These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema . This story was written purely for pleasure and not for profit.
Gathering Clouds
Éowyn sighed in frustration.
“I know, Elrond’s books!” Aragorn said suddenly. ”Arwen’s brothers brought his texts about healing to Minas Tirith when they visited at the New Year.”
“You have Lord Elrond’s books?” Faramir was awestruck.
“I am sorry, I should have mentioned it before. There has just been so much to do these past months,” Aragorn sighed. ”Let us see now what we can learn from them about childbirth.”
Faramir was naturally familiar with the main library of Minas Tirith, which had always been one of his favourite places. As a boy, he would escape the grief of being motherless and the scorn in his father’s eyes whenever he looked at his younger son, by immersing himself in Gondorian history and tales of the Eldar.
The vast knowledge he had gained had often proved invaluable to Aragorn. Although the King was well educated, he paled beside his Steward when it came to the obscure details of history, law and customs of the southern part of his Reunited Kingdom.
Faramir had never been in Aragorn’s private library before. Aragorn had always brought any books that were needed to his study. He stood staring in amazement at the sight of all the Elvish volumes lining the shelves.
“Given your love of learning, I should have brought you here long ago,” Aragorn said apologetically, as he lit the lamps. "You are welcome to come and enjoy my library any time you wish.”
Faramir thanked him, while the King searched the shelves for the volumes Lord Elrond had given him.
“This might help,” he said at last, selecting a large dusty volume and placing it before Éowyn. "It explains how best to avoid complications during childbirth.”
“I fear I don’t read the language,” Éowyn said, a touch of regret in her voice.
Aragorn opened the book at a page illustrated with a diagram of an Elvish woman giving birth. ”I can translate,” he said. “That is, if you are not too tired being with child yourself as it is growing late?”
Éowyn shook her head. “The women of the Mark are strong. We are usually on horseback almost until the birth whereas I have been sitting in a comfortable chair for most of the day.”
Aragorn placed the tome on a table and drew up three chairs. “This chapter is about the first stage of labour,” he began. ”Is that what you want to know? Apparently labour is more emotionally draining for an Elf than for a human, though as a male, I would not know,” he added hastily, seeing Éowyn’s expression. “Of course, with Arwen’s mixed heritage there is no way of knowing how she will react.”
Eowyn nodded and the King began to read, translating the ancient words into the common tongue.
“When the waters break it usually indicates the first stage of labour has begun. At this point contractions will be about thirty minutes apart and the midwife should ascertain by careful visual examination that there is no bleeding and that dilation is at least …” He broke off and turned to Faramir. ”You understand Quenya too, so why not translate for your wife and see one of Elrond’s books for yourself?”
Faramir had first blushed when Aragorn had started to read, but had now turned a sickly greenish hue. ”No, thank you!” he gulped. ”In fact, I think I will go to bed now and leave you to discuss, um delicate matters.”
“You look tired, my friend, go and get some rest.” Aragorn said sympathetically patting Faramir’s arm. “Maybe this is a subject best left to women and Healers. It is a tradition of the Eldar that the father be present. I am heartily thankful, Arwen has not asked me to observe it.”
I will bid you goodnight then.” Faramir turned even paler at the thought of the father witnessing the birth. He was anxious to leave before any more of the book could be read. He had seen animals give birth often enough, but his wife was quite a different matter entirely!
“Wait!” Aragorn got up and reached another volume down from the shelves. ”I think this, also from Elrond’s library, might be more to your liking. It is a history of the First Age. Why not borrow it for a while, then maybe we could discuss it together?”
Faramir’s eyes lit up as Aragorn handed him the precious volume. “You would let me handle this?”
“Why not? It ought to be read by someone who will appreciate it!”
Faramir impulsively embraced Aragorn. Only recently had he felt comfortable enough to express the deep affection he felt towards his King, for he would never have dared behave so freely towards his father.
Aragorn warmly returned the gesture and placed his hand on the dark head in blessing. He truly did feel blessed to have a friend like Faramir. Never had he dared hope that the Valar would grant him both the wife and the grown son or little brother he had always longed for.
Suddenly his hands felt wet and when he hooked down he saw they were covered in blood, Faramir’s blood! He paled and swayed slightly at the horror and clarity of the vision.
“Are you unwell?” Faramir and Éowyn’s concerned voices roused him from the trance. Aragorn forced himself to smile reassuringly at his friends. The vision had to be false, as he would no more harm his friend and Steward than cut off his own right arm!
“I am just a little tired after everything that happened today,” Aragorn replied certain that this must be the correct explanation, though he found himself glancing anxiously again at his hands, which now appeared perfectly clean.
“You ought to go to bed too then. I shall bid you goodnight,” Faramir chided gently.
Aragorn smiled and then exchanged a kiss on the brow with his Steward. This time the contact passed without triggering a further vision, much to Aragorn’s relief.
Being of high Númenorean lineage carried the advantage of long life and vitality, but also the dubious privileges of foresight. Visions were often kindled when two thus gifted with similar bloodlines were in close proximity.
“You would make a good mother hen!” Aragorn teased.
Faramir departed to his bedchamber, clutching the precious volume under his arm.
Not for the first time, Aragorn wondered if he should invite Faramir to form a Thought-sharing Bond with him to further cement their friendship. It was always a hard choice to make, for so doing made any future loss of the other person like having part of one’s soul torn away, as Aragorn already knew to his cost.
Although Faramir much younger, he would most likely die long before his King. The Southern descendents of the Númenoreans had intermarried far more than those of the North. Yet, he felt that that they should share the Thought Bond one day, whatever the cost, for how could he not when he loved Faramir dearly as a brother or son?
**
Éowyn’s discussion with Aragorn continued late into the night. Her old feelings for the King long having been put aside, she now regarded him with the comfortable affection that a sister feels for a brother. Tonight though, they were simply two Healers, studying an ancient text to benefit a patient.
When she finally went to bed, she found her husband already asleep, the history tome still open on the coverlet. Obviously he had been reading until he could keep his eyes open no longer. Taking care not to wake him, she placed the book on the table, before turning down the lamp, changing into her nightgown and settling down beside him.
Affectionately, she smoothed back his hair, which had fallen over his brow, noting how peacefully he slept, a smile hovering on his lips. He finally seemed to have escaped his old demons, which had plagued his sleep with nightmares. Smiling at their present good fortune, Éowyn sank into a dreamless slumber.
**
Arwen was still awake when her husband tiptoed into the chamber. It was very late for after Éowyn had left, he had gone to see how Legolas was faring. To his relief, the Elf was sound asleep, with Gimli snoring loudly beside him. The Dwarf had obviously nodded off while watching over his friend.
Aragorn felt Legolas’ forehead and pulse without waking him and noted the rash visible on his face already visibly fading. The Elf appeared to be quickly regaining his usual robust health. He had crept out again as silently as he had entered.