103. A Winter of Waiting

It was a harsh winter, this winter of the second year of the Fourth Age. It came early, with storms and heavy snows and a piercing cold that penetrated even the thick walls of the Hall of Meduseld.

I shivered and wished that I could still endure the warm weight of the Hall's cat on my pregnant belly. But midwinter had just passed and it was expected that I would give birth at the end of Narvinyë or during the first two weeks of Nénimë, in four to six weeks.

I felt huge and heavy with the child I carried, a cumbersome weight that pressed down on me all day and all night. Movement was awkward and I found it almost impossible to get warm at all. I found that I could spend all day in a wide chair as close to the fire as possible with my feet buried under one of our huge grey dogs, warm blankets wrapped around me and drinking one soothing cup of herbal tea after the other.

Somehow the gigantic snowdrifts that confined the inhabitants of Edoras to the dim interior of their houses mirrored the condition of my mind and soul. The heavier I became, the closer the time of birth was coming, the more I withdrew from all that went on around me. I was turning inwards, towards my child. I was beginning to live towards my child to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. With my movements restricted by my condition and the weather, my demeanour had become more than reserved; all my thoughts and all my attention were on the lazy movements inside my body. Like the snow covered world outside, I was waiting for spring; I was waiting for new life to burst forth from my body in a bloom never experienced before.

This level of quiet and introspection was more than unusual for me. But I found myself helpless to fight this overpowering feeling of paralysis. I did not even want to fight it, which was even more untypical for me. I embraced this feeling. I spent my days and evenings sitting next to the fire, listening to the goings-on in the hall, the talk and the stories, the songs and the music, dozing every now and again, my hands and my mind on the ever swelling growth of my body and my unborn child. At night I curled up on my side, Éomer spooning me from behind, trying to keep me warm. More often as not, the cat crept into the bed in front of me, its furry body lined against my belly, a little extra warmth that was much appreciated.

During the hot weeks of summer, the care-free days in Minas Tirith and later in Ithilien, desire had ruled my nights. And all too often – at the most inopportune moments – also my days. Now, in the dead of winter I would have been glad for such fire, but more often than not, I could not bear another's touch, much less bodily intimacy. It was not that I could not or would not feel bodily desire or that I felt repulsed by it. It was more as if this was an intrusion on my present state of mind and body. It annoyed me. Mainly because it would draw my attention away from my womb and who was growing within me. Moving within me. Only sometimes I found it soothing and warming to have the gentlest of sexual encounters. At those times I would lie spooned against Éomer's strength and allow myself to be swayed by the rocking motion of his desires… but more often than not I fell asleep before he was finished.

oooOooo

Elaine sat down next to me. I could tell that she was worried. "Are you still feeling so cold?"

I nodded. "Well, it's mostly my feet." At the moment my feet were buried under the massive warm weight of Freki, one of Éomer's huge grey dogs, so I felt quite cheerful.

Elaine reached out and touched my face and my hands. Then she got up and leaned over me. "May I, my lady?"

"Of course," I opened my shawl so that she could feel the warmth of the skin over my breasts. My breasts were huge, ripe and almost painful. When I saw Anrid nursing her little son, I experienced strange prickling sensations in my breasts, a pressure building up inside my flesh that could not yet be relieved, but was almost unbearable.

Elaine's cool hand on my breasts made me shiver. "I'm sorry, my lady," she smiled at me and quickly withdrew her hand, helping me to adjust the shawl.

The baby used that moment to butt its head against my ribs.

"Awww…" I gasped. I laid my hands on my belly, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. "Kiddo, those were my ribs you just hit with your head!"

Elaine frowned at me. "You feel his head? Against your ribs?"

"Well, he's so big now that I sort of know what hits me when he moves a bit fiercely. I think he's curled up sort of diagonally. He likes kicking my bladder and head butting my ribs. His favourite punching bag is my liver." I sighed with relief as the inhabitant of my womb quieted down again. I looked up and caught a very worried look in Elaine's eyes. "Is something wrong?"

For a moment the healer remained silent. Then she smiled again, but there was an undeniable tension to her smile. "Don't worry, Lothíriel. Everything is going to be fine. Your babe seems to be a bit lazy about the turning around. But I am sure it will turn around soon. So just keep calm and as comfortable as possible. I think your body is warmer than it was during the last weeks. That is a good sign. You are warming up; your body is gathering the strength it will need to give birth."

I felt faintly worried that my baby was late in turning around, but only a little bit. Somehow I could not really be scared beyond an occasional wave of uneasiness and a shiver of breath less expectation. What mattered most to me was the prospect that my body was getting warmer, that my body was getting ready to give birth. I wanted to hold that baby so much!

I wanted to see that little bonehead that hurt my ribs every now and again. I wanted to hold those flailing tiny fists that already packed quite a punch… I wanted to tickle those little feet that kept pushing against my bladder… I wanted to count his toes and see his eyes. I was very sure by now that he would be the son I had read about ages ago in the appendix of "The Lord of the Rings" – though I could not remember the name, much to my chagrin.

"I bet he's going to have dark eyes like his father," I told Elaine. Then I realized that this was probably not the appropriate answer to talking about the temperature of my body. "Ummm… I think that I am feeling a bit warmer, body wise. But my feet seem to be cold most of the time, still. I'm really grateful to those furry feet-warmers down there."

Freki grunted and stretched his back against my legs.

"They are good dogs," Elaine replied and reached down to pet the thick grey fur of Éomer's dog. Freki did not even deign her worthy to open an eye. But he gave a wet sort of snuffle and one of his paws twitched in a doggish dream. "However, you should move about a bit, my lady. Movement might inspire your babe to turn around. I believe the snow storm has finally abated. Maybe Éomer King could accompany you on a walk on the terraces?"

I shuddered at the thought. How would I ever get warm afterwards? But I did know that the baby had to turn and the sooner he turned around, the sooner I would give birth. "I'll ask Éomer if he has time to go for a walk this afternoon," I agreed.

"Afterwards a warm bath, and a gentle massage with some special oils I have prepared," Elaine advised. "Let me know when you go outside so that I can get everything ready."

"I will. Thank you." I felt like sighing. Would that last month of pregnancy never pass?

oooOooo

Elaine had been right, as usual. The weather was better today. When the gates of the Golden Hall were opened for us, I was almost blinded by the brilliant golden sunshine outside. The sky was wide with the lightest clearest blue a winter sky can manage, with no cloud in sight at all. I gasped, exhaling a hot cloud of breath in the wintry air.

"How beautiful!"

Éomer smiled happily and offered me his arm. I think he was relieved that he was able to help me for a change. The waiting was getting on his nerves even more than on mine. A warrior at heart the inability to do anything but wait and be patient with my moods was really getting to him sometimes. He never said anything. But I could see it in his eyes, along with anxiety.

"May I lead you outside, my dear? I have ordered the terraces to be swept and sanded thoroughly, so that you do not have to be worried about where you step."

I adjusted my scarf and laid my hand on Éomer's arm. "Let's go and try to persuade that child of yours to turn around and get born soon!"

In the sunshine and bundled up in multiple layers of fabrics, leather and fur I felt comfortably warm at once. Only the air was cold in my lungs and freezing the tip of my nose. We walked to the edge of the terrace at first, getting a full view of Edoras covered in snow.

So much snow!

I could not remember ever having seen so much snow in my life. Here and there the mounds of snow were as high as the roofs of the houses, and chimneys and gutters were graced with huge icicles that sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

"I have never seen so much snow," Éomer remarked. "This has to be almost like the fell winter…"

I shivered involuntarily. I had heard tales about that winter, a winter that had been longer and colder than any other winter in the memory of men. A winter that had seen the wolves and the wild wargs grow so hungry that they had invaded small villages and killed many… food had grown so scarce during that winter that many children had died from malnourishment, and when sickness had followed the ice and the snow in springtime, many, many more had died – and not only the old and the young and the weak. I hoped this winter would not turn that bad.

Several companies of Éored were riding from village to village to ascertain if there was severe shortage of food or serious illness anywhere, helping to hunt packs of wolves coming too close to village precincts. So far, Rohan was holding up against winter and weather.

"Where to now," my husband asked, his eyes glittering in an almost amber colour in the brightness of this winter day. "Left or right?"

I turned around to face the hall and considered this. To the right we would come to the flower gardens first. To the left we would pass the kitchens and guard barracks and the kitchen gardens. But the sun, still in the eastern sky, would be warmest there – and the view of the Ered Nimrais promised to be breathtaking. "Let's go left first."

"Very well, léofest," Éomer gripped my arm tightly and carefully led me to the eastern corner of the Hall of Meduseld.

oooOooo

I think it was the icicles that made me look at the low tapering roof of the hall. The golden slates were hidden under tons of snow and from the gutters icicles reached down to a foot above the ground at times, their length varying from the size of my small finger to the height of a tall man. Between the icicles the ends of the massive beams supporting the roof of the hall gleamed in the sunlight. For the first time I realized that some of the ornamental carvings that graced them were not simply abstract, faintly Celtic designs covered in gold and bright colours, but figures. Every second beam was graced with a figure. I stopped and stared. They reminded me of figures of Greek or roman gods I had seen in museums or of saints and angels carved into corbels of gothic cathedrals.

"What do they show?" I asked Éomer. "I think I never noticed them before."

I took a closer look and frowned. They were a bit faded with age and weather, but they were truly beautiful. They also did not really look Rohirric, I thought. If anything, they looked elvish. I turned to Éomer. "They seem to be very old, and they look very unusual…" I trailed off, wondering if it was appropriate to mention that carvings in the roof of the most exalted hall of the Rohirrim did not look Rohirric at all.

Éomer chuckled. "Observant as always! You are right: the carvings are not Rohirric."

"Why?" I reached out and trailed my fingers over a flowing female figure that seemed to hold a star in her hand. "If am not mistaken, those are Elvish carvings."

"And you are right again," Éomer hugged me against him, as much as that was possible with me being so bulky with the baby. "You know the artists, by the way."

"I do?" Startled I turned around completely, looking at Éomer in surprise. My husband grinned at me, obviously enjoying himself. Like most Rohirrim he liked telling stories. Looking at his sparkling eyes I knew that I would get to hear an enjoyable story while waddling around the hall. I felt an answering smile spread on my face.

"Yes, my dear," Éomer offered me his arm again, and as we continued our walk, he began his tale about the building of the Golden Hall of Meduseld and how it came about that there were elvish carvings at the ends of the roof beams.

oooOooo

"It was in the year 2510 of the Third Age. From the North-east, a host of wild men attacked, crossing the Anduin with rafts. At the same time, hordes of Orcs came out of the mountains. Cirion, the Steward of Gondor called for aid. But the Valley of the Anduin was sparsely settled at that time and there were few who followed that call. But when Eorl the Young heard of Gondor's plight, he mustered a great host of riders and hastened to the Celebrant, where the army of Gondor was in dire peril. Eorl the Young rode attacked the enemy from the rear and after a hard battle he was victorious on the Field of Celebrant. But Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond Peredhel, led a force of riders across the river Limlight, attacking the foes from a second angle, an angle they did not expect danger to come from at all, once they had turned to face the new enemy coming at them from behind…"

Éomer grinned at my open-mouthed stare. It was apparent that he knew every angle and volley of that battle, no matter that it was fought more than six hundred years ago. "Well, I think Eorl would have won the day and the kingdom without the help of the Elvish twins. But the losses would have been immensely higher."

I closed my mouth, blinking slowly, thinking slightly faster. I knew that elves were immortal, of course. But if you learn how to fight from someone… if someone loses his patience when he is trying to teach you pesky little runes… if someone simply becomes your friend after a time – it is somehow difficult to hold onto the thought that this someone is immortal, Firstborn and will remain exactly the way he looks now when you yourself have long since turned to dust. The battle at the Celebrant had taken place in the year 2510 of the Third Age. More than six hundred years ago. I tried to remember when the twins had been born, but I could not come up with the date. Sometime at the beginning of the Third Age. They were about three thousand years old. I felt an icy shiver pass down my spine and I shuddered.

Éomer drew me close to him again. Warmth flooded my body again at once. "What is it, my love? Are you cold? Should we go back inside?"

I shook my head and smiled, feeling all warm again, warm and fuzzy with sunshine and love. "No, I'm fine. Just a goose walking on my grave. So they fought with your ancestors in the war that earned Calenardhon the status of an independent kingdom?"

Éomer nodded. "Yes, they had a part in the creation of Rohan. They also helped Eorl to find an auspicious place to build the most hallowed hall of the new kingdom. If you take a close look at the maps of Gondor and Rohan, you will notice that the Golden Hall is built exactly on a line from the holy grove above Minas Tirith through the hallowed hill of Halifirien to the edge of the Ered Nimrais. It is a symbol for our respect of Eru Ilúvatar. But although the Eorlingas honour Béma, the great hunter Oromë, most of all the Valar, it was only proper to pay respect to all the Valar in the building of the hall. And who could be better to fashion carvings of the Valar than Elves, most Beloved of the Valar? The carvings were a gift from Elladan and Elrohir for the establishment of the kingdom of Rohan. They show all of the Valar. Though not many remember that anymore… the scene of Béma leading the Rohirrim that was fashioned by our own artists to grace the gable of the front of the hall is more eye-catching than these carefully carved gifts made by our friends…" A hint of melancholy tightened the skin around his eyes. I knew what it was. Time had gone by, and most people had forgotten about the fact that it had been Elladan and Elrohir who had ridden to war with Eorl the Young. I remembered reading a legend about that war in one of the huge tomes I has studied about the history of Rohan last summer. Two great horsemen had been mentioned in that story, yes; and in another version of it, too. But in the one version they had been Béma's sons, sent by the patron of the Rohirrim to help them win their kingdom, and in the other version they had been the illegitimate nephews of Eorl the Young. The historical truth was not recorded in Edoras. And a great deed of friendship had not withstood the passage of time in the hearts and minds of men.

"But the carvings are still here, and beautiful," I whispered. "And the friendship is still true. It was renewed in the War of the Rings."

"You really do know me, don't you, min wif?" Éomer smiled at me again – that deep, sweet smile that made my stomach tingle… and my baby kick me for all he was worth.

I suppressed a gasp and smiled back. Yes, I did know him well by now. And loved him even better.

We moved slowly around the Hall, stopping from time to time to take a closer look at the carvings or at the icicles and I giggled like a child at the steaming dung heap next to the stables of the Hall's chickens and other livestock. The steam looked almost like thick smoke in the cold winter air.

Then we moved around the southern end of the hall to the most beautiful side of Meduseld: the rose gardens. Now there was nothing to see there except undulating hills of snow that covered the hedges and bushes, windblown dunes of snow glittering in the sunlight like powdered diamonds.

"Beautiful," I breathed and walked a little faster, then bending down a bit to touch a heap of snow that towered almost as high as the roof. The snow was soft and cold to the touch. "If I could move faster, I would challenge you to a duel with snowballs!" I threw my handful of snow along the length of the hall. It dropped down miserably after a short flight of perhaps seven feet. Maybe ten.

Éomer raised his eyebrow at me. "Really?"

He let go of my arm, bent down, scooped up some snow and threw.

I glared at him. "Your son is in the way of my arm and my aim!"

Éomer, proudly gazing after his snowball, which had flown almost a hundred feet before it had plummeted into another mound of snow, leaving a deep hole, did not look at me as he replied equably, "Of course, my queen."

I had to laugh at that – as had been Éomer's intention, of course. My laughter in turn alerted the baby which started moving fiercely. And turning, I hoped. Please, turn around, little one, I said in my thoughts. It's time. Please turn around.

Out loud I said, "Be that as it may, my lord."

I managed to raise an eyebrow of my own, which was sufficient to make the corners of Éomer's eyes crinkle with laughter. "How about telling me a story, as we go on?"

"Whatever my lady wishes." He offered me his arm again. "What would you like to hear?"

I looked at the elvish carvings again. "The Valar," I said finally. "What do you know about them? What do you think of them? It's still strange for me to… to think of them at all. You know how I told that where I come from, we are never certain of the existence of either beings like the Valar or a Creator like Eru. We have to believe… but you… you know…"

Éomer halted in his progress and turned to look at the carvings again, too. His expression was thoughtful. "You are wrong, Lothíriel," he said at last. "We have to believe, too. It's the Elves who know. We can only hope that although the Valar have laid down their guardianship of Arda, they have not completely forgotten us. We have to believe that the Gift of Men is not a Doom, but Eru's plan."

"But at least you know that the Valar exist," I objected. Not for the first time I wondered if it had been really the voice of a Vala that I had thought to hear in my mind that one time during the War of the Rings.

"I do," Éomer agreed slowly. "But most men don't. They have never seen a Vala. Most of them have not even talked to an Elf who has seen Aman the Blessed. There are many families whose parents and grandparents, even whose great-grandparents have never seen Valar or the Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar who can tell about the Valar, because they have encountered them in their hröa.

"In fact I would say that most of the Rohirrim and Gondorians of this day and age have to believe in the Valar and the One in much the same way you described it to me. And we don't have learned men to teach their wisdom and build… what did you call them? Churches and cathedrals to honour them and to remind people of their faith. All we have are a few holy hills, but if you climb up on the hilltop, you may not utter the One's name, for our forebears' vanity robbed us of the right to invoke the name of the One even in prayer. Only our kings dare speak His name in the holy places, only the bravest of the brave may pray aloud for our people. We may still believe in the One and place our hope in Him. But it is the name of Béma that flees from our lips when we cry for help or when we curse or when we ride into battle, although some say that the Valar have not returned to Middle-earth since the world was changed."

And yet the Valar are more real here than any angel back on earth ever was, I thought. Strange.

"I am sure that I have seen him once," Éomer said abruptly. "But some say that the Valar have turned from us, that they have forgotten us…"

He trailed off, hugging me to him again. It was obvious that he did not believe what some did. I snuggled up to my husband best I could, bulky and awkward as I was. "Go on, léofest, tell me!"

"I was but a lad… riding out on the plains," he began, speaking more to himself than to me at first. "My first border patrol, I was all alone. A true rider of the Mark! And oh, so proud. But there was a storm coming on, a huge cloud of thunder and rain. And as such clouds are wont to do sometimes, it took form. It loomed above me in the shape of a great hunter, a hunter on a magnificent white steed, with its hooves thundering, its main flowing in dark stormclouds and its eyes blazing with the violet lights of auroras… and it seemed to me that this giant of a hunter turned to me. It seemed to me that he lowered his spear, a spear as high as the sky, a spear with lightning flashing from its point… And I felt as if that hunter… as if he… as if he bowed to me. And the wind… it was not a wind any more, really. It was a raging storm. But I thought I could hear words in that noise of wind and weather…"

"What were the words?" I asked, feeling my heart pounding, mesmerized by Éomer's liquid story-teller voice, yet at the same time truly scared by that tale.

Éomer's eyes were in the distance, when he replied, dark and stormy, and there was a touch of roughness, of wilderness in his voice. "The words were: 'Éomer Eadig, I call thee, mythmaker I dub thee, in thee the oath of Eorl shall return.' Then lightning flashed and the storm was upon me, and it was a close thing that I and my horse escaped that wild weather unscathed. And when I finally returned to my home, I was not sure if I had seen anything at all… or if I had only imagined things, in my fear of the tempest… Indeed, I am not sure even today. But sometimes, when I dream, I feel as if I can hear that voice again. And it is not a voice of this world."

He shuddered against me. Again I felt an icy shiver run down her spine, an intangible feeling of fearsome awe that stole my breath away and made my heart race. I swallowed hard. My voice sounded thin to my own ears as I asked, "Did you ever tell anyone about this?"

He shook his head. After a moment's silence, he answered. "No. There was no one. Only my sister. And she was… so emotional, so different… some called her deviant, even, when we were young. I could not burden her with this…"

He seldom talked about his youth, with his parents dead too early, leaving his sister in his care… how he had had to leave his home to come and live at the palace, getting accustomed to the refined ways of the capital, where at home both he and his sister had run wild and free…

"But now you have told me," I whispered and buried my face against his chest, trying to calm down my frantically beating heart and the equally frantic kicks of our unborn child.

Éomer laid a gentle kiss on my forehead, blowing away a few strands of my dark hair in a gentle sigh of relief.

"Yes," he said. "Now I have told you. Come, my lady, let us return to the hall and find out if that walk has had the desired effect on our child."

oooOooo

A/N: I know. I am evil. A completely random and in between chapter. But I do hope you like it nevertheless. The tale of Éomer's meeting with Béma or Oromë was written in an Instant Drabbling Session on YIM as a holiday activity at the Henneth Annûn Story Archive. If you want to know what that is, take a look at my Live Journal my username is juno(underscore)magic and follow the links on my user info page.

Yours
Juno