Chapter Text
Éomer looked doubtfully at the tiny, wakeful, bright-eyed baby, and then at his sister. “You have called her what?”
“Idis,” said his sister in flat voice. “She is called Idis.”
Éomer looked at the child, and a chill went down his spine. “A name of ill-omen.”
“What is this?” said Faramir, exchanging a look with Lothíríel.
“Idis was Théodred’s younger sister.” Éomer frowned. “Their mother Queen Elfhild, died in childbirth, and Idis died not long after.”
“The dead should be remembered,” said Éowyn.
“Éowyn said that she’d like one of our children to have a name of Rohan—” Faramir spread his hands, and looked worried.
Éowyn closed her eyes. “I will name my daughter as I choose.”
Éomer looked doubtfully at Éowyn, and then drew his brother-in-law out of the room. “What ails my sister?”
“Ioreth says ‘tis a melancholy which afflicts women sometimes after they have a child.” Faramir passed his hand across his brow.
“But this did not happen with your other children, Fara?” said Loti. “I’m sure it didn’t?”
“Éowyn had a difficult pregnancy: she was unwell until the end, and her back hurt. And Idis is a very wakeful child, and does not eat well. She falls asleep while feeding, then wakes an hour later and cries, all though the day and night.” Faramir looked away. “Everything has gone badly from the first. Éowyn did not tell me she was pregnant until she was twelve weeks gone—she pretended she was suffering some other malady—and then we fought.”
Éomer snorted. “I warned you that my sister has a terrible temper, but you would insist upon marrying her.”
Faramir looked at Éomer sadly. “I deserved it. I get on my moral high horse at times; Éowyn is right.”
Éomer slapped Faramir on the shoulder. “You do? I never noticed.”
“You jest, surely,” said Faramir faintly.
“Of course, brother.” Éomer grinned: Faramir was such fun to tease.
“What can we do to help Éowyn?” Loti asked. “Is there any draught she can be given to lift her melancholy, or any means of cheering her?”
“I don’t think so,” Faramir said. “I think the problem is simply that we have had so many children in so short a time, and—I have not been around as much as I should be.”
Éomer shrugged. “Clearly you’ve been around enough. Five children. That means you’ve been in my sister’s general vicinity at least five times in the last ten years?”
Loti slapped him on the shoulder. “Éomer!”
Faramir ignored Éomer’s comment. “I feel sorry for my poor little baby girl. Éowyn is having difficulty…feeling affection for her, so I have tried to tell Idis repeatedly that she is very much wanted. Ioreth says…Idis is very reminiscent of me as a baby.” He shook himself, and visibly assumed his normal civil countenance. “How is Elfwine?”
“He’s very good, after a difficult beginning.” Loti beamed. “Shall we see how he’s faring with his cousins?”
They went down to the lawn. Elboron was good-naturedly giving the other children ‘pony’ rides around the lawn. However he balked at Cirion. “Not thee!”
“But thou gavest Elfwine a ride!” said Cirion. “And Finduilas!”
“Thou’rt twice Elfwine’s size,” said Elboron. Cirion swung a punch at him and Elboron gently shook Túrin off his back, then swung back.
“Boys! Boys!” said Faramir, as the brothers tussled on the grass.
“This is why I am very glad that Idis is a girl,” said Finduilas, primly, to Éomer. “I am really quite sick of boys, and I shall have an ally. Although thou’rt a nice boy, Uncle Éomer.”
“I am sure that I irritated thy mother sorely when we were children,” said Éomer. “I’m not so sure that I was a nice boy.”
“Personally I am sick of babies,” said Elboron, coming up to them too, and straightening his clothing. “Although baby Idis will be more fun when she grows up—I do find that this stage is really rather boring—they just sleep and cry and poo. Or don’t sleep, in the case of Idis.” He paused, and fixed serious grey eyes on Éomer. “Dost thou think there shall be no more babies, Uncle? Because surely there must be limits to rabbit-like behaviour? Maybe they will stop now?”
Éomer choked as he met Loti’s eyes, and glanced over at his brother-in-law, who was telling off Cirion on the other side of the lawn. “Didst thou say rabbit-like?” To Éomer’s interest, Cirion was meeting Faramir’s eyes glare for glare, and waving his arms, protesting about rules of fairness.
Elboron clasped his hands in front of him. “Aye. Cousin Amrothos told me that rabbits eat their own young when they are stressed. I hope this does not apply to Mother, figuratively rather than literally speaking, of course?”
“I hope thou’rt right, Bron,” said Finduilas. “I do fear that Mummy is somewhat sad? I thought that she’d be glad to have a girl? I am, as I say, very pleased by a sister.”
“I like Idith too!” said Túrin.
“Idis,” corrected Finduilas.
Éomer reflected with pleasure that it served his sister and brother-in-law right for having eloquent, argumentative children who were far too serious and intelligent for their own good.
They took Elfwine upstairs: he had become rather muddy. “By the Valar,” said Loti, shaking her head, and wiping Elfwine’s face vigorously with a cloth. “I’m sure I’ve said it before, but those children are the image of my cousin when he was a child. Scads of serious, intense Faramir children! It is almost unnerving.”
“Can Cirion come visit me in Rohan? He is fun!” Elfwine looked a little sad. “I would like a brother. But I will take a cousin?”
Éomer exchanged glances with his wife. They were both rather anxious about the prospect of another child, given how unwell Lothíríel had been after Elfwine’s birth. At the moment, their method of preventing Loti from conceiving another child could best be described as ‘pull out and pray’. There had been a few anxious waits already.
“We’ll see,” said Loti. “I would very much like to give thee a brother, Elfwine.”
“What did Bron mean by saying his parents are like rabbits? Because really, Uncle and Aunt are not: they’re not furry and they don’t have long ears.”
“It is just something silly Elboron heard from Uncle Amrothos,” said Loti, firmly. “Nothing you need to worry about, Elfwine.”
After the visit of Ambassador Houmayoun, Uncle Imrahil, Cousin Amrothos and Nilofar Hatun, Faramir was surprised to feel an intense desire to sit down with a strong drink with his brother-in-law Éomer and discuss the visit. It seemed unbelievable, but there it was. Nilofar Hatun, the eldest daughter of Ambassador Houmayoun, really did want to marry Amrothos, even after extended conversation with him, and the parties had signed a betrothal agreement.
“I think,” Imrahil had confessed quietly to Faramir out in the corridor during the visit, “that it’s as much convenience as anything else. Amrothos has said, ‘We have very interesting conversations, but Haradrim think it’s improper for an unmarried man to talk with an unmarried women, so I suppose I shall have to marry her to continue to talk about windows and drains.”
“Drains?” Faramir had said.
“Drains,” Imrahil had confirmed. “I have been trying to think what is in this marriage for her?” He looked very awkward. “It may be—she lost her previous fiancé in the War of the Ring, have you heard?”
“Aye. I think I killed him,” Faramir had said in a very low whisper. “But I don’t remember—I could ask what his banner was? We have a few banners in the front hall—”
“It is highly likely that either you did, or I did,” Imrahil had hissed. “Let us never mention it again.”
“Agreed.” Faramir had scratched his head. “The poor thing is so desperate to be wed that she will put up with incessant conversation about drains? Her previous visit quite cheered Éowyn up. ‘Twas the first time I’ve seen Éowyn smile since Idis was born. Should I warn the Ambassador about Amrothos?”
“The Ambassador doesn’t seem to care,” Imrahil had said. “I had to stop Amrothos going into full flight about executions of prisoners again the other day at lunch, and the Ambassador did not even blink, nor did his daughter!”
“Mayhap it is normal in Harad to talk about execution of prisoners at lunch?” Faramir had said.
“We let them marry, then?” Imrahil had said.
“What harm could come of it?” Faramir had said. “Well, I suppose ‘Rothos could talk so incessantly of drains that Nilofar Hatun has to annul the marriage, but that would not cause a diplomatic incident. Gondor would quite understand if she did?”
The children had been present for part of the lunch. Elboron had surprised Ambassador Houmayoun by saying something in Haradric, causing Nilofar Hatun to applaud. “You used the feminine ending there,” she said. “But the accent was good.”
“I expect it’s because I got Mistress Zara in the village to tell me how she said ‘Hullo, I hope you have a nice meal’,” said Elboron, sheepishly. “I didn’t tell her I was going to use it myself.”
Amrothos had inspected Idis with interest. “A girl! Was there anything you did differently to produce a girl? A difference in diet on your part, Éowyn? Some difference in the manner of conception?”
“Absolutely nothing different,” Éowyn had said unblushingly, while Imrahil put his hand on Amrothos’s arm.
“That’s actually a very interesting question,” Nilofar had said. “Did you know the sex of turtles varies depending upon the temperature of the sand the eggs are laid in? It is a big project in Umbar: Professor Gilbereth has been working on it for sixty years.” Faramir had presumed Nilofar Hatun had mixed up her Westron numbers—sixty years had sounded improbable, unless Professor Gilbereth was an Elf, which was unlikely.
Meanwhile, Nilofar had taken Idis off Éowyn, held her up and looked her in the eye. “I said it last time, but I shall say it again. This baby is very alert. She wants to learn about the world.” Idis had smiled hugely at Nilofar.
“Éowyn and Faramir are some of my favourite people to talk to, other than you and Father, Nilofar,” Amrothos had said. “They let me do experiments with their bath house!”
“I would like to look at the bath house then, Amrothos,” said Nilofar.
“Faramir has always been a very kind older cousin,” Imrahil had murmured politely.
“Much kinder than Boromir,” Amrothos had agreed. “He used to tease me.”
“Who was Boromirrrrr?” said Nilofar, rolling the ‘r’ at the end of his brother’s name in an exotic way.
“My older brother. He died in the War of the Ring,” Faramir had said.
“O, possibly just as well,” Nilofar had said.
Faramir had stared at her. “Just as well…what?”
At that point Ambassador Houmayoun had jumped in. “We all lost people in the War, Nilofar. Let us not talk of it.”
Éowyn had sighed. “Yes, probably good to leave that alone.”
Amrothos had said, “Incidentally, I’m glad that Éowyn and Faramir have logical children.”
“Yes,” Nilofar had said. “If one must have many children, I suppose it is well to produce pleasant sensible ones, who are interested in the world, like these ones.”
Éowyn had beamed proudly, and Faramir’s heart had expanded in his chest to see his wife looking happier.
Now Faramir put his head into Éowyn’s room: he needed to debrief with someone in the absence of his brother-in-law. Mentally, he was planning the letter he would write to Éomer.
Éowyn was patting a wriggling Idis and chuckling. She turned to Faramir. “Was that not hilarious? Nilofar Hatun seems to be fond of Amrothos, in an intellectual way! I do like her!”
“I am not sure if she knows what she is getting into, but she’s a very intelligent woman.” Faramir winced. “I read her, last time she was here, upon my Uncle’s request. Her mind flits from one thing to another, so much so that it gave me a headache. Not unlike Amrothos’s! But there’s no malice in her at all, and she’s very honest indeed.”
“I think they will suit each other very well.” Éowyn smiled at Faramir. “I am an advocate of cross-cultural marriages, of course. It is good for serious men of Gondor to mix with sensible folk.”
Faramir kissed Éowyn on the head. “How are you feeling?”
Éowyn passed Idis to Faramir. “Better. The fog is lifting. It has not been that bad since before I met you, when I rode in the Muster. I am sorry that I made you suffer thus, my love.”
“I have done the same to thee betimes.” Faramir peered at his youngest daughter after he had patted her back a few times, and grimaced as her backside made distinctive noises. “Thou art full of gas, child! No wonder thou art wriggling!”
“Idie insists on drinking in a very silly and inefficient way, and no matter how I adjust her, she goes back to the way she wants, and gulps in air.” To Faramir’s relief his wife sounded fond.
“I cannot think where she might get stubbornness from?” Faramir raised an eyebrow.
“I have no idea.” Éowyn looked sidelong at Faramir. “I hope she is not cursed by the name I gave her? And by the troubles I had?”
“I was given the name of a silly prince of Gondor who rode off to war without permission, and got killed, and my mother struggled after my birth, I am told.” Faramir shrugged and kept jiggling the baby, who had now deposited posset on his shoulder, but seemed calmer. “Look how I turned out!”
“Precisely,” said Éowyn, wryly.
“In the circumstances, I turned out remarkably well. Our daughter may be the same.” Faramir kissed Idis’s downy soft brown hair, and she cooed at him.
“I have come to terms with the possibility I will end up a mother of many,” Éowyn said. “Nilofar Hatun is right. At least our children are pleasant and sensible, and healthy? Of all the things I thought would happen in my life, I did not think this would be my fate—I thought I would die in battle—”
“I am glad thou didst not,” said Faramir, sitting down on the bed next to her. He kissed her.
“I am glad too,” said Éowyn, smiling back at him.