Elfwine’s birthday would be the last time they would all be together for a long time as Éorl had declared his wish to accompany his cousin, Imros, Elphir’s second son, on an extended voyage to navigate the shores beyond the south. Ever since his grandfather had first taken him out onto the sea it had been clear where Éorl’s passion lay. He had an almost elf-like yearning for the sea and Lothíriel and Éomer knew they would have to let him go one day; he would never be able to settle in Rohan, this yearning was one Lothíriel understood only too well. She had turned her back on the sea to dwell in the green pastures and mountains of her beloved Rohan. She lay herself naked in the spring of the Elven Pools in Aldburg and spoke to the water asking Ulmo humbly to keep him safe. It was all she could do. He had taken responsibility for his own life and they had to let him go.
With the relentless rains had come floods. The King was to the northwest with Gallend at Elbrond to adjudicate the succession to the greatest fief in the Kingdom after the King’s lands. Gallend’s uncle Erkenbrand, the mighty warrior, had recently passed, precipitating a dilemma. Although Gallend had always been the rightful Lord of Elbrond his preference was to stay close to Éomer in Edoras to act as his emissary to Gondor when needed, not take responsibility for the lands to which he was heir. Gallend’s eldest son, Dolfin, Gallend’s son by his Dunlending first wife, had in his turn refused his patrimony.
Dolfin had grown wise in statecraft and diplomacy as well as battle. Through his efforts and the Queen’s, Rohan had become far closer to the people of Dunland than any could have conceived even a decade before. His heart turned west, not east to Rohan. He envisaged a new Kingdom to the west of the lands of Gondor and Rohan in the former lands of the Dunlendings in Enedwaith, lands which had once been rich and fertile with dense woodlands, until the Númenóreans had devastated the land with their greed for wood for their great ships and their cities to the north and south. He wanted to repopulate the land for both Rohirrim and Dunlendings and he had rejected the lordship of Elbrond to lead west those of both his two peoples who desired a different life.
Gallend’s wife, for Assa had eventually been persuaded by Hadán and Lothíriel to endure the shortest possible ceremony on their return to Rohan from Sennebar, had initially steadfastly rejected sedentary life and roamed at will. However, since the birth of their third and last child, a son, Fengar, she began to spend more time with Gallend and the children in Edoras, especially as Hadán and Genting were ever present in the lives of all the royal children and their kin. Disinterested as she had been by both her daughters, Assa had become devoted to her son from the moment of his birth. While she had left her daughters to the attentive care of their father, uncles and the Queen, Assa had insisted on breast-feeding her son herself. Through her growing bond with her son, Assa became closer to her daughters and gradually began to trust the new life offered to her in Rohan. She roamed less and the people of Rohan became accustomed to her ways and in their turn, began to place their trust in her.
And so the King had gone to Elbrond with Gallend with Assa to invest Fengar, young though he was, into the Lordship. Fengar had inherited the dark red hair of his father and determined personality of his mother. Taught warcraft by his beloved uncles, he was fast becoming the greatest warrior of his age group and even gave the much older Elfwine a hard fight. He was a popular choice, especially as it was expected that his uncle, Hadán, and his honorary uncle, Genting, would be more frequently in Elbrond to guide him.
Elfwine was now a grown man, almost the same age as his father when he had first met his mother. Resembling his grandfather, Prince Imrahil, in features matched with a shock of his father’s blond hair, he was considered the most handsome man in the South. Gallend’s four children with whom he was raised were as much family to him as his own siblings, although being nine years older than Elfwine, Dolfin had been the one he had most looked to for guidance. But his best friend beyond all others was Eldarion, the first born of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. They both knew that Eldarion would live possibly hundreds of years longer than Elfwine and they would be parted by his old age and death, but it mattered not. That was accepted by both and knowing that their time together would be shorter than they would like, they made sure it was lived to a greater intensity.
Expected for the investiture, Elfwine had left Eldarion in Ithilien where they were both helping Elfwine’s uncle Faramir and his eldest son, Elberon, reclaim Minas Ithil from a band of orcs who had launched a surprise attack and had overrun the garrison there. There was still evil in what had been Morgul Vale and dark beings lurked within the mountains ready to take advantage of any weakness. The investiture was delayed until Elfwine could be present. Lothíriel, however, would not be in attendance. Her eldest daughter had been thrown from her horse, which had stumbled in a rabbit hole made more dangerous by the dampness of the ground caused by the excess of rain. It had been a bad fall and the horse had not survived. Lothíriel had insisted on staying behind in Edoras to nurse her daughter’s broken bones. She was recovering well but her mother felt it unfair to leave her, despite their frequent arguments and volatile relationship. Éowena had proved the most wilful of all their children.
And it was still raining. Éomer had stayed on with Gallend and Assa for a while in Elbrond meeting with the northern lords and visiting dignitaries from Dunland. King Leofric was wearing his age well and his two sons were great friends with their second cousin, Dolfin. After the investiture, Hadán and Genting had ridden north to give aid on behalf of the King to a town near the southernmost reaches of the Misty Mountains, which had experienced landslides and devastation due to the floods. They were expected to return in two days, after which the royal party would ride back to Lothíriel in Edoras where she would be briefly reunited with her firstborn before letting him go to her cousin’s aid in Ithilien.
She feared for him, as she knew did her husband, but they had both fought their own battles and this was their role. Yet she felt sick at the thought of losing any of her children. Loss before one’s natural time was a facet of life Lothíriel still found difficult to accept. She had already made the pledge to herself that she would follow Éomer in death, whenever his time came. Hadán understood this, and she felt Assa too understood. But her children, she had to let them go to make their own choices and build their own lives as they wished, despite her great reservations about the choices of her eldest daughter.
She was sitting with Éowena, teaching her disinterested daughter how to manage a household, never mind the Kingdom she aspired to being Queen of, when her heart stopped. Time stopped for Lothíriel. Numbness took her and she knew death. She noticed not her daughter’s screaming as she drifted insensate out of the room. She walked through the halls of Meduseld and out of Edoras. She turned west, but she was not alone.
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A shadow had passed over Elbrond. Assa, standing in the grounds of her son’s residence as they practised archery together, dropped her bow suddenly, looking up to the skies. She called out, to whom Fengar knew not, but it was a commanding, desperate call. Ignoring her son, she ran towards the oncoming Mearas who had answered that call and she, who had never before ridden a horse on her own, leapt on Sigrida as her son looked on in disbelief. Sigrida was never far from Gallend such was her love for him, but she had always had a more difficult relationship with Assa. On hearing the call with sudden deep misgiving, Éomer and Gallend had run towards it, reaching the training ground as Assa mounted Sigrida. Just in time, Gallend launched himself behind Assa before Sigrida raced towards the northern entrance to the town. Elfwine ran towards him. ‘Father, I will stay, but you must go to Mother. This can only be Hadán, only for him would a Mearas come for Assa like that. You must ride, Father. We both know she will not take this well… I will come as soon as I have news.’
Éomer did not need to be told, he had already called for his horse and rode hard to Edoras. The party of riders soon became aware of another riding beside them, dusk was approaching but the glimmer of silver white in the setting sun was unmistakeable. Moonsheen’s daughter, Elbereth, was riding with them and came close enough for Éomer to jump from his own horse onto her and the two of them left his messengers and his horse far behind. He gauged from the direction of travel that they were not destined for Edoras but slightly to the west. With a sinking heart, he thought he knew where he would find her.
As he clattered into the yard of the house he knew so well, he found two more Mearas standing guard over their Queen as well as an exhausted serving boy, Gurthend, who was both awed and relieved to see the king arrive.
‘She slipped out of the halls like a shadow, Sire. I barely noticed her, but I saw the Mearas beyond the burial mounds and went to look at them. It was only then I really saw her. I knew I had to follow. She walked all this way. She’s upstairs in the main bedroom. I’ve tried to heat up the house as best I could, but I didn’t dare go into the room, if you’ll pardon me, Sire. I just didn’t feel it was right,’ he rushed out nervously.
‘You have done the best you could, Gurthend. Please make yourself a bed in the room next to the kitchen and keep the fires going. But it’s best not to disturb us unless I call for you. Thank you. You have done well, and find yourself some food and get some sleep.’
Taking the lamp Gurthend had helpfully offered, Éomer climbed the stairs in some trepidation. The Mearas had seemed calm, which gave him hope. It was freezing cold as he entered the room. He saw her lying on the bed straight as one dead in a tomb. He placed his hand over her nose, she was breathing. Her eyes were open wide, staring emptily to the ceiling.
‘Lothíriel, my love,’ he called to her, taking her hand to his lips and kissing it. He felt her stir slightly at his touch. He bent forward to kiss her on her lips and she suddenly brought herself upright into his arms. ‘Hadán…’ she whispered in pain, ‘… he’s gone. And Genting. I can’t, Éomer, I cannot take this loss. It was before his time, I cannot.’ She sobbed bitterly onto him as his own heart broke at the news. ‘How do you deal with this? How do you take this? I lack your strength, I always have.’
‘You accept the love, Lothíriel, you absorb it from them as they leave their bodies, and you carry it with you always. It hurts, it hurts more than you think you can bear, but they never leave you. You honour them by remembering, that is how they continue to live, through your love and their love for you.’
Tears were streaming down both their faces as they kissed each other with renewed intensity, of the kind they had not experienced since the time before they had been married, when they had first lain on that bed together, the very first night they had slept together at Genting’s mother’s house. It had since become Genting’s house. Genting, Éomer’s cousin.
What Lothíriel had long suspected was only acknowledged after Wilfran died. She had uncovered early on in the Kingdom’s accounts that the house an hour’s ride from Edoras had been bought for Wilfran by the royal household, a mere female servant, however well-educated. She also learned that Genting had never known his father, Wilfran had always maintained that he had died before he was born. It had always seemed clear to her that Genting was likely to be a royal bastard, most likely King Théoden’s. His ease with the Mearas only confirmed this, but then she had noticed the way Lady Morwyn looked at Genting, which made her wonder. Delwine’s past she already knew, but she was sure that he could not have been the father, as he gave no such indication. As the family mourned the passing of Wilfran, she plucked up enough courage to ask Morwyn outright.
‘I had never told Delwine I had been with child,’ she confessed with some relief to be finally free of this trauma. ‘I did not want that to be the reason he asked me to marry him. I was not even two months gone when he was wounded so badly we thought he might not live. I was kept away from him, by the family of the woman he finally married. They kept all my letters away from him, telling him I hadn’t written. They had their claws into him from the start. They poisoned him against me, telling him how worthless he now was, no one would want such an injured, useless man, who could no longer be counted upon to defend his country. And he believed them! A month later, he was married to that witch. Then I had no choice, but to turn to my brother for help. He made the arrangement with Wilfran, I was not even told where my son had gone, although it was not difficult to guess. Théoden insisted that I was never to have any contact with my child and Wilfran was forced to swear to him to take this secret to her grave, which she has honoured. But now it is time, if you will help me? I fear this news will cause as much distress as joy…’
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While Genting had elected to keep his past secret, his already warm relationship with his father and mother only deepened, spending more time with them, but his childhood house he had kept willingly out of love for his adopted mother. It was the most private of places where he and Hadán could be most at peace, just themselves.
Lothíriel was deathly cold. Alarmed Éomer brought them both under the covers, holding her close to him. As he felt her body respond to his warmth, he began to divest her of her worn clothing until they were both naked. Responding to her need for him, he made love to her with a passion that felt different to them both in its intensity. Their grief mingled with their love and the love that had always been present in that room, in that house, and the power of that love exploded into their souls.
Eventually they slept and it was well into the morning before Éomer rose. Lothíriel could not be persuaded to leave the bed. She remained there curled up in it crying all day. Éomer made arrangements for a prolonged stay, with just Gurthend present and received Elfwine in the afternoon with the grim news, news he already knew.
Even though the twins back were with Éowena, Elfwine decided to stay in Edoras until his father returned with Lothíriel. With his wife at least safe with him, Éomer’s concern had turned most to Assa, for whom Hadán’s loss would be equally severe. Elfwine told him she had dived in herself to the river to bring their bodies out. She had known exactly where to find them. Then she had taken off, with Sigrida without her husband. Gallend was frantic.
One of the villagers had seen Genting jumping over the river on steppingstones when it appeared he just collapsed into the water, perhaps he had slipped but the man who had witnessed it did not think that was what had happened. Hadán had jumped in immediately after him and had hold of him in the water. Other villagers had come to the river’s edge, sure that Hadán would bring him back to shore. Only Hadán had just stayed in the water holding Genting to him, and then they both went under without surfacing again. Those who could swim and could withstand the cold of the water had gone in to look for them, but it was only when Assa arrived an hour later that they were found.
‘Where is Gallend now, Elfwine? If she is with Sigrida, Assa will be safe. He must know this. Sigrida will keep her safe, of that I am sure. I know what happened and you need to understand this as I fear that your mother will make the same choice. Hadán and your mother have always had a bond that goes beyond what we can comprehend. She has the choice of when she gives up her life, the Valar gave her this when she chose the fate of Mankind over that of an Elf. I believe both Hadán and Assa have been given the same gift. Your mother told me that Hadán had come to her as he died to show her that it had been his choice. Genting was dead even before he entered the water. It was a blissfully short and painless passing, one to be grateful for, but as Hadán reached him in the water, he knew he had to follow quickly, as although his spirit was still lingering, it would soon depart from him. Hadán took them both deeper under the water and lodged their bodies under a rock for Assa to find and followed Genting’s spirit. He did not want to spend an eternity finding him again.
Elfwine, your mother will make this same choice when my time comes, unless she leaves me before then. She is of Elven and Númenórean blood, she should outlive me by at least fifty years, as I fear Faramir will outlive my sister. It is the curse in some ways of those gifted with long life. The blood of Númenor is strong in you, this may also be your fate, depending on whom you marry. I tell you this, my son, as it will fall to you to bear the grief of our passing with more fortitude than anyone else.’
‘I understand, Father. What can I do now to help?’ Elfwine asked stoically, having understood the truth of his father’s words for a long time.
‘Go and see if the Mearas can guide us as to where Sigrida is with Assa and then we need to persuade both her and your mother to be present at their burial next to the royal burial mounds at Edoras with full honours.’
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Her waters had broken, this was not good, it was too early but there was no mistaking that the baby was coming. Lothíriel screamed in agony as the baby pushed against her. Something was wrong. Hadán had acted as midwife to all her previous births, he was the only one she trusted and now he was gone. She forced herself not to pass out as she made her way to her bedchamber calling for the Steward. Several people had heard her cries and had come running including the twins. At least Fíriel was there, she had bothered to learn about healing, unlike Éowena, who deemed learning anything practical a waste of time.
‘Déor,’ Lothíriel cried out in pain, ‘take Starbrow and fetch your father. Something is wrong, I need him here.’
Déor took off like a hare, but it would be a long ride to Helm’s Deep from Edoras, he cursed their decision not to leave for Helm’s Deep two days ago as had been planned. Éowena had been behaving so annoyingly at the prospect of Eldarion coming to stay with Elfwine in Helm’s Deep for a week after their joint visit to Isengard that his mother had decided to delay going as long as possible to avoid confrontation. Éowena was the only one who could not see that Eldarion had no interest in her, and yet Éowena was fixated on being a Queen.
Fíriel was already issuing orders and taking full control. She was justly worried. Her mother was too old to be with child, however Elven her antecedents. Even Assa had been only just forty when she had had Fengar, and both Lothíriel and Hadán had been present for her for that; her mother was now fifty.
It was only just over eight months since Hadán and Genting had been taken from them. Her mother had plunged into such a deep depression it had weighed heavily on the whole court. No one could bear being around her without becoming depressed themselves. After a month, Éomer had suggested that she retired to Aldburg and the healing presence of the Elven Pools. Gimli had escorted her there with Legolas. They were the only two who seemed able to withstand her despair. Éomer visited often but he too was deeply disturbed by her mood and her distance from him. Even Assa, who had felt Hadán’s loss just as keenly, possibly more, had recovered, although it was noted that she stayed most often in Elbrond with her son than in Edoras. Perhaps it had been the time she had spent with the Mearas, which had given her greater strength to endure her loss. Gallend and Fengar had eventually found her living amongst Sigrida’s herd. The experience seemed to have had a profound effect on her, having long felt of horses as mere transport, akin to the ships and barges she had habitually used as such, she had found a new love and respect for them, although this was bittersweet for her husband who saw far less of her as she roamed the lands without need of him.
It took the shock of discovering her that she was again with child to jolt Lothíriel out of her morbid despair. She sat alone in the top chamber of their home on the island of the Elven Pools, as she had been for the last two months. Yet something was slowly stirring in her consciousness. Craving insight and needing to find her inner strength, she walked down to one of the pools into which the waters under the island rock cascaded, slowly submerged herself fully, and reaching deep into herself, she spoke to the waters. She summoned her love for Genting and Hadán from within, asking forgiveness for being so selfish that she had not sought them out sooner. As she felt their presence and their love, she was able to acknowledge the life growing within her and she came to understand that this gift had come through them.
Three months already. What had she been doing? How could she have done that to Éomer? She had not allowed him near her since that night. She left the island immediately to find Legolas and Gimli who had taken up residence in Éomer’s family home while they watched over her. Transformed into a state of grace and serenity, she knelt down to greet Gimli with a kiss to his forehead.
‘Let us go home,’ she told him. ‘It is time. We have been away too long.’ She looked up at Legolas who smiled in great relief and warmth. He nodded and went to make arrangements.
‘I am so sorry, I am so sorry. I must learn to accept death as part of life. We are all going to die at some point, except Legolas, of course. And I have wasted three precious months in not living. That is not acceptable, it is an insult to those who have not been given that time. Love and joy, every day, is what we should strive for. I just hope I have not imparted too much sadness to my baby that it will be permanently affected by it.’
‘You are with child?’ Gimli gasped. ‘How can that be?’
‘Well, I think you know how it happens, Gimli, a little on the old side though I may be…’
‘Another child? Oh, my Queen,’ he bellowed. ‘I am overjoyed. Does the King know? I guess not. Should you be riding in your condition, should we not get the carriage?’
‘I am the Queen of Rohan, Gimli and she does not take a carriage anywhere.’ Lothíriel laughed. ‘Let us go now and warn the King that we underestimated the number of our children by two and not one.’
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Lothíriel was not sure she was going to survive this. The baby was breached and in distress. In this situation she would sing one of the Elven songs of soothing to the baby to calm it down and encourage it to turn as Maglor had shown her to do but she was in too much pain, she could not find her voice other than to scream. Fíriel was doing her best not to panic despite knowing how serious this was.
‘Fíriel,’ Lothíriel uttered with difficulty. ‘Save the baby, the baby is more important than me. You know what you must do if I fade. Do not hesitate or the baby will die too.’
‘I can turn the baby Mother, if only you will let me.’ Fíriel cried in frustration and fear.
‘No, the risk is too great that the baby will be strangled by the cord,’ she gasped in between her screams of pain. ‘There is a trick to it. And you do not have the power of the song to do what is needed, even Hadán never fully mastered it. And you need Elven-blood stronger than you have. It is not your fault. This is not your fault, Fíriel. Even Hadán and I could not save all those we had in our care, only Maglor had that skill.’
‘What about Legolas, can we not send for him?’ Fíriel suggested in desperation.
‘He’s in South Ithilien, he’s too far. Where is your Father? I must see him… He must be hours away. I’m not sure I can last.’
Shouting and crashing heralded his arrival through the door. Fíriel screeched at him, ‘Father, you will clean yourself fully before you come in here. You too, Elfwine. Not another step.’ Such was the force of her command that they both obeyed.
‘How did you get here so fast?’ Fíriel asked her brother as Éomer went straight to Lothíriel, who had begun to sob from the pain and the sadness that she would be leaving him.
‘The Mearas came for us, although, it wasn’t me they came for but Eldarion. I had to travel behind Father on Moonsheen. I thought he wasn’t going to take me,’ he answered more focused on his mother than what he was saying to his sister. Fíriel picked up her brother by his tunic violently and screamed, ‘Where is he?’
‘Who? Eldarion? He didn’t think it was his place to come in, he’s outside with Déor.’
Fíriel ran outside and grabbed Eldarion. ‘The Elven birthing song, do you know it?’
‘Not really, I have heard it sung though.’
‘If I sing it with you, will you sing it? You can save her; you have the power to do this. Come with me.’
She pulled him into the room, made him wash and he allowed Fíriel to lay his hands on Lothíriel’s stomach. As he sang the song with Fíriel, he felt the baby, he felt a rush of magic course through him as he connected to her soul. He saw why she was struggling and guided her free of what was entangling her. All the others saw was a bright light from his hands penetrating through Lothíriel’s belly, the Queen calming as the pain washed away and hope filled the room as Eldarion sang. Éomer felt his wife returning to him.
Eldarion no longer needed Fíriel to lead him in the song, he was singing his own song to the girl he could see inside the womb. He saw her laughing and dancing around him and was enchanted by what he saw she would become. He sang to her more softly now. She was ready to come out. Together they wove a path for her to emerge smoothly and he brought her out bloodied and wet with his own hands, into Fíriel’s competent care. The girl in his hands smiled at him as he gave her to her sister, her soul already entwined with his. He had met her, the one who would marry. His future Queen. A voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘I was going to name her Cisilith if she was a girl or Hadán if it was a boy, but I cede the right to name her to you, Eldarion. Thank you.’ Lothíriel managed to say exhaustedly. ‘Fíriel, athelas and starwort. And a strong drink of Bellsdown roots. You know what to do. I must sleep. Eldarion, would you hold her for a while to calm her? I am not ready for her yet.’
Eldarion took the newly washed and swaddled baby girl outside with Elfwine to show Déor and Éowena, who had only been tempted to come near such unpleasantness by the presence of Eldarion. With a sudden jolt, she saw him looking lovingly at the baby, who was happily gurgling in his arms. The image confused her. ‘Will Mother live?’ was all she could manage to say rather weakly.
‘It’s too early to be sure but I think your sister has everything well in control. She is most competent. I admire that greatly. You can all be very proud of her,’ Eldarion answered without taking his eyes off his charge.
‘You know, I think she is getting hungry,’ he said the onlookers who were cooing over the baby in his arms. ‘Elfwine, do you think your mother might be ready? If not, I know what Gallend told me Maglor used to feed Dolfin with when he was first born. It didn’t seem to do him any harm!’
Éowena almost snorted at the mention of Dolfin. That Dunlending bograt, she thought ungraciously to herself. It clearly hadn’t done him much good either…
‘Déor, would you mind going in and asking Fíriel what she suggests?’ Elfwine judged his brother rather than his sister as the least likely to upset their mother.
‘She has your hair, Elfwine. As golden as my mother tells me her grandmother Galadriel’s was. I wish I had been old enough to remember her better. I would like to call your sister Lalaith but I will wait until she is older before giving her that name. Cisilith it is then. Hello Cissy,’ he said, holding her up to his lips to give her a kiss on her forehead.
And so the next generation of lovers were all in the world, destined to find love perhaps, but also pain and regret, and loss.