And now, for something completely different.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 4

The Newest Arrival

*~*~*~*

Two weeks after his arrival in Emyn Arnen, Éomer found himself standing in a corridor with Faramir and Imrahil. They had been there most of the day, Faramir the longest of all. In the middle of breakfast Éowyn had gone into labor, and just a few minutes before they had finally heard the infant crying. Then suddenly the door opened and Faramir rushed in, leaving Éomer and Imrahil alone.

Imrahil laughed softly. “He has always been one to worry more than he needs to.”

But by then Éomer had grown concerned as well, though perhaps it was simply Faramir’s pacing wearing off on him at last. “Is she all right?” he asked.

The Prince of Dol Amroth nodded. “He never would have been allowed in so quickly had something gone wrong,” he replied.

For a time they remained silent, until Éomer could no longer endure the delay with patience. “She believes the child is a son,” he commented.

“Aye, and my nephew wishes for a daughter,” said Imrahil. “I believe that has proved ample diversion for them both in the past few months.”

They were spared the need for further topic of conversation, for the door opened once more, and the pretty, dark-haired girl named Mithlomi who waited upon Éowyn appeared there, smiling broadly. “My lady asks to see you both,” she said, curtseying to them.

Éomer looked to Imrahil and saw his smile reflected on his friend’s face. They entered the room then and saw a fatigued Éowyn, who smiled despite her exhaustion and the tear streaks on her face, and Faramir sitting on the bed, staring down at a tiny bundle with a look of wonder. Éowyn looked up when they entered, and she reached a hand out to them. “Brother, come and meet your nephew!” she cried.

He stood over his brother-in-law’s shoulder and gazed down at the babe. To Éomer’s surprise, he was already sleeping in his father’s arms. “What is his name?” Éomer asked quietly.

Éowyn looked at Faramir for a moment. “Elboron,” she said at last.

“A good name,” said Imrahil at Éomer’s side. “He looks like you did as a newborn babe, Faramir.”

Éowyn laughed. “Then he will grow into a handsome man.”

Faramir had of yet said nothing, and had not even lifted his eyes from his son. Éowyn’s smile turned amused, and she poked his shoulder. “I hope this will not be your behavior every time we have guests from now on, my lord,” she said.

“Forgive me,” he murmured; and Éomer wondered if he had heard anything she had said.

She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Imrahil, and he laid his hand upon Faramir’s shoulder. “My boy, you must relinquish him sometime, and now is as good a time as any,” he said; and lifted the child from Faramir’s arms.

The Steward opened his mouth to protest, but Éowyn laughed and touched his shoulder, and Imrahil largely ignored it. Éomer watched as the older man settled the babe into his arms and smiled. The child made not a sound, but blinked his eyes drowsily at this new face above him. At this Éomer laughed softly. “Sister, I believe he will take after Faramir in more than appearance, but in temperament as well.”

“I hope he will,” his sister replied, and she leaned forward from her pillows and kissed her husband.

Éomer looked around the room and saw Mithlomi, Lothíriel, and the midwife busy at tidying the room. Then the midwife looked at them all and said: “Milord, give the child back to his mother. He needs to eat.”

Imrahil (who, after the births of four children, had learned not to cross a midwife’s will) dutifully laid Elboron back in Éowyn’s arms, and Éomer thought he saw a little fear in his sister’s eyes as he did so. He exchanged a glance with Imrahil, who gestured toward the door. Éomer nodded and said: “Éowyn, we will wait outside until you are more rested.”

She gave him a distracted smile, and he moved to exit. Imrahil followed, having taken Lothíriel’s arm and pulled her from the room with them. As soon as the door was shut, she cried: “Father, I have not had a chance to hold the child yet!”

“You will have chances enough, daughter,” Imrahil replied. “Let them have a few moments alone.” He cleared his throat. “As for me, I have had enough excitement for an old man in one day. I believe I shall retire for the evening. I bid you good night.”

Éomer nodded, and a few moments later found himself in the odd situation of being alone with Lothíriel again. However, she seemed disinclined to argue, for which he was quite relieved. Instead, she stated: “She did very well.”

The King blinked a few times and looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Éowyn,” she clarified. “Éowyn did well. She is so very strong.”

“Faramir was concerned for her, more than he needed to be, it would seem,” said Éomer. At her smile he added: “Though I will confess to having been worried as well.”

They stood in silence for a while, and Éomer turned his gaze to a window which overlooked the stables. He frowned, thinking over the past two weeks. That first evening down in the stables below he would prefer to forget. He had never meant to insult Lothíriel that day. Put her in her place, perhaps, and exert his own authority, almost certainly; so the words that flew out of his mouth had been as much a surprise to him as they were to her. That night he had ascertained why. His sister and brother-in-law’s comments had been more disconcerting than he had first thought. He knew that any moment of kindness between them would be seen as a point at which to tease, so he had shown Lothíriel hostility instead of graciousness. That had been the reason for his truce the following morning. Though he had not apologized, she had forgiven him in a way, by giving him another chance. Why she had done that, he would never know.

Fortunately Éomer was rescued from his mental investigation into the nature of that woman’s mind by the door opening once more. Mithlomi said nothing, merely holding the door open for him and Lothíriel as they entered the room. It was much quieter this time, with the midwife seated at last near the window and baby Elboron cooing softly in his mother’s arms.

“You are radiant, sister,” said Éomer as they approached the bed.

Éowyn turned a tired smile to him. “Is he not a wonder, brother?” she asked as she placed her finger in the child’s hand. “Look at his fingers! They are so small.”

“He is beautiful, Éowyn,” said Lothíriel. “You and Faramir must be so proud.”

“Believe me, cousin, we are,” said Faramir. “And I am proud of my wife as well. I understand she was very brave through this.”

“So the Lady Lothíriel told me,” Éomer added.

At this Éowyn’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. “I have known pain in battle,” she said, “but none of it could compare to this.”

Lothíriel saw Faramir give his wife a mischievous look. “Why then did we hear my cousin cry out?” he asked.

And Éowyn raised a confused look to Lothíriel and asked: “When did you cry out?”

Lothíriel laughed. “‘Tis no matter, cousin,” she replied. “But when the time came from the babe to be delivered, you nearly crushed my fingers.”

The Lady of Ithilien turned bright red in embarrassment. “I do not recall that,” she murmured.

“Did not Marueth tell you that you would forget the pain of childbirth soon enough?” Lothíriel asked. “The memory fades already.”

And Éowyn looked back at her son, who had by then fallen asleep. “Aye, it does.” She glanced back up at Lothíriel. “Would you like to hold him, cousin?”

The younger woman smiled brightly. “Of course!” she cried. So the child was transferred into Lothíriel’s arms, and her smile seemed only to widen.

It had been some time since the youngest of her nieces and nephews was born, but she had forgotten none of the joy associated with birth for her at this point. A child’s weight felt so comfortable in her arms, and since this one was inclined to be rather docile, it seemed, holding him was a joy. She kissed the top of his head. “He smells like spring,” she said softly.

Faramir laughed. “That he does,” he replied. “And he looks well in his cousin’s arms.”

Lothíriel smiled first at her older cousin and then at her younger; and when Elboron waved his hand, she kissed his fingers. “You are a sweet one,” she said. “And so quiet! Erchirion’s son was much noisier.”

The Steward laughed at this mention of Lothíriel’s second-oldest brother. “That is fitting, for he was always the loudest of your brothers.”

For a little while they remained silent, until Éomer pulled up a chair and looked up at her as he sat down. There was something curious in his expression, and she asked: “Would you like to hold him, my lord?”

He opened his mouth, but his sister answered for him. “Of course he would, cousin, for you have held him long enough,” said Éowyn.

So he took a deep breath before he nodded. He was holding his arms rather awkwardly, but Lothíriel managed to guide him somewhat as she laid the child in his arms. Then, while she was still leaned forward and pulling away, she raised her gaze to his, and for a moment they both froze.

Not for the first time it struck her that he was a very handsome man. More rugged, perhaps, than men she was used to, but handsome nonetheless. There was something about his eyes, though, that surpassed any man she had ever known. They suggested that there was far more depth to this man than she had given him credit for, and at this sudden thought she could feel the tinge of pink rising in her cheeks.

As soon as she was assured of his hold on the infant, she pulled away quickly. But there was no further safety in distance this time. Instead, she looked on as this powerful, handsome man cradled his tiny, helpless sister-son in his arms, and she only hoped that her cousin and his wife did not see her reaction to this. For now she wondered at why she disliked him so, or rather, if she disliked him. Truth be told, in this moment she found him immensely attractive. And she was not certain if she liked that idea at all.

Fortunately Éomer seemed the least keen on holding the baby, and Elboron was soon back in his mother’s arms. He seemed largely unaware of her recent reaction to him, but he would not meet her gaze. Not that she sought it, of course. But in the rest of the conversation, before they left the young family for the night, Lothíriel found herself glancing at him more than she would have liked, and found Éomer looking away from her far more than she was comfortable with.

*~*~*~*

In the following morning, Éowyn awoke late, feeling rather sore and hearing the strange sound of a child crying. After blinking a few times, she turned, and saw Faramir lifting their son from the cradle. She smiled when he turned to her. “I was about to wake you,” he said. “I think the child is hungry.”

Éowyn pushed herself up then and leaned against the headboard. Once in the night she had fed the child; she was still not wholly used to the concept, but it was getting easier. It helped that Elboron seemed to know exactly what he was doing. So this time, once the babe was settled into her arms, she felt comfortable enough with it that she looked away from her son to her husband, who was watching the process with wonder in his eyes. “Did you sleep at all, my lord?” she asked.

The look on his face when he dropped his gaze was almost sheepish. “No,” he replied. “I had little need for sleep.”

She laughed a little. “You will need to take your eyes off our son sometime, Faramir.”

He smiled. “Not for a little while,” he said. “But it was well that I was awake. The King and Queen arrived last night.”

Éowyn gave him a look of amazement. “What an extraordinary chance,” she murmured, “for we had not yet sent them word.”

“I had Elboron with me when I spoke with Lord Aragorn,” Faramir replied. “He will make an excellent father when Lady Arwen’s time comes in the fall.”

And Éowyn smiled and shifted the child to hold him with one arm. “Yes, he will,” she replied, brushing the fingers of her free hand against the stubble on her husband’s cheek. “As you continually prove to be.”

After a moment Faramir finally looked at her again. “Should I call for Mithlomi?”

“No, for I told her to see to Lothíriel this morning,” Éowyn said. “She will come here when Lothíriel sends her.”

Faramir laughed a little. “And why was it that Lothíriel brought no maid of her own?”

“I do not pretend to understand everything your cousin does, my lord,” Éowyn replied. “Sometimes I believe that she prefers Mithlomi’s presence.”

“Doubtless because your maid resembles her so much,” said Faramir in a dry voice.

“Come now, Lothíriel is not so arrogant, though the resemblence between the two is uncanny,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Perhaps it is because she knows Mithlomi will say naught to her of my brother.”

The Steward laughed again. “This is true, though there is much to be said on that score,” he replied. “I wager you saw as much as I did last night, when Éomer held the child. I do not understand how neither of them will acknowledge their attraction.”

“No, my lord, nor how well-suited they are.” By then Elboron had pulled away from his mother’s breast, and Faramir lifted him from her arms, laying him against a thick cloth he had earlier laid on his shoulder. Éowyn continued: “I suppose we should not tease them for it.”

Faramir patted the boy’s back as he replied: “I fear they may never come any closer to acknowledging what they feel without some pressure from the outside. Perhaps it is our duty as their friends.”

And Éowyn laughed as she closed up the bodice of her gown once more. “Perhaps.”

For those who are interested, more detail in the birth of little Elboron can be found in my Neither Death nor Pain, which can be found at this site.