Imrahil's Daughters

Epilogue

Edoras, five years later...

Éomer paced.

Up the corridor and back again. Thirty-two steps one way, thirty-two back. He knew every hairline crack in the flagstones, every variation of colouration of the dark grey slate. What was taking so long? Surely last time–

The door to their bedroom opened and he spun round. Ivriniel emerged, carrying a pile of linen, which she deposited on the floor. He detained her before she could go back inside. "How is she?"

"Éomer, these things take their proper time, you cannot hurry them," Ivriniel answered. "So why don't you go and have a tankard of ale. You look as if you need it." She shut the door firmly in his face.

Ale! When his wife was fighting a battle as fierce as any he had ever faced. His eyes fell on the pile of linen, stained with streaks of red. Blood. Gliwen's blood.

He took up his pacing again, cursing inside. How he hated waiting, not being able to do anything! It would have been much better to battle a pack of orcs single-handedly, only none were so obliging as to attack Meduseld just now. As he strode up and down the corridor, he was dimly aware of the worried faces of Éothain and Ealdred, then a maid scurrying by with the dirty linens, yet he dismissed everything from his consideration. Nothing mattered except the struggle behind that closed door.

A muffled moan resounded through the thick oak, cutting him like a steel blade. Bunching his hands into fists, he closed his eyes. Last time he had sworn eternal celibacy at this point – a vow from which his wife had eventually dissuaded him.

"Father?"

He opened his eyes in surprise as small fingers tugged at his sleeve, to find Elfwine gazing up at him.

One of the maids hovered behind him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Éomer King," she stammered. "The boy refuses to go to bed. He just won't settle down."

Éomer scooped his son up into his arms, utterly grateful to have something to do. "That's fine, Beornwyn, I'll look after him." The girl, one of Hild's sister-daughters, dropped a curtsy and left.

Elfwine wound his arms around his neck. "Why can't I see Mummy?" he sniffed. "I've been good all day, but Auntie Ivriniel won't let me in. She says I have to go to bed now."

A wave of male solidarity swept through Éomer. "I know, it isn't fair," he agreed. "Tell you what, why don't you stay up and keep me company for a while." He swallowed. Surely it had to be over soon!

The boy perked up. "May I?"

"I would consider it a great favour." Nothing but the truth.

Elfwine wriggled down. "We can play with my horses," he exclaimed, cheerful again.

The boy ran off, only to reappear a moment later, clutching his collection of wooden horses in his shirt. He would have been quite happy to sit on the floor in front of his parents' bedroom, but Éomer bundled him up and carried him into the study.

A bright fire burnt in the hearth against the autumn chill and Elfwine settled down on a rug to arrange his toys. Éomer's heart gave a pang when he saw the book lying open on the chair next to it. He picked it up and turned it over: An Introduction to the Natural History and Classification of Spiders. Carefully he marked the page and put it away on a bookshelf. She must have been surprised by the first birth pangs right in the middle of reading. The news of the queen coming to her time early had reached him in the training grounds, and though he had hurried back at once, they had only allowed him a brief glimpse of her before ushering him out. Gliwen had smiled at him, but she'd already had that abstracted, inward facing look, bracing herself for what was to come.