faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

He supports her and keeps his voice low so as not to disrupt her concentration, focused on bracing her, comforted by her obvious determination.

Things progress, with Elana coaxing and ordering from below, and Faramir supporting and acting as a bulwark from behind, and Eowyn braces herself between them. It is a battle as fierce as any she has ever waged. She does not hear when Elana announces she can see the crown, does not hear the other attendants scurry for cloth and water, does not even hear Faramir's encouragement right in her ears. There is only blood thundering like hooves through her veins, and strain that threatens to split her in two. But she is Eowyn of Rohan and Ithilien and she does not surrender.

A few more tremendous pushes that seem to take all her strength, and she feels he movement, the passing, and as though from a far distance hears a cry. Her body is still breaking apart, and she grits her teeth and rides it through--the afterbirth, that is what this is, she is not yet done--so she keeps going, keeps pushing, but then she is abruptly cold and hears someone say something about blood, but she is dark and cold. For one heartstopping moment she fears to hear the laughter of the Witch-king--but no, there is still that warmth at her back, holding her even though she has no warmth of her own, and that is what she holds onto as she slides into unconsciousness. Faramir.

Faramir holds her steady, though his hands want to shake, voice a meaningless, comforting drone of nonsense encouragement that he keeps up despite wanting to scream.

There is no enemy here to fight, only his wife in his arms doing her own battle.

And then....and then a babe, and he hears his child's first cry, but then, oh then, the blood in his veins turns to ice at the worried chatter and the way Eowyn slumps in his arms.

"Eowyn!" He calls her frantically, look desperately at the midwife.

"What's wrong? Why is she still bleeding?"

"Hold her!" After that order Elana completely ignores Faramir; she has her hands full, one massaging Eowyn's abdomen and the other further down, doing something he can't see from his vantage point. One of the assistants hands her cloths, sponges, whatever she calls for.

After an eternity, the bleeding slows, mostly stops, and Elana sags with relief and exhaustion. She raises her forearm and wipes it against her sweaty forehead, and it leaves a smear of blood on her skin. "She will live," she says, blunt as ever, finally looking up at the man to whom she technically owes fealty for all that she speaks to him as a subordinate. "Such bleeding happens sometimes, particularly after a long and difficult birth. But the Lady is young and strong; I do not think you need fear for her recovery."

So long as Eowyn does not take an infection, Elana does not say--that fate is out of their hands, though she will leave instruction for some things that may help avoid it with all who will attend the lady. There are others in the room now, including some of Eowyn's own ladies of the house, who attempt to pry Faramir from Eowyn that they may clean her and move her to a bed.

"My lord Prince--" This voice is more quiet, the woman who has spoken with him off and on through the evening. Her hand is gentle on his shoulder as she gestures to the corner, where a wet-nurse sits holding a small bundle, now quiet. "Do you not wish to greet your son?"

He does as ordered, pale and pressing desperate begging prayers to her skin. Despite all assurances he is extremely reluctant to be parted from her, terrified of letting go.

It takes a little for the words to penetrate, and he turns dazedly.

"Your pardon?"

She smiles, looking relieved herself. They have worked and waited all through the night, and all are in need of rest. But all their efforts were for this. She leads Faramir over to the side, where the wet-nurse has been tending the new heir of Ithilien.

Carefully the wet-nurse disengages the infant, who mewls a little at the loss of milk but otherwise doesn't protest. He too, it seems, has had a long night.

Then she hands the babe to Faramir, who at last holds his son in his arms.

He's distracted still, but he looks down and his eyes soften.

"My son? Hello, little one."

He breathes, captivated immediately.

The baby has a red, scrunched face, as babies do, but has been cleaned himself by someone and wrapped in warm, fine wool. As Faramir holds him he sleepily opens his eyes. Blue, as any babe's are, but clear and surprisingly focused as he looks up at his father.

Then he yawns and mewls again, his eyes closing.

Faramir's eyes are gentle as he touches his son's face, softly tracing his features.

"You have given your mother a hard time of it, little one. I hope she will be well."

The baby does not react, but the attendant smiles at them both, for this is the part of her work that makes the rest worthwhile. "I do not think you need fear," she says quietly. There is hustle in the background, as various people clean the bloody rushes and cloth and set the room to rights. "We are all of us familiar with the White Lady's determination. And her courage!"

She looks over her shoulder at someone, then turns back, smiling. "I think the lady will be in your bedchamber by now, if you would like to see her and verify for yourself that she is well. And then you should sleep also, my lord Prince! It has been a long night."

"Tis true, her courage is unquestionable."

He looks up to smile wearily at her. I never thanked you, but I do so now, for letting me be there for her, little as I could do."

"I do not think your contribution was so small." She smiles kindly. "And I know Lady Eowyn was most glad to have you join her. I thank you for easing our burden. Come; likely she sleeps, and should, for she has great need of rest after her efforts. But your son should greet his naneth."

He yawns himself, and blinks. "Your pardon - I had not felt my own weariness until this moment. You are certain it is alright to disturb her?"

"Let us go and see, and then we may judge," she says. Behind them Elana gives instructions to Eowyn's ladies--how long she should remain abed, what she should eat, what signs to watch for--so they are all able to leave without difficulty. The wet-nurse follows, taking the baby from Faramir with a smiling comment about how he's tired enough that it is a wonder he is yet standing.

When they do reach Faramir and Eowyn's rooms, she is there, deeply asleep. She is still too pale, but her breathing is steady. Another healer sits nearby, sewing something to keep her hands busy, and smiles she looks up at them. "Do not wake her," she says quietly. "There is a camp bed set up for you in the adjoining room, my lord, but we think it best that she sleep alone for now. If you wish I will promise to call for you when she wakes."

He lets his son go reluctantly with a wry comment that he is not the one who has been striving these last hours!

His eyes are soft as he looks on his wife and he nods, stealing close enough to brush a soft kiss to her brow in thanks before retreating.

Eowyn does not stir, then or for some time. It is hours later before she wakes, and when she does it is slow and difficult, for she is wearied beyond anything she has experienced since her battle on the Pelennor. Though it is different; there is not the fearsome, deathly numbing cold she remembers from that, only a sense of exhaustion. As always when waking now she places a hand to her abdomen, as though to check on the babe within--and then she remembers.

It takes effort to sit up, and as soon as she makes the attempt there is a healer's apprentice there to aid her, and to give all the answers Eowyn instantly demands, including the location of her husband and her child, and their state of well-being. She asks next that both be brought to her, that she may see for herself. To fetch Faramir is but a matter of seconds, since he sleeps nearby. Their child is only a few rooms away, but still Eowyn's husband arrives first. She looks up as soon as she hears his footsteps. She is still pale, and resting on many pillows, but otherwise looks herself.

Faramir has been sleeping but lightly, so it is a moment's work to come to her.

"Eowyn." He murmurs in relief and comes close to kiss her.

"So my shieldmaiden has won a new battle."

She reaches up to him as he approaches, and though inwardly she is irked by how difficult it is, how little strength she has in her arms, the relief of holding him and being held is greater. "Faramir...the babe, have you seen him? Is all well?" There is real concern in her voice.

He gathers her into his arms and sits down beside her.

"I have. Our little son! See, the wet nurse is bringing him in now. He is doing very well, for having caused such trouble."

She turns at once, and Faramir will be able to feel how tense she is, how uncertain, as though steeled for some conflict she does not yet understand. The wet nurse smiles as she approaches--she is an older lady, and well used to new mothers in her profession--and then places the infant in Eowyn's arms.

Those arms shake a little, and if pressed she would claim that it is because of the blood loss she underwent, rather than any foolish nervousness. But this is a moment of reckoning, far more than the birth was. Pain and effort and injury are things familiar to Eowyn. This is altogether new.

But she has held babies before, and her arms know how to bend to accomodate one. She sits with Faramir's arm around her and their son on her lap, and looks down into the sleeping face. "He is so small," she murmurs. He is no smaller or larger than any other baby, in truth, but he seems small all the same, especially the tiny nose and fingers. She touches his hand, and even in sleep it automatically clenches around hers.

He sees, but says nothing - she is stressed enough without him adding to it. Instead he curls his arms around them both, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Aye. A small bundle of trouble! But see, he knows you."

"While asleep? I think not." But she tries to tug her finger away and smiles at his firm grip. She scans the face for signs of herself or Faramir, but they are hard to see in one so newly born. The dark fuzz on his head hints of his father's hair colour, however, and she smiles again at that.

"Hello, little one." Her voice is low, for this feels an oddly solemn moment. Their various attendants have all withdrawn to give them privacy for this meeting. She touches his nose, traces an eyebrow. "We will need to settle on a name, now that he is here." For they never had, though many options had been thrown back and forth. Éowyn had found she disliked the idea of choosing a name for certain until after the birth, if the child seemed healthy. She looks up at Faramir. "For your brother?"

That much, they had agreed on. Not Boromir itself, but a variation. She well knows how much his brother meant to Faramir.

Faramir chuckles, spooning her from behind and watching mother and babe with love shining in his eyes.

"His grip certainly appears to!"

He nods, agreeing.

"I had thought about Elboron, perhaps?"

"Elboron," she says, testing the name, and finding she likes it. She jiggles her finger a little in the baby's grip, smiling at the implacable tightness of it. "Westu Elboron hal!", she says quietly, then sighs, sagging a little more again Faramir, some of the tension seeping out of her, to be replaced by sheer exhaustion. She looks up at him. "I remember that you came to me, at the end. I do not imagine Elana was pleased, but I am glad of it. Thank you."

He smiles at them both, proud and joyful.

"I couldn't bear to leave you alone. It's at least half my fault after all." He murmurs.

"I wanted to be there for you, as little as I could do!"

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/spends too much time reading about medieval childbirth

Re: /spends too much time reading about medieval childbirth

(please forgive me this thread I wanted some stress for them)

Re: (please forgive me this thread I wanted some stress for them)

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(la la la bsing la la)

Re: (la la la bsing la la)

timeskip

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