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CHAPTER 20

Anew

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It seemed as though a fortnight had passed before Faramir finally tore up the stairs to the spare bedroom which had been set aside for Éowyn's use in childbearing. There in the corridor stood Mithlomi, smiling broadly. She curtseyed for him. "My lady asked me to wait to go in until you arrived," she said.

Faramir touched her shoulder. "How is she?"

The handmaiden laughed a little. "My lord, this has barely begun. My lady will be quite well," she replied. Then she curtseyed again. "Excuse me, my lord."

The Steward nodded, and the maid disappeared through the door. He finally turned and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. But it was not long before he began to pace, twelve steps in either direction from the door.

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The first few hours were not so bad.

Aside from the periodic moments of blinding pain, Éowyn found most of the experience in the birthing room to be rather pleasant. However, there was only so much pampering she could take, and soon she began to be uncomfortable with all the activity going on around her. Marueth was kind and patient through it all, but chose to entertain Éowyn in those moments in which she was not in pain by telling horrifying stories of births that went on and on for days.

And when the contractions interrupted Marueth's tales, Éowyn was not sure if she should be glad or terrified. In the end, her somewhat distracted mind chose an odd mixture of both.

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Faramir had no idea what time it was when Éomer arrived in the corridor. His brother-in-law smiled at the sight of the Steward pacing up and down the hall. "If only the King of Gondor could see you now," he said.

"He would take the white rod and break it, and thus relieve me of my office," Faramir replied, leaning against the wall.

Éomer laughed and sat on the floor near the door. "No, but Aragorn would laugh."

"Let him laugh when his wife is cloistered," said Faramir, sitting as well.

Éomer sobered. "All will be well, Faramir. I have no fear."

Just then they heard Éowyn cry out, and both men winced. Faramir cast a glance of mild irritation at his younger brother-in-law. "You were saying?"

Then the young King looked down. "I do not believe I have ever told you," he began, "how very glad I have been that it was you who took my sister's hand, and not Lord Aragorn." At Faramir's look of surprise, Éomer added: "He is noble, certainly, but he has never understood her, and I fear that—that when she lost the child, life would not have been easy for my sister again. They have never spoken the same language."

"Do you doubt the King's loyalty and care, then?"

"No," Éomer replied. "They were never suited for each other, and such an event would have torn them apart. But I believe it brought you and Éowyn closer."

"With time, it did," said Faramir. "With time."

They sat for a time, listening only to Éowyn's occasional cries. They were joined eventually by Imrahil, and the three men sat in the silent comfort of one another's company.

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Lothíriel had been given the somewhat dubious honor of standing with Éowyn and holding her hand during the long hours in which she was in labor. And the hours were long, and as they dragged on, Éowyn's labor became harder and more painful.

After a particularly bad contraction, Lothíriel pulled the strip of leather from Éowyn's mouth. It had been soaked in a wine and herb mixture several hours before, to give her something to bear down on during the contractions and to dull the pain somewhat, but now it seemed to be doing little good. What helped the most now was Marueth's telling her that they were nearing the end of this ordeal.

Mithlomi approached then and took a cloth to wipe Éowyn's brow. "Are you all right, my lady?" she asked.

The Lady of Rohan tried to smile. "As well as I could be, Mithlomi, given the circumstances."

The maid bit her lip. "Does it—does it hurt greatly, my lady?"

Éowyn laughed a little. "More than I can express, or you can imagine." She turned and looked at her husband's cousin. "He will never come near me again."

At the foot of the bed Marueth laughed. "I have heard that many a time, my lady," she said. "You will forget all about the pain once you have your little one in your arms."

"Or we would all of us be only children," said Lothíriel, "and for that you and I should be particularly glad."

Éowyn nodded, but whatever she was about to say was lost in the pain of a sudden contraction; and she grabbed Lothíriel's hand so hard that the younger woman cried out too. The pain was hideous, and hot tears rolled down Éowyn's cheeks. Distantly she heard the midwife call to Mithlomi, and Marueth said: "It will not be long now."

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Faramir was pacing again as the sun began to set over Ithilien. The Steward was more tense than he had ever been in his life, and all attempts by his brother-in-law and uncle to engage him in conversation failed utterly. Having reached the end of the corridor for the thousandth time that hour, he turned and looked at Éomer and Imrahil, both of whom were still seated on the floor.

The two men looked at each other. "I have never seen my brother-in-law so paranoid," said Éomer.

Imrahil shook his head. "This is calm compared to how I acted while my wife was in with our firstborn." He looked up at his nephew, who had resumed his pacing. "Though I have never seen him so agitated as he is now."

When Faramir reached the door and the two men again, he had a retort for them, but he did not speak it, for Éowyn cried out again, much louder than before. But mingled with that was another woman's voice, this one much higher. In confusion Faramir looked down at his brother-in-law and uncle. "Lothíriel?" said Imrahil; and a worried look crossed the countenances of both men.

The Steward turned to the door and reached his hand out to the knob. He wished desperately to go in, to be with his wife in this moment when she was in so much pain. Under his breath he muttered a curse, wishing he had never put Éowyn in this position in the first place. Finally he decided against barging into the room and instead placed his hands on the doorposts and rested his head against the door.

Thus he stayed for some time, straining to hear what was going on behind the door. Mostly he heard Éowyn, incoherent and in pain. He heard other voices too, but that one dominated all others and tugged at his heart. Lightly he bumped his forehead against the door, until his wife cried out again, and a new voice joined the cacophony.

A babe was crying.

Suddenly filled with joy and fear like none he had ever known, Faramir gripped the doorposts and stared in wonder at the door. Behind him Éomer and Imrahil stood, both men clapping his shoulders and speaking to him, but the Steward heard them not. Then, after a few more moments of terrifying tension, the door opened and revealed his wife's handmaiden.

"My lord," she said, smiling broadly once more, "my lady will see you now."

Faramir needed no further encouragement: had Mithlomi not stepped out of his way, he would have knocked her over in his haste to be at Éowyn's side. Then, when he approached, Éowyn stretched forth her hand, and he grasped it in both of his.

He kissed her palm and looked upon her to see her smile. "I am well, my lord," she whispered. "There is nothing to fear."

Overcome by his gratitude that she was truly all right, Faramir suddenly took her face in his hands and kissed her. Her mouth was sweetened with the faint taste of wine, and he deepened the kiss, running his hands back into her hair. At that she drew back, breathless. "You are never to come near my bed again," she managed.

Despite the threat, Faramir managed a weak laugh, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. "Of course, my love."

On the other side of the bed, the midwife coughed, and husband and wife looked up to see her cradling a small bundle in her arms. "If I might intrude, my lord, I believe this little one is ready to meet you both," said Marueth. As Éowyn looked up in delight, the midwife smiled upon them and laid the baby in the mother's eager arms. Faramir's eyes began to fill with tears at the sight, and Marueth added: "You have a fine son, my lord. A fine son."

A son, he thought to himself; and with that thought, his heart swelled with joy.

When Éowyn finally tore her eyes away from the child in her arms, there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and Faramir raised his hands to wipe them away. "Faramir, I know you wanted a daughter so much," she began, "and I am sorry that—"

Faramir shushed her gently, and then placed a finger in the boy's hand, which curled reflexively. "He is our son," he replied. "And he is healthy and whole, as are you. There is nothing I desire above that."

After a few moments of silence, he stroked his son's dark tufts of hair and kissed the top of his head. "You have borne a son, Éowyn," he said at last, "and now you must name him."

Éowyn looked down at the boy for a little while, and he seemed to regard her with sleepy curiosity. At last she looked back to her husband, and when she spoke her voice was low. "Name him for your brother, Faramir."

In truth Faramir had not thought about boys' names since their challenge had determined that Éowyn would name a son, and her sudden surrender of the right to name the child surprised him. "Are you certain?" he asked.

Éowyn nodded. "For your brother."

So the Steward thought on it for a time, and then looked at his wife again. "Then he is called Elboron, son of Faramir, Steward of Gondor."

Gently Faramir lifted the babe from her arms. He began to cry as he was transferred from mother to father, but the Steward soon had the boy calm in his arms. And when Faramir looked down upon his son, he saw eyes like his brother's gazing back at him. He shook his head in wonder. "We created this, Éowyn," he murmured.

She reached forward and touched his shoulder. "Thank you."

And as he cradled his son against his chest, the only words that came to his mind were ones which he had often spoken. But the frequency with which he uttered them did not lessen their meaning, and they were the only words which could be said.

"I love you."

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