The boy lies on the crisp white sheets of the bed in the healing wing, dark, curled hair matted under my hand. I gently use my fingers to separate the tangles as best I can, silently, wordlessly praying for the little human before me. My reaction surprises me. I am not well disposed towards humans, since most of those I have met have meant me or those I care for ill. The fact that he is a descendant of Isildur should make me care for him even less, though Elrond did not actually tell me who he was. I guessed easily that little fact; we Sindar are not as ignorant as many believe.
Elrohir sits on a chair by the bed, speaking softly. "I hope he lives, if only for his mother's sake. She is weak enough with the loss of her husband, and if this little one should die, I do not believe she would survive it. The loss of a child is a terrible thing that causes a horrific wound on the soul."
Suddenly, he seems to remember who he is talking to, even as he says it, and pauses, not knowing how to put right his slip.
Lost. I hate that word. It implies that I as a parent was too careless, that in a moment of inattentiveness I looked away and in that small instant the life of my child slipped between my splayed fingers. It implies that I did not try, that I did not want my daughter. And I did. I wanted to see her grow up, to see her smile wickedly as she jested, perhaps to defend her honour if it came to it. All the little things that parents do with their children and all the memories that will be cherished forever.
"I am sorry, Thranduil, I should not have been so thoughtless."
He is awkward now, unsure of himself and of me. His eyes no longer meet mine, but it does not matter because I do not see them. I see ,in my mind, my daughter's eyes of deep, chocolate brown staring trustingly up into mine, instinctively knowing who this Elf was who held her. Her small yet strong hands slowly moving and testing the feel of the air.
Aye, she was a strong one, too strong sometimes, and I almost wince even now, the memory of the pain bittersweet in my stomach. At times I was convinced it had started, that I had gone into labour early and I would not be able to bring her into the world, but when she did come, early as it turned out just as I feared, I did not really realise what was happening. I, barely more than a child, t'was a wonder we both survived those painful hours of blood and mayhem.
Vaguely, I remember the healing woman. Having fled to her for sanctuary, she cared for me as her own and endured my curses and screams patiently, with a small, sympathetic smile curving her lips. She had gained her skills more from millennia of mid-wifeing than any kind of formal education, but I trusted her implicitly, knowing that with her love for me, if she could not save me, no one could.
"'Tis alright, Elrohir, do not feel you have to hide your thoughts of these things from me,"
I smile slightly, reassuring him. "There are many things that are spoken every day that would long ago have cut me to the core, but it is only through remembering these things that we can accept them and move on. I will see her eventually, when I sail or when I die and, until then, I am happy to wait."
In a way, this is a lie but perhaps it is also the truth. It is a lie because no, it is not alright and it does hurt, but at the same time, I have accepted it and it no longer scores me as it once did. Now, all I feel is a small ache that I treasure as much as I loathe.
Slowly, I find I think of her less and less. Now, my once secret is known by many but it is no longer a shame. I suppose that secrets left inside can fester and hurt, but if you tell someone, it is no longer a secret. Now I am grown, there is much more for me to do and to be; I have finally rid myself of the invisible chains that held me down and rule a land in the East with a people that I feel an incredible kinship to though my only link is a grandparent.
I remember that there are still rogue orcs in the area and stand slowly to prepare for the scouting party that will follow them. My mind shifts slightly, from a parent to a warrior and I smile confidently, basking in the serenity of the valley and forests around. I know immediately where the orcs are and stride to the door, clasping Elrohir on the shoulder as I pass. I am at peace with myself and my life, as I have been for so many years now. I see Glorfindel as I step quickly down the stairs to join the other elves and as we mount our horses I turn, and they follow me to whatever end.
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Story notes: Warnings: Mpreg, child loss. More in the full story but you don't need to know them yet.
Disclaimer: obviously not mine. I just let my filthy, dirty and downright twisted mind play with them. The title is derived from a poem I am studying in English so I don't own that either. Just to say, well done Carol Ann Duffy.
