S.A 2054
The white sails of the ships shimmered upon the gentle waves of the Great Sea, creating a scene of hope and uncertainty for those who watched from the shores. The exact number of ships remained unknown, but one could only imagine the multitude of vessels embarking on a westward journey to distant havens in Middle-Earth, seeking refuge from further travels. Elarion, one of the watchmen in Mithlond, tirelessly traveled across the neighboring lands, spreading news of the imminent voyage, ensuring that all would be prepared for the journey ahead.
Meanwhile, Orneth was plagued by sickness, her longing for Falchon causing a deep ache within her heart. The anticipation of any word from him was tangible, yet none had reached her. Falchon's army moved swiftly from place to place, making it a challenging task for messengers to keep up and deliver messages. Orneth was left to endure her solitude, yearning for any sign of his well-being.
Manyamë had been observing the changes in Orneth's well-being, and that evening, as they gathered in Orneth's house, Manyamë approached her with her concerns. "May I see your hands, please?" she softly requested. Orneth hesitated momentarily before reluctantly extending her hands. Her fingers felt numb and rigid, while her delicate and pale skin displayed an unusual translucency, revealing the veins coursing just beneath the surface. Manyamë's gaze shifted across Orneth's arms and hands. "Your skin appears thin, and your veins are visible," she murmured, her voice tinged with apprehension. "You have retained an excess of fluid in your body. When was the last time you bled?" Orneth's brow furrowed as she replied, "It has been quite some time. I believe it's just due to stress. Why do you ask?" Manyamë gently shook her head. "Orneth, you should be more attuned to your own body." A flush of shame washed over Orneth's cheeks as the weight of Manyamë's words sank in. "No, it can't be," she whispered, her voice trembling. Manyamë let out a deep breath, her features clouded with a mix of concern and frustration. "Orneth, you are pregnant. That's why you are experiencing these symptoms," she declared firmly. Orneth quickly added, "But we were so careful." Manyamë gripped Orneth's hands firmly, an incredulous look crossing her face. "Apparently, not careful enough," she reprimanded sternly.
Manyamë gazed at Orneth with a heavy heart. "I blame myself, dear friend. I sensed that something was wrong between the two of you, yet I failed to warn you," she confessed. Orneth's brow furrowed in confusion. "Warn me? About what?" she inquired. Manyamë's eyes filled with regret as she replied, "He is tormented, Orneth. That's why he can't find peace. He shares the same restless spirit as me, and we both carry certain burdens." Orneth remained deep in thought, a whirlwind of emotions stirring within her. "I already know this, Manyamë. But he is so much more than his struggles. He has a kind and remarkable soul," she defended. Manyamë listened to Orneth's words and responded, "But he is a deeply troubled soul, my dearest friend. He struggles with self-love. You and he are very different, Orneth, and while I understand that you feel you know him, there are many wounds that need healing within both of us before we can truly love someone else."
Orneth was overwhelmed by the weight of Manyamë's words, realizing that they implied he would never be capable of loving someone else until he found himself and learned to love himself. She reluctantly accepted the truth of the situation, although her own circumstances proved even more difficult to come to terms with. She struggled to find joy in her own pregnancy, and as the months passed, she felt increasingly isolated and a sense of despair crept over her.
During the waning days of late spring, the weather remained harsh and unforgiving. Manyamë, burdened with stress, darted around the house while Giril, visibly worn out from countless sleepless nights, struggled to keep up. Naerchanar, determined to find healers for Orneth's suffering, set out for the nearby village of Côf Lingwimo, leaving Oldaer and Thandir to tend to the farmlands. Orneth had been confined to her bed for days, enduring excruciating agony as her body was tormented by unbearable pain. In brief moments of clarity, she glimpsed Manyamë's desperate distress and Giril's futile attempts to find any signs of the child. Suddenly, the door swung open, and Naerchanar and Demdor rushed in, their arrival accompanied by a gust of cold wind. Naerchanar spoke urgently, "I searched the village, but no healers could be found. However, I encountered Demdor, who possesses extensive experience in assisting with the births of farm animals. I hope you don't mind that he is a male." Orneth glanced up at Demdor, her eyes immediately drawn to the depths of his ocean-blue gaze. She felt somewhat relieved and let out a sigh as she replied, "It is fine." As Demdor began to speak, Orneth's attention drifted, and she struggled to focus on his words. Meanwhile, Giril and the others diligently followed his instructions, bustling around the room with a sense of urgency. Demdor had brought the necessary equipment, and Orneth could hear the sound of tools as he started to assist her.
As Orneth's eyes fluttered open, she found herself in a room bathed in sunlight, the events of the previous night etched vividly in her mind. She remembered witnessing Giril's stumble towards the door and the searing pain that surged through her body. Her dress and legs were stained with crimson, a stark reminder of the blood that had flowed. Demdor and Giril had labored to extract something from her, and in that moment, a flash of lightning had illuminated the room. Then, she had heard the piercing cry of a newborn, before darkness enveloped her. Now, as she surveyed the empty room, a dryness settled in her mouth, and a deep thirst for water consumed her. Despite her attempts to speak, her voice failed her. She cast her eyes down to the blanket covering her, now pristine white and devoid of the telltale signs of bloodshed. Yet, amidst her thirst, her thoughts gravitated towards her child. Where was the baby? An impulse to rise surged within her, but it was swiftly quelled by searing pain that emanated from her stomach and coursed through her body. She sank back onto the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, the memory of the formless red mass still haunting her. Deep within her being, Orneth harbored the knowledge that no infant could have survived such a birth. A profound sadness washed over her, as she grappled with the reality of her loss. Days and nights had been spent in a struggle to expel the remnants of her pregnancy, each passing moment weighed down by an immeasurable grief. A solitary tear traced a path down her cheek as she tenderly touched her now empty stomach.
At that moment, the door creaked open, and Orneth was greeted by Giril's radiant smile, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Orneth couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of her—a stunning being with fiery red locks and piercing green eyes. Suddenly, Thandir burst into the room, his voice brimming with excitement. "She's awake!" Orneth furrowed her brow in confusion. "How long was I asleep?" she inquired. Giril's voice filled the space, "You have been in a deep slumber for five days." Orneth shook her head in disbelief. "What?" Giril's smile wavered momentarily as she continued, "You lost a significant amount of blood. We feared for your life. Demdor has been keeping watch over you day and night." Giril gently took Orneth's hand as they heard a slight knock on the door. The door opened once again, and one by one, Oldaer, Naerchanar, and Demdor entered the room, their faces expressing relief. Naerchanar's voice was filled with concern, "Lady Orneth, we have been deeply worried. You appear surprisingly well."
Naerchanar turned to Demdor and said, "Thank you immensely. We know you have other obligations. How can we repay you?" Demdor's gaze lingered on Orneth, his tone sincere, "Rarely have I been involved in saving a life like this. Merely seeing you alive and well, Lady Orneth, is more than enough for me."
Orneth experienced a warmth that spread throughout her body upon hearing Demdor's words, and she responded with a heartfelt smile. However, her gaze soon shifted to the spot where her baby should have been, and her heart sank. Despite her exhaustion and the lingering pain in her body, she reminded herself that it was for the best. The room fell into silence, indicating everyone's joy at Orneth's survival. At that moment, Manyamë entered the room, appearing like an ancient goddess in a red silk robe, her hair elegantly flowing down her back. She wore a smile on her face and cradled something wrapped in white cloth in her arms. Orneth's heart filled with anticipation as she gracefully lifted herself up, her eyes fixed on the delicate bundle before her. It stirred slightly, emitting soft, melodic sounds that touched her soul. Manyamë's gentle voice broke the hushed silence, capturing Orneth's attention. "Orneth, my courageous warrior, as is this little one. She is the epitome of health and possesses immense strength." Orneth's gaze returned to the bundle, and as she reached for it, a wave of emotion overwhelmed her, and she spontaneously said, "Is it a she? A little princess?" Manyamë tenderly nodded, met with a grateful smile from Orneth, as she placed the bundle into Orneth's trembling arms. Orneth cautiously unveiled the cloth, revealing a tiny face adorned with striking silver-grey eyes that mirrored her father's. A warm, heavenly scent enveloped her senses, and she felt her heart overflow with love for this tiny being.
Her heart-shaped face mirrored Manyamë's, but to Orneth's astonishment, the infant's locks were not the expected raven hue but rather a golden shade that shimmered in the light. Orneth's voice trembled with emotion as she whispered, "My beloved Falchiel," she murmured. "By naming you Falchiel, I honor your father's legacy, passing on his strength and valor to you." The significance of her daughter's name resonated deeply within her, a testament to the enduring power of familial bonds. Turning to Demdor, Orneth's eyes sparkled with gratitude and admiration. "Your expertise and care in bringing Falchiel into this world have granted me an immeasurable gift," she expressed, her voice brimming with emotion. "Therefore, I beseech you, Demdor, to be her godfather, to guide and protect her throughout her life. It would be the greatest honor you could bestow upon us." Demdor's eyes filled with warmth and understanding as he beheld the mother and child before him. "Your wish is my command, Orneth," he responded solemnly and resolutely. "I vow to be the unwavering guardian and mentor of little Falchiel for as long as I draw breath."
Picture AI-generated from Microsoft Bing DALL·E
