Westu hal!

All characters mentioned are the property of the notable master of Fantasy, J.R.R. Tolkien. I don't give any credit to New Line Cinima, because honestly, what the heck did you guys create in your films that was origonal, or that wasn't already Tolkin's? Eh? Eh? So don't sue me. I'm just a wide-eyes little fan girl who likes to write stories on the behalf of the Master.

This story is about Elfhild, Theoden's wife (ah ha, see: I did read those appendixes). I found her story intruguing and sad, and thus decided to expand on it. If you like it, please review! If not, tell me. If I have not gotten my facts straight at any point, please tell me, and if you have any suggestions, keep them to yourself. No, go ahead and tell me. ;)

Ferthu hal!

Tinuviel

Life encompassed the garden where Elfhild stood. A cascade of colours burst forth from every bush, and hung from every tree. Birds sang sweetley in the June morning. She smiled as she spun and watched the fair and exotic satins of her gown turn with her, yellow as the sunbeams that fell upon her upturned, smiling face. Jewles grand adorned her, and a wreath fair was set upon her clear brow. She breathed her testimony to the fair flowers, "I am happy now."

She had already endured the company of her maidens, giggling and whispering advice as they braided gems and flowers and ribbons into her desert colored hair. Though pretending to be offended in her young chasity, Elfhild had truley been thrilled.

And now she stood before the notable Druid who would perform the ceremony...the ceremony that would make her his! She looked upon her Lord, Theoden, whom she loved. Golden light dusted his flaxen hair and beard. The Druid bound their hands, and they were sworn to eachother. She saw her Lord's bosom swell as he breathed his vow, and her hands trembled at his touch. They were givin blessings of happiness, love, wealth, and children. "Truley," she thought, "I am happy now."

Her eyes shone like the moon as she realised they were wed, and she kissed her Lord--now her husband! there before the court of Edoras, her friends and loved ones. She was now their Queen. And she laughed merrily at the feast and dancing and the excellent minstrils that followed her handfasting ceremony. Her mind reeled with pleasure. Goodness, how young she was, and now a wife and Queen! But it did not matter, not now while the night lasted.

Later, Theoden, her love, led her to their bridal chamber. Hangings of green and white adorned their bed posts, and the sheets were of gold. "And for now," she thought," everything else has passed out of existance. The world is only he and I."  She let herself be sweapt away by her love's soft embrace and tender kisses, brushing like moth wings, and though she had left behind her home, family, and her life of simplicity and innocence, she beheld the sparkiling golden token on her pretty white hand that proved her happy now.

*

The deep, clear azure of the sky was the kind that made the dreamers come out and lay under the blue canopy, watching the clouds. It was the kind that made poets and bards craft songs of the simple beauty of life. It was the kind that stirred love in the lover's soul, without warning or reason. The wind was soft, warm and fragrant. The sound of baby birds singing and the laughter of children hung in the air. And all these things under cloud and sky Elfhild cursed.

Again she stood in the garden. That garden. The flowers opened in their ignorance of her pain. They swayed on in a happy, demented way. Not caring. For a lingering instant the flutes and viols and harps returned, trilling an eerie sound. The phantom forms of dancers swayed around the young Queen of Edoras for her torment. They seemed to delight in her frustration, in her anguish.

 The wise old crones with so much herb-lore, standing off to the side, without sympathy. The maidens giggled happily, stupidly--dreaming, no doubt, of one day being in the same, dream-like scene as Elfhild was. Of being adored by a man--nay, found irresistable, so much that he asked you to forever be his, unto the world's ending. But most horrid of all of these were the women with rosy cheeks and worn but loving gazes. Those who bounced toddlers on their laps, cradled babies in their arms, and blushed faintly as they touched their swelling bellies.

All her wedding blessings had promised this to her. Now it was so cruel to look back and see how they had come to no avail. Elfhild shook her head, dismissing the phantasmagoirc spectrum she was weaving in her mind for her own punisment. "Oh, Theoden, Theoden!" she whispered, "forgive me." The blame had again smacked her in the face. In shame, she again faced the facts. "I am a young woman, capable and blossoming in my age. Yet I shall not be young forever..." and again she found her self moved to weep that she was childless, four years after her marriage to the king. Now she was nearly twenty-three, and all her childhood maiden-friends had been wed, and now had children to raise.

Every spring the memory of her wedding came back to haunt her. Whenever spring came and life new swept through the hearts of all. Glancing back, her shame hit home. She looked upon Meduseld, the golden roof gleaming, blazing like fire in the noon sun. Out across the wind-swept fields of the Mearc she saw the houses and villages of her people. Children and families would be dwelling in those houses. Mothers with their babes asleep singing softly, rocking them, nursing them. Fathers would be teaching their children how to ride, and do sword-play. Ah yes. It was one sickening cornocopia of family love down there. In her quiet envy, the Queen Elfhild grew to despise the image of mother and child. Unless it could be her, it mearly taunted and tormented her. In cold pride she hitched up her forrest-green skirts and strode back up the cobble-stone path to the Golden Hall.

*

"When I saw you riding up, I thought I was looking at Epona herself." Theoden linked his arms gently around Elfhild's waist, reaccounting their first meeting to perhaps draw her from her sorrow. "You were so high and lovley, but so wild and untame. I still am amazed to find that you are mine." He softly kissed her cheek, but she turned away. "Do not try to ease my sorrow, for it is justly earned." She turned to face him; her shining eyes, brimming with sorrow took Theoden aback. "I know I have born you no heir, no child." He smiled weakly, used to Elfhild's sudden spells of sorrow. "All in time, my love, all in time. We are young still." Elfhild sighed. True as it was, she had tried for four years. Her age would mean nothing to the Fates if she kept on trying, only to end up an old made-no-more with no child.

That was something little girls play with their friends, something maidens moon over, something mothers delight in, and something old crones look back on fondly. Even if these images were un-realistic, in her mind, they were vibrant and true: every single faery-tale story she had ever heard. With a sudden wave of angre and desperation, she turned again towards her bridegroom, grasping his mead-coloured hair in her white hands. "Give me a child, or I die!"

Theoden let her sudden outburst soak in. He was immediatly distressed and uncomfortable with her words. She was asking him something impossible. He could not just grant her desire. "Children..." he began amidst her supressed cries, "are a gift, Elfhild. I--I can not just..." but she pushed away from his grasp and fled from their room. "Something!" she cried, "something must be done! Surley there is something that can be done!" with a rush she found herself alone in the empty hall. There she fell to her knees, and softly prayed, "Epona, Great Mother. Lend me your spirit! Lend me your grace and strength!" and then the rage re-kindled, and she challenged the Goddess. "That is why we pray to you, is it not?"

And then someone grasped her shoulder. For a moment Elfhild gasped, expecting to see the White Spirit clothed in moonlight astride a Snowy horse. Then, she shook her head and discearned through her tears the face of the laundry maid. "My lady," she began softly, "forgive me, but I heard your plea." Elfhild rose and assumed the posture of a well-bred woman and Lady. "If that's what you've been s' worried about..." the young girl stoped, afraid that she'd just admitted she'd noticed her queens times of sadness, "but I know someone who could help, my lady, if it's not to bold of me to say."

"Go on, child," said Elfhild. The maid nodded. "Afore I came to work for You Ladyship, I was in the service o' washing and lookin' after the children of a woman..." here she motioned out yonder, indicating the villages surrounded by the blue and purple misted mountains,"...an' she was a mid-wife, m'lady. She was aweful wise." here her eyes grew wide and mysterious, "An' I even heard tell she was one of them sorceresses, m'lady. An I'll bet she can give you somethin' to help."

Of course Elfhild had asked the advice of the royal sooth-sayer, but all he could answer was that "When the fates find it right you shall concieve a child." Elfhild declared him an idiot right then and there. But here was a woman who's life centered around the birthing of babies, and she apparently had many of her own. Her knowledge of the otherworld was based on this one, and her love for it. Surley she could help.

The young laundry maid nodded again at Elfhild's silence. "Forgive me, m'lady. It was not my place to say anything." But Elfhild grabbed her as she turned to go. "Wait!" she said. "No, wait, umm..."

"Freya," answered the girl. "Freya," Elfhild repeated,"please, take me to your former mistress, lady...?" Freya smiled. "Rhiannon." Elfhild smiled, echoing the name of the woman soon to be her saviour. "Rhiannon." and then a sence of hope washed over her as it had not done in years, and Elfhild, queen of Edoras looked down on the scrawny little laundry-maid dressed in fading browns and greys, knowing that, somehow, through this girl, she had recieved divine intervention.

* * *

Night's serinity can not be appreciated unless experienced in complete solitude. Though the stars had seemed bright and alive with light (and she had cursed them as well before), Elfhild hoped the darkness behind them would wrap her like a cloak, and she could pass from all eyes.

She had gone out among her people in disguise before, to see and hear from them how they faired. A taste of simple, rustic life. That "family" life she had longed for and then loathed. But now there was a chance...this one chance, as it were. "Just a bit farther, m'lady," came the gravely voice of Freya, not far ahead. They passed down the darkened streets, until they came at last to a house with twinkling yellow light within--somewhat seperated from the others. The queen fancied she felt a special warmth and radiation from out those windows...but perhaps it was only a waking dream.

With a sudden jolt she realised she was inside the house; her tendency to drift out of the present had become more persistant in the last few years. Her eyes adjusted, and she saw in the center of the floor a crackling, warm fire. Around the fire faces began to materialize. There were five people. First she saw the unmistakable delphium eyes of Freya in her ash smudged face, her red ringlits falling in a heavy mass to her shoulders. Then the jade-green eyes of a little girl appeared, sparkling bright in her pink face. The third child seemed slightley older than the last, but with eyes black as raven wings. The fourth a young woman with long golden tresses, smiling with a dreamy countenance.

But the eyes that would be impressed on the soul of Elfhild to the end of her days were those who's gaze took a moment to sink in. They were silver, silver and deep and magickal as starlight on the ocean to the West. Her snow white hair indicated she was one who had wintered into wisdom, an assumption confirmed by the playful but knowing smile she wore. "Come in, wine min, my child."

Elfhild sank down amidst their throng. The old woman--unquestionably the wise woman Rhiannon--continued her gaze of knowing. "My daughter Freya has told me of your problem." She said "daughter" with such affection, Elfhild would never have doubted it had she not known the truth. She nodded. Though most people would have found it uncomfortable, the old woman took Elfhild's face in her hands. The queen felt a trememdous warmth and radiation of strength in flow to her from those knotted, whithered hands. "Without birth, there is no life. Without life, there is no death. Without death, there is no re-birth, and without re-birth, there is no life." The old woman's smile faded. "Remember these words, child. Brand them on your soul, for though they may not mean much now, in the furture you will cling to them, and find they express your soul. We all find solas and truth in that fact, one day."

Rhiannon sighed, and let her touch gently slide from Elhfhild's face down to her hands. "You have good, strong hands. Like those of a scylding, though thy touch is not un-gentle. Your spirit is wild, untame. That has saved you before; it has saved you from hiding in your sorrow."

The old woman continued to stroke her hands. "You say you want this child to please your husband and fufill your duty as a wife, and yet I say to you, you are no man's. You want this child, for you know you want to feel complete. You want to identify your body with the Great Mother's. But I say to you you must find completness in your soul first. Your spirit is willing and strong, but your body is lith and young." The old woman's eyes filled with sudden sadness, a sight that took Elfhild off guard. "But this also do I precieve. By fate, you know in your heart it is time for you to concieve a child. And perhaps it is so."

Rhiannon then took a pouch of herbs and a phial from out her robes, having obviously prepared for this moment. "This is female herb, also called Chast Tree Berry. It will help with your fertility. This is Evening Primrose Oil," here she indicated the phial," take it from menstration to ovulation, and it will also help your body." Elfhild reached out to take the items, but the old woman gracefully snatched them back. "But this also is so, by some design, ill in recieving," Her grey eyes gleamed."If you bear this child, Elfhild, Queen of Edoras, you will die."

There have been maidens and queens of renown who dared the darkness and fought with it on the battlefield. There have been warriors long immortalised in songs and tales for their chivilry, yet even Helm Hammerhand was not as brave as Elfhild and what she did. A sudden grace and pride and love from her elder race came forth. Placing a coin in the woman's witherd palm, she took the medicin. "I thank you for your help, my lady Rhiannon." But the old woman smiled and returned her money. "They're a gift, child."

Soon Elfhild and Freya were walking back to the Golden Hall. The queen was trembling and reeling with unbelieving bliss. She even went so far as to embrace the fiery-headed girl, who was very suprised by the gesture. A very fine little girl, Elfhild observed, and with a thrill of excitement thought, "Perhaps I'll have one just like her." But then she stoped dead in her tracks. "No, Theoden will have one just like her. But I will be at peace amidst my ancestors, knowing I brought her into this world." And on that note she proceeded to her chambers.

* * *

The first sign was the colors. The rainbows splattered on everything. Then came the fluffy woodland creatures with big soulful eyes. And they surrounded Elfhild--all this garden fluff. All the dreamy and cute images, all the maidchild-play, was the first omen, the sign that foretold her doom. The irony made her smile...almost.

Elfhild awoke from her dreams, knowing them to be a sign; the wise woman had confirmed that. The overwhelming joy had engulfed her, leaving her in a state of bliss that held on for so long. Now the joy had settled inside of her, and rose at times in her incrimsoned cheeks as she patted her gently swelling belly, as she was toasted by the court in the Golden mead Hall. Yes, Elfhild queen of Rohan was with child at last. As all expecting mothers she laughed softly and dreamed of her child. A little boy or girl, she didn't care. She had a baby...and that baby would kill her. But she had made that bargain. Without a child she would have surley died of grieff--now...now the child would be the cause. But she did not care, she did not care. She did this for Theoden...though he did not know of her plight. How could she tell him? Let him live for a time in ignorance and bliss...while he could. But mostly she did this for herself, and her pride. The pride of the scyldings.

Rhiannon came often to see Elfhild, to check on mother and child and how the pregnancy was progressing, and always she left smiling sadly. On her last visit, she had said, "Queen Elfhild, listin! The ninth lunar month draws near...but your child is eager to begin life new. I shall be close and ready. It will happen soon."

Elfhild felt her heart flutter...from joy and then a passing shadow of panic she quickly quelled. "How will I know?" she inquired. The wise woman smiled. "You will know." And she did. The sun was lolling  in the western sky...the bleeding sky...when she felt the first contractiones. Biting her lip, with a wave of excitement she reached for Theoden's hand. "It's happening!" she breathed. His eyes lit up like the bonfires at Beltane. He didn't know.

Soon the contractiones grew closer together, and Elfhild did off her regal gown in exchange for a linin chemis. The woman of court--her close friends and those who had some experience in birthing babies--gathered round her in her chambers. Freya ran off to the village for Rhiannon. The time had come; a silent clap of thunder. Soon the Wise Woman and lanky child returned to find Elfhild--round as the moon--pacing her room, breathing heavily. Rhiannon smiled. The same sad, knowing smile. The queen wondered if she'd ever been happy as a lass, or if she had always had some extra sensory perception that let the world's plight constantly ebb into her heart.

*

The room became a whirlwind of white linin, blood, and midwives. The night had come and would soon be over, and still her ladies' commanded her to push. Elfhild cried out and moaned, and then bit her red lips, hopeing to at least hold her child before...before...she didn't think it would end this way. Rhiannon crushed belladona and Lady's Mantel into a chalice of wine, and brought it to the queen's trembling lips.

Elfhild grasped the ruby ring in her hand--the one Theoden had given her--and then cried and grasped the edge of the chair she sat on, which, despite the ladies' efforts, was ridgidly uncomfortable. Rhiannon kneeled before her, her hands wet with blood, never scolding or looking tired. She just cooed and spoke in soothing tones. "There, there, moder, all shall be fine. You'll see." Elfhild could not see this. In fact, aside from her huge white belly, she couldn't see anything, but only pushed. Her misery had come to a climax, it seemed, when she cried, "please, please, lay me down!" Lay me down to die here. She knew the birthing process would be slowed, but she felt her body could no longer take it. Her ladies' lay her down in her bed.

Suddenly, another spasm of pain seized her, and she screamed and grasped at the midwife standing nearest. Rhiannon pushed several ladies out of the way and was soon there by the queen, as she promised to be when it happened. She wrenched a child slick with red blood from out between Elfhild's thighs amidst a rush of fluid. "It's a boy!" She cried almost breathlessly. The baby's cries, startlingly new and clear, broke the tension in the room. Elfhild relaxed, and opened her arms to recieve the child. They placed him in her arms. "Child, my child; my life and my death." The queen stared lovingly at the baby.

But then, her gaze grew fixed. The fire faded in her emerald eyes. Those were her last words. The ladies' all stiffled a cry. All were suprised save The Wise Woman, and Freya, who stood silent beside her. Rhiannon gently took the child out of his mother's arms, and swadled him in linin. She handed him to Freya, who removed him from the room. Then the silver eyes of the old woman shone with tears as she pulled the white sheet up over Elfhild's glassy eyes and wan face. The first rays of morning shone palely on the queen--still smiling. Frozen forever with that countenance, with that look of soft content with life. Elfhild was dead before the dawn. Long she awaited her sorrow.

*

The Chant of the Dead followed freya as she walked down the dark hall. The dawn's golden rays--pale and cold--lit the path before her. It was there she met Theoden, walking slow. He saw her, this young child, illuminated in misty yellow light like an angel. Within her arms was a tiny, breathing baby, surrounded by folds of bloody linin, like he was still cradled in the womb. His child. With a look wrought of pain and sorrow the angel girl held out her arms, displaying the child. "Please, take your son, sir."

Theoden made a fleeting gesture, his fingers turinging out as though he would take the baby...but the funeral chant had reached his ears. And he understood at last the secret his bride had quietly kept, the doom she chose for herself for him. He saw what he believed he had done to her. And Freya quickly held the child close to her beating heart as Theoden King collapsed before her and weapt.

* * *

Quick (I swear) author's note: Ok, sorry it takes me forever to post my chapters, but those freaky gremlin things have taken over my computer, and only let me type if I honor them and give them sugar and coffee. Also, please try to ignore my non-existant spelling mechanics. In stead let yourself be captivated by my incredible choice of syntax. Oh yeah.

P.S. Dear eokat, Gollum won, by Smeagol may come back for revenge.

*

White eyes twinkled in their innocence, like an infant’s. They glittered in the silver-emerald waves of the grass, the white Evermind. The windy sky was ashen grey, but the rain refused to fall. Like a curtain, with the rush of a storm, sweeping away the sorrows. Breaking the tension. Crying for them.

A woman sang with her hair bound up, weeping for the world, and for the maiden. How could the funeral prayer be sung? How could their be any chants for the dead, any wishes for the afterlife? How could there be any word spoken for the solemn dead, who ever died so young? So young! Those who were her sisters, those who were her friends, and those who loved her for her wealth, and hated her for her pride. All saw the Queen in her fair raminent of fair velvet forest green, girt with gold, and adorned with gold and with a sword in her stiff hands. The only life was on her sand-colored hair, her waves of deep golden-brown, crowned with a circlet of Evermind. Odin’s shield-maiden, Epona’s faery.

Her eyes were not seen, for they were orbs of twisted terror and sorrow, and Saruman himself hath never gazed into any orb harboring more visions of dread. And those who’s duty it was to sew closed the clammy wan eyelids over those eyes of glass had their image branded on their souls for eternity. Death was on her pallid face, colder than a child lost in the snow.

The candlelight flickered last on her face, ‘ere she was laid to sleep beneath the cold still earth, without a sound. Elfhild, queen of Rohan, his love, his bride. Theoden sang a solemn hymn for the blessed one who died. But that was long ago, so long ago.

Now Elfhild was dust and bone, weighed down by gold the dead use not. But no frost touched her earthy braids. Shriveled, dead. And beside her slept her son, her only child, her doom. Theodred, whom she had given her life to, had died. A warrior-- not so old-- had gone down in a flash of steel and glory, made immortal by the many songs that would tell of his deeds. There would be lads who would aspire to be like him. But now his father thought that it was cruel to rejoice in slaying and war.

He had lost the only people he loved. In his impatience he had surely caused Elfhild to choose her fate–her terrible fate–and now, in the sickness of his mind, he had unknowingly sent his only, precious child into war, and lost him. Lost the child Elfhild died to give him. Theoden stood upon the mounds and sang a hymn of old days, before his voice was given over utterly to weeping; the sound was lost with the wind. He had no life now. No desire but to die, and go to whatever appointed end, following the sun in his last dying blazes beyond all roads and highways. To see her again. He prayed that she wait for him; he would not fail to meet her in that dim vale.

* * *

Two women stand above ground, while one sleeps below. The wind hisses through the grass, stirring the soul. One is a maiden fair, with a clear brow and hazel eyes and hair like a sheet of cinnamon. She stands bedecked in satins and jewels grand, a gown of azure against the misty sky. Upon her brow is a circlet of gold, a token of her rank, the fair Queen of Rohan. She lays a slender long hand on her swollen belly and feels her child stir within, and she smiles.

            The second is a crone, standing thoughtfully in the shadows. Her hands are withered but strong, and she knows the lore that will help the queen when her time comes. Fair the child shall be, like the fair Sidhe. Her hair is grey, though once it was fiery copper. Her eyes of crystal emerald have softened to the colours of dusk. In her life—which has been long—she has already birthed many babes, and still she remembers the one child, tending him at his birth, and as he died. She watched as his wife and small child wept for him, for one who should ever die so young. And thinking of this she wept for his mother.

            Looking afar and seeing the maiden in blue as she stands above the grave of this brave woman, she smiles, thinking there is little difference between the two. Both with that gleam in their eyes, both with dove-like sweetness and bitter sarcasm, both with a bravery seldom seen. She died in her life’s spring, but she did not die too young, or too fair. Now this maid-no-more is queen, carrying on the spirit of she who they will never see again, dancing in the misty glade at dawn.

* * *