Éowyn, Golothwen approached the bed with another maidservant at her side who was holding up a basin of warm water from which the unmistakable fragrance of athelas wafted.

The scent of athelas settled my queasy stomach and cleared my mind, while I tried to recover from the exertions of helping my friend give birth. I had indeed helped my friend give birth.

I felt a silly smile spread on my face. I grinned at Arwen. Arwen grinned back at me. Éowyn was lying in the bed with her eyes closed, her breathing only gradually returning back to normal, the bright red flush of exertion slowly receeding from her cheeks.

When the blood and slime and some of the sweat had been wiped away, and Ioreth had massaged some fragrant oil – not athelas this time, no idea what it was – into Éowyn's nether regions and the still dilated skin of her belly. Then she supplied Éowyn with thick paddings for bleeding that would follow the delivery and Arwen and Golothwen helped her into a new nightdress. Éowyn's movements were shaky, her face wreathed with a weary, wavering smile. I came out of my numbness in time to help with her hair. I got to brush the tangled tendrils of my sister-in-law's hair, while the Queen of Gondor was sitting at her side, holding a tiny, very red and crumpled infant, swathed in white cloth. I smoothed back Éowyn's hair and weaved it into a single golden braid and only realized that I was crying when the tears fell down on my hands.

When Éowyn was clean and comfortable, lying back against a heap of pillows once more, basins of water and medical instruments cleared away, the notary came forward. Arwen had handed the child back to Ioreth in her capacity of the head-midwife. Suddenly everyone was very solemn.

The door opened and Faramir – a very pale and shaky looking Faramir – entered the room, along with Aragorn, Imrahil and Éomer. But he was not yet allowed to go to his wife and welcome his son.

First the formalities had to be taken care of.

The notary, a grey-haired, bearded man who squinted his eyes in a short-sighted manner that made him look like a good natured owl, cleared his throat. Then he unrolled a piece of sealed parchment that he had apparently drawn up while we were busy taking care of Éowyn and the new-born Prince of Ithilien.

"Hereby do I, notary of the king's graces, scribe and notary in the king's chancellery, Master of Laws and Lore, Duinor, declare and confirm that on the 21st of Yavannië, in the year 2 of the Fourth Age, a son was born to Faramir son of Denethor, Knight of the Guard of the Citadel, Lord of Henneth Annûn, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor and Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, sister of Éomer King, White Lady of Ithilien, Lady of the Shield-arm."

He looked up from the parchment and smiled. Arwen started clapping and everyone else did, too. When the room was silent again, the notary turned to Éowyn.

"Do you accept this child?"

Ioreth held out the sleeping baby to Éowyn.

Éowyn reached for the child, but her arms were trembling and so Ioreth quickly stepped forward and place the baby safely in the crook of his mother's arms.

"Yes, I do," Éowyn replied in a firm, but weary voice.

"What shall be his mother-name?" The notary asked, lowering his parchment. I could see that there was a line left free in the middle of the parchment, where he would inscribe the name Éowyn would tell him, and room for seven signatures at the bottom of the document for the witnesses of the birth. Seven witnesses and the notary's seal, then and only then the princedom of Ithilien would have an heir.

"He is Elboron," Éowyn replied, her voice giddily filled with warmth and love, shaking with feeling and fatigue.

"Prince Elboron, son of Faramir, heir of Ithilien," the notary repeated and again applause swept up around the room. "Now I ask the witnesses to please follow me for the necessary signatures."

It took a moment for me to register that this summons included me.

"Sleep well, you two," I whispered as I rose from my chair. Éowyn smiled at me for just a second, a croaky "Thank you" her answer, then she turned back to her child and her husband, who was kneeling next to the bed now, his one hand on the baby's head, the other inextricably linked with the left hand of his wife.

My knees felt wobbly and my mind was numb from the long day and all the excitement, as I followed the notary out of the room. I grinned as Míriël frowned at me and motioned to Éomer to keep close to me, should I decide that this was the opportune moment for a faint, no doubt.

But I did not faint, although my signature on Elboron's birth-record is more than a little wonky. With the effects of the traces of athelas I had inhaled quickly wearing off, I was not even very excited anymore, only very, very tired.

I know that there was a toast or something brought out by Aragorn after all the witnesses had signed the birth-record, but I could bear only one swallow of the sparkly white wine served for the occasion, more than that my exhausted stomach was not able to endure. The toast and whatever speeches and well-wishings followed swiftly turned into a blur of faces and voices, until suddenly I found myself in our bed, curled up against Éomer.

I do remember trying to tell him about the birth and how awful it had been, but I think I fell asleep before I ever reached the end of this sentence, "…if this was an easy birth, then I sure as hell don't want to see what a difficult birth is like.".

oooOooo

Yavannië September

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