107. A Rohirric Ainulindalë

As Legolas hastened down the corridor, his keen elvish ears picked up how the conversation inside the royal sleeping chambers continued.

"But sire, that grizzled old harper? Surely that is not appropriate! And I have heard that you need virgin boys if you want to put a charm on a woman to help with the delivery, so maybe it should better be the boy?" Lady Anrid was clearly out of her depth and flustered at the latest developments.

"I don't care about propriety," was Éomer's answering bellow. Then he went on in a low, shaking voice, no doubt hushed by the healer Elaine. "I want my wife and child to survive!"

Legolas started to run. Within seconds he arrived at the sitting room. For a moment he hesitated in front of the door. He inhaled deeply. How would the harper react to this unusual request?

Legolas opened the door. The atmosphere in the room was subdued and thick with the tension of mounting despair. The elf felt choked, as he entered, endeavouring to keep his face calm and unreadable, wishing neither to raise hope where there was little reason for it, nor to diminish what little hope was left. "I come from the king. Harper? A word with you, please. Outside." Legolas nodded politely to the others, then turned around and fled from the expressions in the faces of his friends – hope and fear focused on him. Too much hope and too much fear.

The harper rose to his feet in a surprisingly smooth and fluid motion, following Legolas quickly and without mishap in spite of his blindness. Outside, the harper turned to face Legolas unerringly, and for a moment it seemed to Legolas as if… "Sir? What can an old bard do in such a situation?" the harper's speaking voice was strangely husky.

Legolas inhaled deeply. He hoped the old harper would not be too shocked by the request. "My kindred are capable of connecting with the spirits of each other, with the spirits of animals – and as I found out moments ago, also with the spirit of unborn life. The babe has not turned, but he is still strong and now it would turn, having been… for lack of a better expression… made aware of the necessity… only he does not know where to turn to. Where he is, there is no sense of space or time, only of warm darkness. A maid-servant suggested showing the way with music, playing the pipe against the mother's nether regions… a trick that seems to work with cows," Legolas winced at the uncouth choice of his words, but there was no time for gallantry. How long would an unborn feä retain a memory? If they did not hurry, Lothíriel would be too weak to bear the child no matter if her son turned or not. "And the healer, Lady Elaine, she heard talk among my own people, revered healers of my people, that music can be used to help a woman in labour."

"I am to play my flute against the queen's womb like the pied piper of Pelargir? Luring the babe out of her body? Is that what you want me to do?" the harper asked, his words concise, his manner of speaking surprisingly calm and unmoved. There was only a hint of tension to the scarred flesh surrounding his marred eye sockets.

"Yes," was all that Legolas could think of to say, a sound of relief coloured with a tone of urgency.

"Taliesin, go fetch my pipes and bring them to the royal bedchamber. Knock once, but do not enter." The bard did not even turn around to face the child – and how had he known the boy was even there? A shy, fair haired shadow standing off to the wall a few paces away. Legolas had not really been aware of the presence of the boy. Now the boy bowed quickly and ran off, lightning fast, racing down the corridor and streaking away into the flickering lights and shadows of the hallways.

"Then let us go to the royal bedchamber, my prince. Taliesin will be back with my pipes in a moment."

"Of course." For a moment Legolas was not sure if he ought to offer his arm to the blind bard, but the old man turned around without waiting for further comment or offer of assistance and headed off down the corridor. His stride was long and careful; as if he was taking in his surroundings with senses other than his eyes, allowing him to move almost as smoothly as a seeing person, but only almost. As Legolas hurried alongside the harper, he grew aware of the fact that the old man was as tall as he was, and if his back and shoulders were not so horribly bowed and bent, he would be taller, taller than any man he had ever seen. And even so, blind and crippled, the harper's movements were as smooth as those of a young, powerful man, if contained and careful.

Then they reached the door to the chamber and there was no time left to consider the mystery of the old harper. As Legolas raised his hand to knock on the door, he saw a small shape running towards them from the other side of the corridor. It was the harper's boy, carrying a silver flute. Obviously there were short-cuts in the palace of Meduseld that Legolas knew nothing about.

"Very good, Taliesin," the bard said in a friendly voice. "That was quick. Wait here. I might need you."

"Very well, sir," Taliesin bowed again and stepped to the side of the door, standing very straight and quiet, obviously willing to stand there without moving and waiting for as hours if necessary.

Legolas knocked on the door, trying to suppress his fear and apprehension. When he entered the room he was relieved that they had opened the windows for a bit. The stench of blood and birth waters was not quite as rife in the room. Lothíriel moaned and writhed in pain, but she was not really conscious. Her eyes were closed. Éomer sat at her side, his face pale and tinged with the grey shadows of weariness. Legolas was reminded of an expression his hobbit friends were fond of using: "pale as a sheet". No, the solid white of the bed sheets was a healthy, strong colour compared to what his friend looked like.

"The harper is here and willing to try the trick," Legolas said.

Éomer stared at them both. Legolas could see that the king was trying to find words, but failing. But how did the harper understand? The harper's voice was incredibly soft and soothing, when he added, "Sire, I will do my best. If the pipers of old could charm dragons and lure all the children forth from a city, why should not I be able to play a tune that makes your heir burst from your wife's womb dancing and merry-making?"

Elaine, who had been on the other side of the bed, talking with Lady Míriël, with a hint of a smile on her face. Deep, plum and turquoise shadows surrounded her eyes. The healer straightened up, in a visible effort to gather her last energies.

She turned to Éomer. "Would you please kneel on the bed, behind your wife and pull her up against you? If we manage to turn the babe, we have to rouse her quickly."

"Couldn't we let her rest first?" Éomer's anguish was painful to hear.

Elaine shook her head. "She has lost too much blood, my lord. –" It seemed she wanted to add something, but thought the better of it. "Please, sire, pull her up, into an almost sitting position and hold her firmly."

Then Elaine looked at Legolas. "I think you should try to reach for the child again, if that is possible."

Legolas felt his stomach tighten with nervousness. He licked his dry lips. His mind and heart felt strained from his earlier efforts. Would that he were a healer! Would that he were not a Sindar, a wood elf of subtle powers, but one of the shining lords of the Noldor…"Of course, my lady."

Éomer had pulled off his shoes and now crawled onto the bed, moving behind his wife. Lothíriel moaned louder, her eyelids flickered. Legolas watched as the flesh of her body rippled with the wave of a contraction. The spasm seemed to originate from deep inside her, convulsing the flesh of her swollen body in a rolling movement of pale skin ever downwards, downwards to where her soft dark curls were matted with blood and gore. The veins stood out on her belly like greenish snakes. The elf swallowed hard. Éomer drew Lothíriel up against him, Sorcha and Gosvintha, standing on either side of the bed, kept a good hold on Lothíriel's legs, keeping them up and parted widely. Legolas inhaled deeply. Blood and birth water, anguish and hope.

He went to the bed and knelt down at Lothíriel's side again. Ini, the maid-servant, offered him a bowl with water to wash his hands. The water was laced with herbs, athelas and a few others, all of them known to prevent infection. Legolas quickly washed his hands and then placed them again on Lothíriel's womb. The flesh was too cool to his touch. She has lost a lot of blood. Veins and muscles strained against his palms, the last contraction ebbing away. Legolas felt his hands trembling. What if this last attempt failed?

Elaine led the healer towards the bed. There was no room for shyness or modesty here, in this time and place, between life and death. And the blind harper could not see the queen lying there, after all, naked and straining, with a steady, thin trickle of blood pouring forth from her torn body.

"Now, my prince," the harper said, his voice filled with warm reassurance. "Do this Elvish trick of yours and I will play a merry tune for the little prince to dance to."

A nervous chuckle greeted this attempt to lighten the atmosphere. For a moment Legolas wondered how the harper knew that he had to reach for the babe first…

But then he closed his eyes, forcing thoughts and fears out of his mind, reaching once again for that cramped place of warm darkness that contained this sweet young feä on the brink of life.

This time it was easier for him to reach the babe, maybe because he knew what to look for this time and what to expect. He let go of himself and floated towards that spark of life in the darkness. He felt himself welcomed. A rush of happiness engulfed him and flowed out to the young feä. If it was possible, he thought the little spark of life would have smiled.

Time to turn, little one.

He tried again to convey a sense of urgency and movement.

Time to be born, melui nîn.

Again, he was surprised by the cheerful willingness to do what was necessary. And this time, he was ready for the sense of confusion and fear that lay underneath this seed of courage and strength.

It was then that the music started and in that music flowed a power he recognized as one of akin to his own. He only just managed not to break contact with the babe's feä. This was impossible! How could the grizzled, bent old harper shine with such power?

But there was no time to dwell on this riddle now. Carefully he strengthened his connection to the babe. He could feel the tiny being's excitement at the music. The light and energy of its feä was vibrating with the rhythm of the melody.

Follow the music, gûr nîn.

Just flow along with the sounds, follow the melody, move with that rhythm, let the power of the song of creation move you. For that was what it was, this melody! It was a faint echo of the Ainulindalë. The holy song of life itself. The music flowed through the feä of the babe and into his own. He felt the babe move, a wiggling, squiggling motion, a clumsy push of energy that was so strong that his connection to the babe was broken.

oooOooo

I lay in feverish dreams that were intermittently penetrated by weakening onslaughts of pain, when suddenly I felt hands on my stomach. Long and slender fingers that melded themselves against my flesh. Soothing energy seemed to spread through me and I felt my laboured breathing grow easier. In the darkness my heartbeat grew stronger and more regular again, and like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings, barely audible, barely palpable, was joined by the echo of another heartbeat. I thought I heard music, the clear, happy melody of the harper's pipe. Such happy, confident melody! I felt hope return to my heart and struggled to open my eyes again, but I was so weak that I did not find the strength.

Suddenly a pain gripped me that was stronger than any contraction before. My eyes flared open as I screamed in agony. My whole body seemed to churn, I felt as if my back was broken and my organs smashed into a pulp. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone, taking with it the awful, hard pressure of the baby's head against my ribs. The pressure that had told me for weeks that the babe had not turned, the pressure that had turned into such pain during the contractions, making breathing almost impossible.

I gasped for breath, staring around wildly, for a long moment the scene in the room did not make sense to me at all. How long had I been unconscious?

I felt Éomer's hands on my shoulders, the warmth of his body behind me. But to my immense surprise Legolas was kneeling at my side, with his slender, elegant hands placed on my womb. Looking at my midsection, I had the feeling that something had changed – it felt different. It looked different.

At the foot of the bed the harper was kneeling, playing his silver flute in a merry, lilting memory. I had not imagined that!

But why were Legolas here? And why was the harper playing his pipe between my legs?

Then realization hit me in time with another contraction.

Elaine's voice disrupted my thoughts. "If you have any strength left, Lothíriel, then use it now. Push as hard as you can!"

I did not think I had any strength left. But I grabbed for Éomer's hands. I pressed my legs against the firm grip of Sorcha and Gosvintha. I felt the contraction travel down towards my opening and tried, tried, tried to follow it, grunting and moaning helplessly.

But it passed and nothing had happened – apart from that I knew what had happened.

"It's turned!" I gasped when my womb lay quiescent again. "It's turned. Can I have it now?"

I turned my head to look at Elaine. Elaine looked horrible, so weary. But there was a smile on her face and her eyes were bright. I did not need to wait for her answer. "Yes, you can, Lothíriel. You can do it."

"Draw her farther up against you, my lord," Elaine ordered. "Your wife is too weak to move on her own. We will have to help as much as we can."

I felt Éomer trembling behind me, but he drew me up against him in a firm, strong motion. His face was wet with tears and his eyes red-rimmed. But he was smiling. I even managed to smile back at him, before the next contraction came.

I tried with all I had left, thinking only now, now, now.

But again, nothing.

Elaine stroked over my womb and down. "He lies perfectly now, only a little longer."

Then she hurried away from the bed. When she returned, she carried a glass with a little bit of dark fluid. "Drink this, Lothíriel. It will increase the pain, but it will speed up the birth."

The shadows in her eyes told me that while she did believe there was hope for me to bear the child now, it would be a close thing. I closed my eyes and swallowed. The drink was bitter and would have made me gag if I had had the strength left.

"Now, Sorcha, Gosvintha, pull her legs up a bit more, and hold them very firmly. She needs as much hold as she can get. Legolas," she held out a pot of salve to the elf who stared at her with a shocked expression. That was almost amusing, in a strange, unreal way. "Use that, yes, take more. Yes, about that is enough. And now, when the next contraction comes, rub her womb with that on your side, gently pressing downwards with the rhythm of the contraction, smoothing the salve over the skin. I will do the same here. Míriël, get everything ready for the babe."

Elaine knelt down on my other side, scooping a large dollop of salve out of the pot, before handing it back to Ini. "Please, keep playing, Harper. Just let Lady Míriël step in front of you so that she can catch the babe. If we are lucky, the next contraction, or at least the one after that might get the child out."

The harper stepped back without breaking the soft flow of the melody and making sure that he did not move away from an invisible straight line running from my womb through my opening right to his flute. Had the music made my baby turn?

But before I could follow that thought, I was again gripped by a contraction.

I put everything I had into the effort.

But I was so weak.

I was almost unable to catch my breath afterwards and I felt helpless tears running down my cheeks. Here was a last chance to bear my baby and still nothing was happening. Elaine's hands slowly stroked down my womb once more, Legolas following her every movement.

"Don't give up, Lothíriel! You are almost there."

I could not stop crying, but when the next pain came, in a convulsion that bent my spine and seemed to almost make my head explode, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, clenched my teeth and pushed with the very last bit of my strength.

I pushed, pushed, pushed.

There was nothing left of me but that single, bodily effort.

Suddenly the pushing changed into bursting, flowing, gliding. There was something hard yet soft between my legs, and as Elaine and Legolas stroked down my womb with the ebbing of the contraction, I felt a quick, wiggling, slippery motion between my legs.

Míriël bent forwards, I could see her reaching for something, Elaine hurried around to the foot of the bed, there was a silver flash of the metal of scissors in the firelight. Ini held out white linens, I could see they were holding something that was moving, wriggling, I tried to catch my breath, tried to make a sound, but I had no voice left and no strength to move at all –
when, suddenly, the cord cut, the mouth, the lungs cleaned of any residue, a baby's cry filled the room. It was not the angry squall with which Elboron had greeted the world. It was clear, high-pitched squeal. Almost like a happy chirrup of a little bird.

My baby!

My baby's first scream!

Elaine walked around the bed, in her arms a tiny body, wrapped into soft linen, body and linen smeared with blood and slime, her hands, her forehead equally dirty, but her smile exultant. She laid the baby between my breasts and took my hands. I could not have moved my hands to touch my baby, so weak was I. But she did that for me. She gently placed my hands on the tiny back, the still wet, hot back of my baby, who was still chirruping happily. I cannot say what I felt, apart from the stream of tears still flowing down my cheeks and a sense of endless relief and gratitude. I stared at the small round head with its wet curls of thin, dark hair, the dark blue eyes unfocused, but calm, and I could not stop crying.

"He's a very pretty baby-boy," Elaine said. "Míriël, the last contraction will come soon. Take the baby when you see it coming. Legolas, I need you to stroke downwards with the womb once more when it comes. She will need your help to expel the afterbirth. I will have to try and staunch the bleeding."

The pain came before I could stop crying, making me gasp at its intensity, unexpected in the bliss of finally seeing and holding my baby. Míriël quickly reached for the baby, holding him safely in her arms, while I moaned with the last pain. I felt Legolas hands stroking, pushing with me, and this time his touch hurt me, too. I screamed once more, a small, hoarse scream, that upset the baby into high-pitched squeals, so that the gentle melody of the pipes was rendered inaudible. I felt myself spill forward, I felt a flood of blood and thicker things flow through my opening and I could see that Legolas was growing very pale, his eyes widening. I felt the warmth drain from my face, and a fine tremble was shaking my body. I could not feel my feet and legs anymore at all.

Before I could fight it, everything went black.

oooOooo

A/N:

minuial nîn – my sweet, my dear

gûr nîn – my heart

oooOooo


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JunoMagic