Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 55 - Bréoca

"Sire, sire! Come quickly, it's happening!" 

Elfwine was on his feet and running before the stable boy had even finished calling out. Leaving a pile of ledgers and two perplexed accountants in his wake, the King of Rohan flew out the doors and down the steps of the Golden Hall two-at-a-time. Less than a minute later and Elfwine was beneath the rafters of the Royal Stables. Grooms and Riders alike were quick to clear out of their lord's path, faces alight with anticipation and excitement. It was not every day that the House of Eorl welcomed a new horse. 

When Elfwine reached the largest stalls at the end of the hallway, he fair nearly vaulted over the gate on his way in. A horseman's instincts stilled him to gentleness though. Entering the second stall slowly, quietly, he took care not to disturb the laboring mare within. 

Even Elfwine's soft footfalls on the straw were enough for Almárëa to look back over her shoulder. Her long, glossy brown hair had been wound around her head in a braided crown, the better to keep it out of her way. Bits of straw clung to the hem of her green dress, and her cheeks were pink from having been out in the crisp March breeze. All-in-all, Almárëa fit right in, the scent of horse-hair and saddle leather included. Kneeling beside her was Héoda, one of the best of the Rohirrim when it came to overseeing spring foaling. 

Almárëa and Héoda both kept to the far edges of the stall so as not to crowd Swiftwing, the mare who was about to birth the foal of Elfwine's great stallion, Baldor. They would come no closer, but so great was the trust of the horses of Rohan in their folk that their presence served as a reassuring comfort to Swiftwing. Elfwine joined them, sinking to a knee next to Almárëa.

"How long since she went down to her side?" he asked, keeping his voice to a low murmur. Outside the stable, the gathered onlookers likewise whispered amongst themselves. 

"The first time, a half hour after you left for your meeting," replied Almárëa. She answered Elfwine's incredulous glance with a sideways smirk. "Héoda thought it best not to send for you until it was nearly time, lest your poor bookkeepers be left neglected all morning." 

Elfwine had no rebuttal, and instead had to content himself with grumbling under his breath. They were right; had he known, he would have left that dry meeting behind without a second thought. 

A sudden grunt and a strain from Swiftwing stole everyone's attention. The mare shifted a little away from them, and beneath her tail a single protruding hoof came into view. Elfwine had seen many, many foalings before, but he still sucked in a breath. Swiftwing was one of the finest horses in all of Rohan; a dappled grey mare with a romantically long white mane and elegant black legs. Everyone in Edoras had been looking forward to this moment ever since the day Swiftwing and Baldor had been mated. With such parents, the foal could be anything from magnificent to once-in-a-lifetime extraordinary. Nothing in life was certain though, life itself most especially, and so Héoda was not the only one watching Swiftwing's every move intently.

 Another grunt...a heave of her sides...and Swiftwing appeared to decide she was due for a little break. Settling down in the straw, she stretched out her neck toward the wall dividing the stalls. As if sensing his mate's struggles, Baldor appeared at the divider, his proud black head tossing side to side as he sniffed the air with interest. 

"It won't be long now, princess," whispered Héoda to Almárëa. 

Almárëa nodded, eyes fixed on the two horses. "Yes, I know." 

For a time Swiftwing rested, hardly anyone daring to breath amidst her heavy panting. It was warm in the stables, despite the last vestiges of winter clinging to the world outside. The scent of melting ice lingered in the rafters, mingling with the sweetness of fresh new straw in all the stalls. Almárëa's small, bare hands were visibly pink from chill though. On a whim, Elfwine bent his arm outward; an offering. Almárëa took the hint and wrapped her hands around the crook of his elbow. Her fingers were like ice, surprising Elfwine and prompting him to grimace dramatically. Almárëa responded by wrinkling her nose at him and pinching his forearm.