Aragorn had just finished with one petitioner and was preparing to hear a property dispute when a page bolted into the court chamber. He charged across the room and skidded to a stop on the polished marble floor directly in front of Aragorn.

"Whoa there, lad!" Aragorn said. "What news do you bring with such haste?"

"The -- the Queen, my Lord," the page gasped out. "I was sent to tell my Lord that her time is upon her, and she wishes to see my Lord right now!"

Aragorn jumped from his seat. Faramir placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Lord Peredur and I will cancel the remaining cases," he said. "Please convey our best hopes to the Lady Arwen. I will seek you out when we are finished here."

"Thank you, friend," Aragorn said, and rushed out of the court.

He arrived at the royal suite to find Halandir sitting outside with the guards. As soon as he saw the King approach, Halandir rose to his feet.

"The Queen is within," he said. "I have brought her from the archives and have summoned the midwives and the Lady Éowyn at the request of the Queen."

"Thank you, Halandir," Aragorn said. "Ever have you cared for your Queen in her time of need." Halandir bowed low, and Aragorn entered his suite.

Arwen, stripped to her new cotton shift, was pacing slowly around the floor of the sitting area supported by Éowyn. Doronrîn was issuing orders to the chambermaids who scurried in and out, bearing braziers, a kettle, blankets, an array of small crockery and a knife. She looked up when Aragorn entered, nodded an acknowledgement of his presence and went back to her work. Arwen hurried to him.

"Estel, you have come," she said softly. "You gladden my heart." She sucked in a breath, and Aragorn could clearly see the muscles in her abdomen move with the contraction. "I would dance with you, my husband," she said.

Surprised by the request, but not at all inclined to deny it, Aragorn took her in his arms. For a while, they swayed slowly around the floor together. Arwen sang a wordless tune, and when a new pain caused her voice to falter, Aragorn hummed through it. Between them, he could feel her belly moving as the muscles tightened and released. He let himself relax into the immediacy of the moment, accepting and supporting Arwen's weight, breathing in her scent and feeling their two heartbeats joining. Soon, within a few hours, everything would change. If all went well, Arwen would live and deliver their new baby. If all did not go well . . . Aragorn banished the terrible thought from his mind and hummed.

Ioreth, summoned from the Houses of Healing, arrived a short time later, closing the door quietly so as not to intrude. She stared at Aragorn in shock and moved to Doronrîn. "Why is he here?" she asked. "It is not our way to have the father attend the birth."

"Let them dance for a while longer," Doronrîn said calmly. "There will be time enough for the King to cool his heels later on."

Ioreth blushed bright red at the thought of a man in a childbirth room, but held her tongue. When the man in question was the King, she decided, rules could be altered. She turned her back to give the royal couple some measure of privacy and busied herself unpacking pots of salve and a jar of tisane mixture from her satchel.

Far too soon for Aragorn's liking, Arwen stiffened, then pulled away from him, looking down at herself in dismay. A wet stain was growing on her shift. "Ioreth?" she said. "Something is happening."

Ioreth was by her side in an instant. "The waters have broken, my Lady," she said. "Éowyn, please assist the Queen to the bed. Unbind her hair, and place the knife under the pillow; 'twill cut the pain right in two. My Lord," she said, turning to Aragorn, "It is now the time when only women are permitted in the birthing chamber."

Aragorn watched helplessly as Arwen knelt on the bed, facing slightly away from him. Éowyn untied the ribbons in Arwen's hair and began to massage her back. Doronrîn slipped the knife under the pillow and came to stand by Ioreth's side.

"Mistress Ioreth speaks truly," she said. "We will carry on from here. Should we require any other assistance, we will summon it." With that, she grasped Aragorn by the elbow and propelled him gently but firmly out of the room, closing the door after him.

Aragorn found himself face to face with a load of books and papers. When the door clicked shut, the books and papers shifted, and Faramir emerged from behind the stack. He set his burden on one of the benches outside the royal chambers and grinned at Aragorn.

"I see that the lovely ladies have thrown you out," he said. "Our midwives did as much to me, on both occasions. Come, have a seat. It will be some hours yet." He gestured to the pile of books and papers. "I have brought distractions."

"What is all this?" Aragorn asked, leafing through the top papers.

"Romances, epics, old lays." Faramir shrugged. "We may pass the time in reading, either silently or aloud, or in conversation. I have arranged for cakes and ale to be brought to us later. In my satchel, I have a board and pieces should we wish to play chess."

"Surely you do not feel yourself obliged to wait with me," Aragorn said. "That is hardly a duty required of the Steward, no matter how loyal."

"It is no duty. I wait with you out of the friendship I bear both you and the Lady Arwen. And I wait because I know that the waiting will be difficult, and it is always easier to share a difficult burden than to bear it alone."

Aragorn smiled gratefully at Faramir. "You have ever been a true friend to me," he said. He sat down on the bench and began to examine the heap of literature, finally selecting a small bound book, which he handed to Faramir. "You have a fine voice," he said. "Will you do me the honor of reading this aloud?"

Faramir examined the book. "The Akallabêth? It is an interesting selection for this occasion."

"An appropriate one, I thought. This child will come of the line of the Kings of Númenor, after all."

"Very true." With that, Faramir sat down, stretched out his long legs and began to read aloud.

Arwen's breath came in short, shallow pants. She knelt on the bed, her legs apart, supported by Éowyn and Ioreth. Doronrîn busied herself warming a little pot of olive oil over the brazier. Abruptly, Arwen let out a long breath. Her head flopped forward in relief. Éowyn brushed back her long, dark hair. "You did well," she said. "The contraction is past, and you have a little rest now before the next one."

"I can smell the olive oil," Arwen gasped. "It smells comforting."

"It is my intent that it should feel comforting as well," Doronrîn said. "If you will shift position slightly, I will massage you with it so that you might not tear yourself while giving birth." Gently, she smeared some of the warm oil on Arwen.

Arwen smiled. "That feels most pleasant," she said. "To think that I should have waited until now to learn of this pleasure! Perhaps, once this child is born, I shall teach my husband this new art of massage." Her face contorted as another contraction struck. "That is, if I ever permit him to touch me again!"

Another string of moans and cries drifted from behind the heavy oak door. Faramir paused in his reading, and he and Aragorn looked up, startled, as they made out one or two distinct phrases. Faramir turned to Aragorn, his eyebrows crawling up nearly to his hairline.

"I had not thought that the Lady Arwen even knew such words," he said.

Aragorn shrugged. "Her brothers are both mighty warriors."

"Perhaps it is something they learn from the midwives," Faramir suggested.

"Perhaps," Aragorn said. "But I do not wish to be the one to ask."

So the hours dragged on. Aragorn took his turn reading aloud, selecting the Lay of Leithian. The cakes and ale arrived, along with a covered dish that the kitchen runner explained had been requested by Éowyn. He knocked discreetly at the door. Aragorn and Faramir craned their necks to see what they could, but their efforts were in vain. Éowyn opened the door only just wide enough to let the dish inside, thanked the kitchen runner and promptly shut the door again. The kitchen runner turned around to find the King and the Steward staring at him, eager for news. He turned bright red.

"I am sorry, my Lords," he said. "I did not see anything but the Lady Éowyn."

"It cannot be helped," Aragorn said, sending the runner on his way. The ale felt good, soothing throats made raspy from reading aloud. Aragorn stared into his mug, absently crumbling a cake between his fingers. He imagined Arwen's face surrounded by the vague forms of babies in the liquid patterns that danced on the surface of the ale in the mug.

"You must eat," Doronrîn declared, presenting Arwen with a currant bun and a mug of cider. "It will be a long labor for you yet, and you will need all of your strength." Pale and weary, Arwen made no objection. She accepted the proffered bun and mug and looked around, searching for a comfortable position in which to eat. Ioreth sensed her distress.

"Éowyn, place a sheet over the window seat," she suggested. "My Lady may eat there, and I will remove a layer of bedding. The movement will do my Lady good, and it is time for fresh bedding in any event."

Éowyn nodded, took a sheet from the basket of fresh linen in the corner of the room, draped the window seat, and assisted Arwen to it, settling her down with her food and drink. Ioreth and Doronrîn stripped off the first of several layers of sheets and padding that they had tucked around the bed. They had just finished when Arwen moaned through a mouthful of currant bun. Doronrîn immediately moved to usher her back to the bed, but Arwen held up her hand.

"No," she choked out. "I wish to walk." Doronrîn and Éowyn obligingly pulled her to her feet, and they walked through the contraction. When it had passed, Arwen returned to the window seat and finished the currant bun. After another contraction, she drained the mug of cider. She walked through several more contractions until her legs felt rubbery, and she gratefully agreed to return to the bed.

The food buoyed her spirits for a while, but as the sun moved across the sky, she began again to grow discouraged. "How long has it lasted?" she asked. "I feel as if I have been laboring since the Song began, and I shall labor until the end of the world."

"This is not good," Doronrîn said to Ioreth. "Her strength wanes again, and the hardest burden still lies ahead."

"The pains are coming farther apart," Ioreth observed. "Something is hindering her labor."

Indeed, Arwen had not had a contraction for several minutes. Éowyn assisted her off the bed, and they walked a few circuits around the room, but no contraction came. Ioreth frowned.

"We must do something," she said. "The child could be smothered before it is born. Has my Lady's womb opened, at least? Doronrîn, your fingers are more slender than mine. What can they detect?"

Doronrîn seated Arwen on the bed and probed gently. "The womb is nearly opened," she reported. "Only one stubborn lip remains. I will press on it. It will be painful, but the womb must open fully, else labor will not begin again." Éowyn slipped behind Arwen to support and comfort her, and Ioreth placed a towel into her hands. Doronrîn applied pressure.

Faramir had brought out the chessboard, and he and Aragorn were deeply absorbed in a game, when their concentration was shattered by a terrible shriek. Aragorn leaped to his feet, knocking several pawns to the floor, and charged to the door.

He burst into the bedroom and had a brief glimpse of Arwen lying on her side and moaning before Doronrîn suddenly stood before him, her bloody hand outstretched.

"Out with you!" she said fiercely. "In all of Gondor, you are the King, but in this room, you will do what we say. Your presence is not required here, and you will be an unneeded distraction. Arwen must go over the Sea now, and you will not hinder her!"

Aragorn's eyes bulged. For a moment, there was no sound in the room other than Arwen's soft cries. His breath caught in his throat.

"Over the Sea?" he murmured. "Surely you cannot mean . . . she cannot . . . "

Ioreth hurried over to rescue her King. "Perhaps you should see to the Queen, Lady Doronrîn," she said. "I believe the pains have begun anew." Turning to Aragorn, she dropped a perfunctory curtsey. "Doronrîn merely uses a turn of phrase, my Lord," she said. "She told me once that it was a common expression in the forest where she used to live, but perhaps it was not used much elsewhere. We have several such expressions in my village, and when first I came to Minas Tirith --"

"What does it mean?" Aragorn asked sharply.

Ioreth chuckled. "It means nothing more than that the Queen must concentrate. As the Lady Doronrîn explained it to me, it means that she must concentrate so hard that her mind will flow elsewhere, to somewhere very far away. And over the Sea is very far away. Did my Lord not know that? I had thought that my Lord had lived with the Elves."

"Not with those Elves. And most certainly not with their midwives."

"Then my Lord has learned something new this day." So saying, Ioreth, who had always been quite deferential to her King, did something surprising. She placed her hands on Aragorn's shoulders, turned him around and escorted him out the door. "Do not fret, my Lord," she said. "The Queen is in the best of hands. Should an emergency arise, we will call for my Lord." And then she shut the door.

Aragorn dropped down onto a bench and sank his head into his hands.

"What did you see?" Faramir asked.

"Blood," Aragorn said. "And angry midwives."

"Do not dwell on it," Faramir said. He rooted around in the stack of papers and came up with an especially well-worn and dog-eared scroll. "Read this to me," he said.

"What is it?"

"A very detailed description of the hunting in the various fields and streams of northwestern Gondor," Faramir said. "Read it and let your mind go elsewhere."

"I will go over the Sea," Aragorn said, with a mirthless smile. He accepted the scroll and began to read.

"The womb is fully open," Doronrîn reported. Arwen gave a weak smile.

"This is good news, I trust?" she said.

"It is, indeed. With the next pain, you may begin to push."

"Push?" Arwen's face fell. In the long hours since her labor had begun, she had almost forgotten that she would have to push the baby out at the end. Éowyn and Ioreth helped her to squat on the bed, and she leaned heavily on them. "I cannot push," she moaned. "I have no strength left." Éowyn stroked her hair.

"You are holding up well," she said. "You have been strong and brave thus far. The next stages will not be nearly so long. Ioreth and Doronrîn and I will remain by your side. In a few hours, this ordeal will be past, and you will have your newly born babe to hold."

"And then I will forget my pains?" Arwen panted. Éowyn gave a wry grimace.

"Nay, you will not," she admitted. "But the memory will be tempered with the joy of the birth."

"That is some small comfort, at least." And then the contractions began again. Arwen screwed up her face and pushed, bearing down upon Éowyn and Ioreth with all her might. When the contraction had passed, Ioreth rubbed her shoulder and motioned to Doronrîn.

"Come, Elf lady, support the mother. My old bones cannot bear another push so powerful. I will take over the oil." Doronrîn moved to support Arwen, while Ioreth resumed the olive oil massage.

"Did you hear that?" Éowyn asked Arwen. "You are pushing hard, and that will bring the child forth into the world."

Arwen pushed hard through many more contractions. Her face grew red and sweaty, and Éowyn wiped it with a damp rag. When Arwen cried for air, Doronrîn opened the window and scooped a handful of snow from off the window for Arwen to eat. The child moved agonizingly slowly. The sun had set a while past, and the first stars had begun to appear in the sky. Éowyn pointed out the window.

"See," she said. "The Evening Star has appeared to guide you. Push again."

"I cannot!" Arwen wailed. "I will never push this babe out." Doronrîn began to sing softly, and Arwen pushed through another contraction, and another. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the world narrowed to the next contraction, and the next, and the next. Sometimes Arwen cried out, and sometimes she was silent and far away. At long last, Ioreth, ever present with the olive oil, gave a gasp of joy.

"The head appears!" she said. "I have felt it. It will not be long now, my Lady."

Doronrîn unhooked Arwen's arm from her shoulders and guided her hand down. "Feel your child," she said. "The time draws ever nearer." Arwen's belly hardened yet again. "Push, naneth," Doronrîn commanded. "Push hard." Arwen's eyes shone as she felt hair and a little head and heard herself addressed as a mother. She pushed through two more contractions.

"I can see the head," Ioreth announced. "Here comes the child's little face." Arwen gave a shout of relief and joy. With her next contraction, she bore down with the last of her strength, determined to end her labor and receive her baby.

Nothing happened. The midwives looked at each other, wondering if something had gone wrong. Arwen cried out and pushed again. The child did not move. Éowyn whispered a stream of encouragement into Arwen's ear. Another contraction came and went with no effect. The midwives tried to conceal their rising dread, wishing not to alarm the laboring Queen. Ioreth made a discreet examination.

"It is the shoulders," she said. "They are too broad, and the babe is trapped."

"Can you turn the child?" Doronrîn asked. Ioreth slipped her hands into the tight space and attempted a gentle maneuver. Arwen wailed and began to push again. Doronrîn's eyes flickered warningly toward the pillow beneath which lay the knife. Ioreth followed her gaze, then set her mouth firmly. She would not think of cutting the Queen until no hope remained. Resolutely, she tried again with the next contraction to wiggle the baby loose. Arwen pushed. The baby did not move.