Remembrance Token

She exhaled. One final breath escaped her lungs as she felt the pressure leaving her body. It was as if the world had been brought to a standstill. The young woman lifted herself up on her arms, tried to make out the tiny babe that was now wrapped in linens and swarmed by women clad in dark fabrics. 'Like ravens', the woman thought to herself. But why was there no sound? No life-giving scream to announce its presence?

It was as if all sound had been drained. Only colours. Frightful, nightmarish colours painting her worst fears. Still no sound. Her heart clenched inside of her, tattooing the frantic rhythm into her breast. Too scared to voice her request, she held onto the crisp, white bed linens. It was then when a warm hand reached to her forehead, dabbing her clammy forehead with a moist cloth.

"You did everything you could, min heorte." Strong arms came to embrace her, pressing her to the sound of a beating heart. Her throat ached as if blades were cutting her from the inside, as her head spun with the dark realisation. Shudders rippled through her body while Alva continued to hold her, rocking softly back and forth. Lothiriel sought the crook of her neck, only listening to the soft crooning of the old woman. Eventually, her body relaxed as tears streamed down her cheeks. There was still no sound beside her growing sobs, her body still numb with shock.

The young queen luckily never saw her husband's look of excitement as he stormed into the bedchamber only to witness the throng of midwives and maids swarm to him like a buzzing beehive. His smile fell as he saw the small, crouched figure of his wife clinging to the old housekeeper. Several voices were buzzing in his ears, urging him to leave the chamber at once as his wife was not ready to receive him. Burning anger made its way up his throat, attacking each and every person who thought it necessary to keep him apart from his family- his family.

After clear words of dismissal were spoken, only Alva stayed behind to look after the stillborn child. Whispering soft words of encouragement into the queen's ear, she finally left her side to tend to the babe. With considerable effort, he made his way towards their bed, his heart aching for both his wife and the lost child. She never saw up to him- he wondered whether she had registered his presence at all. He took her into his arms, holding onto her as tears seeped into her hair. They stayed like this for a long while, grieving the loss of their new arrival.

It was truly the hardest thing he had ever known, feeling helpless as if a black void had come to reside amongst them. His wife did not find her voice for days, only staring blankly into space. Their child - a girl, had been shown to her only once, yet never been laid into her arms, the sheer thought of it made her tremble with tears. They were both barely coping, both merely hanging on by a thread. But when the day of the burial came, Eomer could not bear the thought of sending his own off to the hall of his forefathers without his blessing. Before both, he and his recovering wife made their way up to the burial ground, he had asked Berthoald, the blacksmith, to assist him with his wish.

When the small child was laid to rest, Edoras grieved the loss of their princess, wishing her a swift passing to the halls of her ancestors. Both the king and queen remained after the ceremony, leaning into one another to one another. Finally, Eomer dared to raise his voice:

"Min heorte, there is something I want to give you." Lothiriel looked on to the burial mound, her eyes watering with grief. Pulling out a small disk, he traced the imprinted metal with his thumb. "Look."

His wife gasped audibly as she saw the golden plate reflecting rays of sunshine when he laid the piece of jewellery into her hand: On the metal surface, a small imprint of a hand was visible, the hand of her child in the palm of her own.

Tears flowed freely when she grasped the object forcefully. He embraced her tightly, never needing to explain anything more. She held onto him, torn by sadness and love. But it was then that she knew that they could depend on each other, trusting one another with life's burdens. So when once again the queen grew large with child and eventually delivered a healthy son, they both rejoiced in their gift. Lothiriel only ever regretted never to have held her first child, as she had been too scared by the realisation of death. But when she looked at Elfwine's little face, she remembered her daughter's. When his small fingers came to grasp her own, she thought of the small palm that was forever engraved on a golden disk. And when they welcomed more children into their midst, the queen never failed to find features of her firstborn Líðea, as if she greeted her from the beyond.

líðe - serene