The past is already written.
The ink is dry.
But the future remains unset and the Valar have begun to sing a song anew.
Gondor is a kingless state falling into ruin against the Shadow of Mordor. Doomed to fail and forsaken by Men and...
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SWEAT beaded down the lady's forehead and dripped to the satin sheets below. An army of midwives surrounded her. One had been charged with urging her to drink a poppy tea to dull the sharp and debilitating pain that came with each contraction. Another watched for the coming baby and the others bustled around the bedchambers readying things for the moment of the babe's arrival and aftercare of the mother.
Ioreth's voice had long been lost, already she had labored for a day and a half. The eldest of the midwives had been with the lady of the isle since the beginning and known it would be a difficult birthing from the way she carried since conception.
Outside the chamber doors, Ioreth's husband paced -fervently and tirelessly. He had tried entering on multiple occasions when his wife's screams became too much to bear, yet he was not allowed in. Childbirth was considered a woman's affair.
"You must push, my lady." It was a different voice telling her to push this time. She did and let out a soundless scream as pain ripped through her stomach and chest. "The babe is close, push once more." Ioreth pushed with all her strength and cried out, having found her voice again.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The midwife placed a small child swaddled in a blanket of soft down into the lord of the isle's arms forty hours after his wife's labor had begun. "You have a daughter, Lord Ohtar." The child did not cry, only looked up at the new world with wide and innocent eyes the same color as the murky sea that surrounded Tol Eressëa. He swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned forward, kissing his daughter on her clammy forehead.
"Ioreth?" He had not tried to enter the birthing room again, nor had they delivered any news on the health of his wife. His own mother had died after giving birth to his brother and his sister had perished in the birthing bed as well. He prayed to Ilúvatar that Ioreth would be spared and allowed to see their daughter grow into a woman.
The woman's face paled. "M'lord, she is bleeding badly. The healers are doing all they can." Ohtar held onto his daughter with fierce love and pushed open the chamber doors. His beloved Ioreth lay there with auburn hair sticking to her face and neck. A sickly pallor had come upon her. She lay on a bed of blood, crying with the sweet smell of spring flowers lingering in the air. He knelt next to the bed and placed their daughter into her arms.
"She's beautiful." Ioreth's voice was a pained and hoarse whisper, she was too exhausted to lift an arm and stroke her daughter's pink cheek.
Ohtar pushed away the blanket to reveal a tuft of dark hair atop her tiny head and smiled. "She has your eyes and my hair," he spoke softly but the room had emptied. The midwives had left knowing there was nothing else to be done. Ioreth would bleed out. "What will we name her?" He asked looking back into the murky green eyes of his daughter, the ones which would always remind him of his Ioreth.
"Name her after the sea." The words came in pained and wispy breaths. Ohtar wiped away the tears that had fallen down his own cheeks and lifted his wife's hand, kissing her knuckles and palm. "Promise me you'll take care of her-" tears slipped from her weary eyes "-promise me."
He nodded. "I promise, Ioreth, on my life." He closed his eyes and leaned forward, kissing Ioreth upon her cold forehead. Ohtar remained next to the bed, watching the slowing rise and fall of her chest and murmuring endearments to both her and their child. Within the hour, she had passed on and the echoing cries of a motherless newborn filled the room.
