109. Long Live the Queen!

"Rugrat," I told the baby on my arm, who was pressing his small round cheeks against my breast, smacking his lips and pushing against the fabric of my dress. My breasts promptly began to tingle and tighten in response to the baby's nudging. Finally I gave up on trying to listen to the Harper and Taliesin performing a new song in front of the fireplace. I held Elfwine a bit away from me and shook my head at him. Little greedy-guts. My son smiled at me. A wet, slobbery smile. And he smacked his lips again. Without the music this would have been quite audible, too. "You can't be hungry," I told him. "You just had something… two hours ago?" Elfwine had not only inherited his dad's golden curls and dark eyes, but also an appetite of truly Rohirric proportions.

I sighed and hoisted Elfwine against my shoulder once more. He was getting heavier. There was no doubt about that. My milk and the first bits of creamy porridge spooned into him by Gosvintha were showing a definite effect. Elfwine was quite a bit taller than he had been three months ago. And a good deal heavier. I left the hall and entered the small sitting room just behind the hall on the right. Éomer had had a wide, low rocking chair built for me, using my exact measurements, with the back at an angle that was perfect for nursing.

I closed the door and was grateful to find that the fire in the sitting room had been rebuilt. I was cold almost all the time, but even from an objective point of view it was still quite chilly at the end of March with the snow only just beginning to melt. I settled down in the rocking chair, awkwardly clutching my wildly waving son in my left arm, while fiddling with the draw strings of my gown with my right hand. "Don't be so impatient," I muttered. "Mami macht ja schon…"

Finally my breasts lay bare and hard, the nipples puckering up huge and red in reaction to the baby's squirming against them, the pressure of the milk almost too painful to bear. I adjusted my hold on Elfwine and almost sighed with relief when he started sucking. Breastfeeding my baby was not quite the romantic experience I had thought it would be. At least by now I was able to gauge from way he moved his mouth just when I had a chance to switch him to the other side without soliciting angry wailing. And switching breasts was necessary; even though Elfwine seemed to be always hungry, he was not always hungry enough to drain both breasts completely. So I had to take care to switch sides in order to get rid of enough milk from both breasts to stand a chance for a few hours of undisturbed sleep. Waking with painful, inflamed breasts was not a good way to wake. It was also not especially funny to wake with a painful pressure in my breasts before Elfwine was ready to eat. Elfwine was a good sleeper. He was also regular as a clockwork in his hunger at night. And Elfwine did not like to be woken when he did not want to eat. He liked his rhythm. And for the most part, I liked his rhythm, too. He was a much better baby than Anrid's son.

"You are a good baby," I whispered. I was so tired. So damn tired. I was too tired to even yawn. Fatigue seemed to have become a near constant ache deep in my bones. I looked down on the baby's head, golden and pink against my breast. The skin of my breast and my hands seemed almost translucent compared to the ruddy complexion of the baby. I sighed. To be completely honest, I felt almost translucent. Even three months after the birth I had not regained my strength. "A very good baby." I repeated. He was, I thought. Such a good and cheerful baby. A good eater. A good sleeper. A real charmer. Healthy and sweet.

Now, finally sated, he turned his head up to me and warbled something unintelligible, but to my adoring ears it sounded almost like a "thank you". I grinned at my motherly foolishness. Well, at least I could imagine it sounded like that. I shook my kerchief out of my sleeve and dried off the mixture of drool and milk flowing down from the right corner of Elfwine's mouth. I really wanted to wear an apron, like Ini and Gosvintha did. That attire was so much more convenient with a drooling, spitting and shitting baby in my arms for many hours of the day. But of course the queen could not possible wear an apron. Queens wear gowns. But gowns are not made to withstand the daily needs and mishaps of babies.

"At least I have become quite adept at shaking kerchiefs out of my sleeves, sweetie. I bet it looks almost like sleight of hand, real wizardly trickery!" I moved him again to my left arm in order to tie up my dress again. I was also getting really good at baby juggling, I mused. Elfwine was getting drowsy, his tiny eyelids with those perfect dark lashes were fluttering. I laid him between my breasts, a bit diagonally, so that his head came to rest near my neck on my right shoulder. From nursing, my breasts were so big and so sensitive that it was not comfortable to have the baby pressed right on top of one of them. Luckily he fit quite snugly between my breasts. For the time being, at least.

"Now how about some burping, sweetie?" I gently patted his back, the bit of green velvet warm and precious under my palm. I had refused to see the baby bound tightly in swaddling cloths, as Anrid and Gosvintha deemed it proper. I had not budged in that argument. There was no way that my baby's arms and legs would be bound tightly until his first birthday. Finally they had indulged my whim in this matter. There were benefits to being queen. Sorcha had made the first little frock for Elfwine. By now Elfwine was in the possession of a full chest with tiny gowns, tunics and frocks made of various, sometimes very expensive and precious, materials. It seemed to be the "in" thing at the Meduseld this spring to make baby clothes for the new prince among the noble ladies. And because my little prince was growing quickly, he was constantly in need of new baby clothes. The ladies at court were thrilled.

Once again, Elfwine did not feel like burping. I sighed. Sometimes that procedure took him more than an hour. But by now I knew better than to try and put him to bed without taking care of that. The resulting colic would not be pretty. I felt my baby's small heart beat gently against my shoulder. I held him with both hands, the right at his bottom, the left on his back. The soft rocking motion of the chair and the warm, heavy weight of the baby along with the cosy-sweet smell of my own milk was almost enough to make me fall asleep on the spot.

I was always, always tired these days. I sighed softly. I knew why I was so tired, of course. The birth had been more than touch and go for me. It was probably more than a small miracle that I was still here at all. And it was for the most part due to this small, living and breathing wonder that was slumbering on my chest now, that I had not… I gulped and very carefully, so as not to disturb the baby, released a shuddering breath. That I had not died. The old midwives' trick that nursing the baby often helps to tighten up the muscles of the womb and can thus stop the bleeding had worked with me. And the needs of my baby had tied me to life, when I was closer to death than to survival for several weeks. I had been so weak that I could have easily died from sheer exhaustion, slipping away in my sleep, if it had not been for the baby. And for Elaine, who insisted on waking me every few hours to nurse the baby, to hold the baby, and later to burp the baby and even to change the baby, no matter how exhausted I was, no matter that I was still bedridden. Elaine had seen to it that I had no chance to leave, simple as that. Now, although I was still tired and weak, I would probably live. Provided, of course, that I did not catch a fever as the season changed from winter to spring.

Winter was considered a bad time to give birth for a reason. Many a young mother in Rohan and Gondor died from spring-fevers, still weak and anaemic from giving birth. Elaine had been completely honest with me when I had asked her about my chances a few weeks ago, around the time when I was able to get up again for the first time. Even now, sitting comfortably in this warm room, with the soft curls of my baby tickling my neck, I was not yet safe. It was not yet certain that I would live to see my son grow tall and strong.

I turned my head a little and pressed my lips against the silky golden fuzz on Elfwine's head. "You know, I'm just happy that I lived long enough to see your smile." A small huffing noise was all the answer I got. Sadly, no burp yet. I tried patting his back again. The huffing turned into a low grumbling sound that reminded me of a much deeper grumble, reverberating in his father's chest. I thought of Elfwine's father, sitting in the hall right now, pretending to listen to the songs and stories, but secretly impatient to be in the bedroom with me and his son, for some songs and stories shared only between the three of us.

I felt myself beginning to smile. I could not think of Éomer and not smile. He was such a fiercely passionate and protective father. I inhaled the sweet scent of my baby's hair, whispering into his curls, "It will be fun to see how your daddy reacts once you want to court a girl. I bet that not the most beautiful princess in all the Western lands will be deemed good enough for you!"

After a moment's silence I went on. Talking to my child always calmed me and drove away fears and worries about the future, about the lingering fatigue that sometimes seemed to rob my days of all light. "You know, I bet you will look a lot like your dad once you are grown. Your hair might turn a bit darker. You also have my chin, and my ears. But you have your dad's beautiful eyes. You'll drive the girls mad." My smile turned into a broad grin, as I imagined a tall young lad in the uniform of the Riders of the Mark, and a gaggle of shy girls dreaming after him, as he rode up the hills with his Éothéod. Then I sighed, feeling my back beginning to ache despite of the comfort of the nursing chair. It was high time for bed. "Okay, my proud warrior! Now burp, you scoundrel!" I boosted the baby up a bit and tickled him a little under his arms. Sometimes that worked.

To my immense relief today was one of the days that this trick worked. A strangled noise emerged from my son, along with a bit of half digested milk, which quickly seeped through the kerchief and into the shoulder of my dress. And thus thou shalt know a mother… I rolled my eyes at my completely oblivious son. By wet, stinking spots on her shoulders.

And then… I felt Elfwine's body suddenly tightening purposefully under my hands. There was a muffled spluttering noise and I wrinkled my nose at the acrid smell of fresh shit. As the door opened as if on cue and Ini entered the room with a deep curtsy, I was hard put to suppress a sigh of relief. Ini had an uncanny knack for knowing just when Elfwine and I needed her. "Is he ready to be changed for the night, my lady?"

I tried not to breathe and swallowed dryly. "Yes, indeed he is." Careful not to touch his bottom anymore, I handed the baby over to my maid-servant. Then I automatically checked my gown for yellowish spots of overflowing baby-shit. I exhaled gratefully. I had been lucky this time. Ini was holding the baby with one hand under her apron, to make sure that he did not drip on her good dress. "I'll have him ready for his lullaby in half an hour, my lady."

"Thank you, Ini."

The girl managed a graceful curtsy even with the baby in her arms and quickly left the room, noxious fumes wafting behind her. How was it possible that such a small human being could shit and stink like that, I wondered. Then the smell slowly abated and I breathed more deeply. Once again I experienced a small twinge of guilt at the fact that I left the nastiest chores of caring for my baby to my servants and my ladies-in-waiting most of the time. But somehow I could not bring myself to offer to change Elfwine after he had completed his big business more than once a week. And I had to admit that I was more than relieved when I was granted the "privilege" of changing my son's diapers only every other week.

I remained sitting in the nursing chair for a while yet. As always, when I had to part with the warm, soothing weight of my son, I needed a few moments to feel at home alone with my body. A trick of nature, I mused, that mothers should feel so incomplete without their babies. To make sure that we take extra-care of them. As if I would not, no matter what…

Suddenly I grew aware that the music in the hall beyond had stopped. Ini must have sent a servant to tell Éomer that we were ready to go to bed. Ini was a real treasure. I was right. Only moments later the door opened and my husband stood in the flickering light of the lamps. His hair glowed golden in the soft light of the flames, and his eyes glinted so dark and lovely that I felt a familiar liquid tug of desire inside me, even before he smiled at me. "Time for bed, my love?"

"Yes," I replied and got up. And almost stumbled and fell. I was still unbalanced so damn easily. Éomer knew better than to say anything, but he was at my side and supporting me at once. For a moment I experienced an idiotic impulse to grumble at him irritably, or shake off his supporting arm, but I kept my silence. If I made it through spring without a cold and without a fever, I would be steady on my feet again come summer. I would. I clenched my teeth. I so would.

oooOooo

When we entered our room, Sorcha was already waiting there to help me undress and bath, while Ini was busy taking care of the baby, carefully rubbing his tiny behind with ointments and sprinkling him with the special powders Elaine had provided.

After the long weeks in bed when I had been completely unable to take care of my bodily needs without assistance, I no longer felt self-conscious about being helped with dressing and bathing. In fact, by now I often enjoyed the quiet time in the evening that I spent mainly with Sorcha and Ini before going to bed. It helped me unwind after a bad day.

I slipped into my long white nightgown, yet another gown with the neckline held in place only by a simple drawstring, to make nursing in the middle of the night easier. Then I obediently sat down on a chair to allow Sorcha to braid my hair for the night. Rohirric women are proud of their braids. And once hair has reached a certain length it's really not a good idea to keep it unbound during the night. Especially when there is a pretty good chance that a baby might spit on it after a nightly meal.

From the bedroom I heard a happy gurgling noise that told me that Éomer had taken over the duty of putting Elfwine into his cradle. There was one sound that the baby had reserved only for his father. I smiled. There was also a sound that was just for me.

"Thank you, Sorcha. Sleep well."

Sorcha smiled at me. "You, too, my lady." She did not curtsy, but respectfully inclined her head to me, and then noiselessly left the room.

I went over to the bedroom door. Now it was only the three of us.

The most precious hour of each day.

oooOooo

I entered the room. Éomer was already in bed. But, as I had almost expected, Elfwine was not in his cradle. Éomer had put the baby next to him in the big bed again, playing the "hold my finger as hard as you can"-game.

"Who's winning?" I walked over and slipped under the covers on my side of the bed. Éomer barely raised his head, so intent was he on the game. "I am. But barely."

"He's your son, what did you expect?"

Now he did look up, his eyes filled with warmth. "And yours," he countered. "Your strength is far beyond mine." A shadow passed over his face. The fear of losing me, I knew. This fear was his constant companion now. And probably would be, for some time to come. I lifted my hand to caress his cheek and wanted to curse myself at once: my arm was shaking. It had been a long day, and I had not taken the time for a nap this afternoon.

Éomer caught my hand and held it tightly. "You did not rest enough today, my love."

I sighed. "I did want to attend the council."

"I know. Ever the dutiful queen. But promise that you will not do anything much tomorrow." He tried to sound stern. I could not suppress a yawn and laughed softly. "I promise."

I gratefully returned the pressure of his hand, enjoying the warmth of his skin. I was always cold these days. "I think I am really too tired to do anything but obey your command tomorrow, my lord."

"Good. A dutiful and an obedient queen. I am doubly blessed."

I snorted. "How about singing our little prince to sleep now?"

We had developed a routine. Elfwine got two songs every night. One from me, and one from Éomer. "Anrid complained to me." Éomer said suddenly. The expression on his face turned decidedly unpleasant. I sighed. Anrid was not a bad person, really. But she was uncomfortable with her elevated role at court, easily flustered, painfully aware of her duties and customs that ought to be obeyed. Éomer had also never quite forgiven her for being a bit of a fool during Elfwine's birth. Though from what Sorcha had told me, her behaviour had not been quite as bad to my mind as it was to Éomer's. I had been getting along quite well with Anrid before Elfwine's birth, but Éomer's displeasure with her was making her so uncomfortable in my presence that I found it increasingly difficult to have any kind of normal conversation with her. "What did she do this time?" I asked.

"Apparently she is concerned about the fact that you sing German songs to our son."

"What?" I bit down on my tongue. The shock and surprise had made me raise my voice beyond the level of noise that was suitable to get our son in the mood for sleep. A happy gargling and frantic waving of hands was the prompt answer. "What?" I repeated, in a lower voice, but feeling completely dumbfounded. How could such a silly complaint hurt me so much? Because it came so out of the blue? Or because it was about some of the most intimate moments the three of us shared together each day?

"Yes," Éomer replied tersely. "I reminded her that any heir to the kingdom of Rohan was always raised speaking two languages: Rohirric and Westron. What harm can some lullabies in his mother's native language do him? And she does not object to Legolas singing to him in Sindarin." Éomer was frowning, his eyes glowering balefully.

"Thank you, my love," I whispered, feeling quite unexpectedly tears burning in my eyes. To tell me of such a small incident, he had to be really, really angry. Usually he tried to keep such petty grievances from me. "Danke, Éomer."

He drew my hand to his lips. The soft touch made my heart flutter with love and longing. "Ich liebe dich, Lothíriel." The one phrase in German he could say perfectly. A phrase that only belonged to the two of us, because there was no one else in this whole wide world who could understand those words.

"Would you sing for us now?" Letting go of my hand, Éomer settled down on his pillows, his left hand gently stroking the round belly of our son. Elfwine responded with a tiny yawn. I smiled down at our child. "Yes, I will sing for you now. It's way past bed-time for all of us!"

I would actually croon, not really sing. I could not sing. But singing – crooning – to our baby was special, sacred. It was not about hitting the right notes, or keeping melody and rhythm true. It was about us. About our little family.

So I sat up in bed, sitting cross-legged with my blanket wrapped around me, my hand lightly resting on Éomer's who kept stroking the baby, in tiny, tender movements.

And then I sang, once again the one lullaby I remembered perfectly from my own childhood.

"Guten Abend, gut Nacht,
Mit Rosen bedacht,
Mit Näglein besteckt,
Schlupf unter die Deck':
Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,
Wirst du wieder geweckt."

My voice wavered, with fatigue as well as with love. But I deep in my heart I thought I had never sung more beautifully in my life.

Then it was Éomer's turn. I kissed the baby goodnight and lay down, snuggling into the warm nest of my blankets, my head so close to Elfwine's that I could smell his sweet and pure baby-smell, all freshly washed and powdered his scent was the most alluring perfume I knew.

"Ready?" I heard Éomer's smile.

"Yes."

After his song Éomer would put his son in the cradle next to my side of the bed, so that I only had to reach over when the baby woke hungry during the night. Sometimes I fell asleep even before Éomer was finished with his song. As warmth slowly crept back into my hands and my feet after a day of feeling cold all the time, I suspected that tonight would be one of those nights.

Then Éomer began to sing. He sang in a low voice, but he sang so heart-breaking clearly and gently that the tears that I had been able to blink away only a few minutes ago, suddenly began to flow. I knew the song by now; it was one of his favourites, one of the few precious songs he remembered his mother singing to him when he was a small child.

"Sleep my love, and peace attend thee
All through the night;
All the riders will defend thee,
All through the night,
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Wold and vale in slumber steeping,
I my loving vigil keeping,
All through the night.

Valar watching ever round thee,
All through the night,
In thy slumbers close surround thee,
All through the night,
They should of all fears disarm thee,
No forebodings should alarm thee,
They will let no peril harm thee,
All through the night."

As I had suspected, I was asleep before Éomer had reached the end of the second stanza.

oooOooo

It was a brilliant day in the middle of May. The sun shone warm and golden on my face and the apple and pear trees in the small orchard of the Palace of Meduseld were in full bloom. The humming sound of bees filled the air around me, and the soft breeze carried the perfume of spring, of gentle rains and the sweet scent of white and pink blossoms.

The baby in my arms squirmed, uncomfortable in the tiny uniform of the Mark he was dressed in for this special occasion. The leather of his small tunic was still a little stiff, and had not yet acquired the comfortable powdery smell of his other clothing. Nevertheless he was too good-natured to get really cranky about his discomfort. He really was such a good baby; where Anrid's little one would break into angry howls, Elfwine only squirmed and grumbled.

We – the complete royal household, some nobles from surrounding fiefs as well as some rich merchants and dignitaries from the city of Edoras – stood gathered around a small pear tree in the orchard of the palace of Meduseld. The pear tree was not even as tall as I was, little more than a sapling, but covered in the most beautiful white blossoms highlighted with the barest touch of rosé. At the roots of the tree a hole gaped in the earth, about two feet deep and one foot across. I could see an earthworm wiggling on the pile of earth heaped up next to the hole. Somewhere on the roof of the Meduseld a blackbird was declaring its undying love to a silent female bird that was nowhere in sight.

Éomer stood next to the hole, wearing the splendid uniform of the First Marshall of the Mark as well as his crown. In his hands he held a small wooden box that was covered in some of the most intricate carvings I had ever seen, gilded in expensive reds and gold. I stared at the little box and tried very hard not to think about what that box contained.

I swallowed hard. My temples prickled. I swallowed once more and turned my concentration firmly on the still squirming bundle of baby in my arms.

Drum rolls sounded. Elfwine stopped struggling. Music of any kind was sure to catch his attention at once. His favourite time of day was still bedtime, listening my crooning and his dad's beautiful singing. But he also adored Legolas' elvish songs and Gimli's rumbling dwarvish chants. I straightened my back. Elfwine was getting really heavy!

The drums fell silent. Fanfares sounded. Elfwine actually squeed with delight at the sound. A true Rohirrim! Éomer looked at me, his eyes shining with pride and happiness, not at all bothered by the contents of the box in his hands. For spring had come and was even now turning into summer, and I was still here, and growing stronger each day, along with our beautiful son.

Éomer lifted the box high into the air, and everyone cheered and clapped with great enthusiasm. Elfwine squeed again, a high-pitched, delighted sound of joy, waving his small arms, reacting to the atmosphere of excitement around him. However, I could not completely stop myself from frowning, feeling not quite comfortable with the knowledge of just what was in that pretty box. The afterbirth. Kept in a tightly lidded box in the cool cellars of the Meduseld, so that it could now be buried in a suitable ceremony that would provide blessing for the whole household.

Then the drums were struck up again. Éomer knelt down and carefully placed the little box in the hole at the roots of the pear tree. When he got to his feet again, his face was wreathed in an enormous smile of happiness. To the sound of drums and trumpets he reached for the shovel and quickly buried the box under the pear tree.

The baby in my arms had grown still now, his head turned towards his father, apparently watching his every movement with acute fascination. The hole was quickly filled up with earth again. With a triumphant shout Éomer stuck the shovel into the earth next to the tree and turned to face me and the gathered crowd.

The music stopped.

"May the tree grow tall!" Éomer shouted. "Se treow mæge grōwan tæl!"

The crowd roared an echo: "Se treow mæge grōwan tæl!"

Then Éomer looked at our son who was staring at his father open-mouthed, a thin trail of drool dribbling down his chin. I managed to shake my kerchief surreptitiously out of my sleeve and dry up Elfwine's chin just in time before the drool flowed on the white fabric of my sleeves.

"May the Prince grow strong!" Éomer cried, his voice for once shaking, and not as strong as I was accustomed to hear it. "Se prince mæge growan strong!"

The answer of the crowd was more than loud enough to make up for that. They positively screamed their answer: "Se prince mæge growan strong!"

Then Éomer raised his head and our eyes met. I could see that his eyes were filled with tears, and his voice was harsh with emotion as he called out a third time, "Long live his mother, the Queen! Lang libbe his mōdor se cwén!"

The noise was so loud that the baby gave quite a start in my arms and promptly screwed up his face for a cry of protest. But Elfwine's anxious howl was completely drowned out by the happy roar that went up from the crowd around us in response to Éomer's call.

"Lang libbe his mōdor se cwén!"

I patted Elfwine's back to soothe the distressed baby. My heart was beating rather quickly and my face almost hurt from smiling so much as I walked to stand next to Éomer. My husband put his arm around me, pressing me against him. Elfwine, feeling the presence of his dad, promptly calmed down, so I dared to lift him up, presenting him to our family to the royal household, to our friends and to the powerful nobles of the realm, showing them just how strong this young prince of Rohan already was.

"Se prince mæge growan strong!" they shouted, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, unable to contain their excitement.

And then they shouted once more, "Lang libbe his mōdor se cwén!"

oooOooo

A/N: The English translation of the German lullaby is this:

"Good evening, good night,
Bedecked with roses,
Covered with carnations,
Slip under the blanket
Tomorrow morning, God willing,
You will be woken again."

ooo

The English lullaby is a slightly adapted version of the ancient Welsh folk song, Ar Hyd y Nos. It was first published under that name by Bardd y Brenin (Edward Jones) in Musical Relicks of the Welsh Bards(1784). The first English lyrics were possibly written by Amelia Opie and was sung to an English setting, "Here beneath a willow weepeth poor Mary Ann." Those lyrics were eventually replaced by Harold Boulton's now familiar lyrics.

ooo

Many thanks to Morelindo for the Old English translations!

ooo

During the Middle Ages burying the afterbirth under trees in the orchard of the house was a wide-spread custom in Europe. For boys they used pear trees, for girls apple trees.

oooOooo


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JunoMagic