How did it come to this?
Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened...
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Chapter 52
The day passed, and no word came. Edoras remained gripped by a tension so thick that Théadain swore she could feel herself breathing it in. Even her brief reprieve that afternoon, tucked in Aragorn's arms sharing whispers of reassurance and tender kisses could not chase away what waited for them beyond the sanctuary of time spent alone. Their embrace had been broken by a call of her name in the city below, a guard sent to find her for Éomer. Reluctantly she had pulled away from him, but not before he had tugged her close once more and kissed her so soundly her lips still tingled with the memory, never mind the way the beat of her heart quickened as she remembered his whispered promise of returning to her that night.
That thought had been determined to distract her throughout the evening, as she spent hours pouring over maps with Éomer in the Golden Hall, trying to determine the best approach to Minas Tirith. The memory of warm breath at her ear, the gentle scratch of stubble on her jaw clouded her thoughts, to the point where she finally excused herself to her room and called for water to be brought so she could bathe.
She had never been so easily distracted before, not by thoughts of a man or anything else. It bewildered her, the fact that she could hardly focus on her previously all-consuming thoughts of battle and planning. As she closed over her door to the world beyond and sank into the hot water, she mused that, were they not trapped in the clutches of war, would she not chastise herself for thinking of him? In times of peace she had never considered the thought of being in love, not seriously, but if she had done, would she allow herself to daydream? To linger on stolen moments with the man she loved and imagine those yet to come?
She could not imagine it, she had been so singularly focused on her role as a Marshal, she had never allowed herself the entertain thoughts of romance. Those rare occasions that she had given in to curiosity, she had always been disappointed, and fearful thoughts of leaving herself vulnerable to the whims of another were never far from her thoughts. No man had ever been worth the pain she had so often seen accompany love, nor that anxious worry in the days and weeks following a night of ale and the misguided desire for company as she waited to make sure she was not about to bring another bastard child into the world.
Yet Aragorn was worth it. She had already felt the pain of losing him, that day he had tumbled over the cliff edge during the battle with the wargs, and whilst the thought of losing him permanently stirred such a powerful wave of fear and panic within her, she could push it away. Loving him and being loved in return was worth enduring the fear of loss. The other worry had not even crossed her mind, in fact until that moment, idly staring up at the ceiling as she lay submerged in the water, she had not even considered the prospect that she could well be carrying his child.
Her throat tightened with panic momentarily, sitting up in the water as she frowned at the far wall of her room. It was possible - unlikely - highly so, now that she considered it... Yet still a possibility. As the thought settled on her, what surprised her most was that she didn't find the prospect as horrifying as she had always imagined. Yes, the thought of carrying a child frightened her as must as the prospect of reliving every battle she had ever endured – in fact she might rather face all of those foes once more if it meant avoiding the ordeal that had claimed the lives of both her mother and stepmother, and countless other women throughout time. Yet, beyond that, the thought of Aragorn's child...
