Archive of Our Own

The Queen had locked herself in her rooms and would see no one.

Not even the King.

Especially so not the King.

And then, sounding rather desperate, she sent for the Lady Éowyn.

Éowyn had just gone with Faramir for yet another lovely day of riding through the groves and the fields, to choose the ideal site for the manor of their Ithilien estate.

The summons was urgent, the messenger wide-eyed and cryptic. They galloped the entire way back - across the River Anduin to the White City, and then up all its winding circles to the royal quarters.

Aragorn was pacing by the doors in the main corridor - as far as he was permitted to go. He seemed to have misplaced his usual regal aloofness.

And further away, all of the Queen’s ethereal Elf-maidens huddling together, eyeing Éowyn as though she were the carrier of some arcane powers.

As Aragorn turned to greet Éowyn, the look on his face! So bewildered, and frightened, and envious - of her!

But then - on his cheekbone, just under his right eye…

“What happened?” she asked the King in a lowered voice, for everyone seemed to be speaking in lowered voices. It was not like the genteel queen to be openly distressed.

He only spread his arms helplessly. “Up until last night all seemed as usual, and on the morrow she awoke, went to freshen up - and kicked me out! And then all of the servants, and even her maidens, too.”

“Right,” Éowyn pursed her lips. “Is she hurt?”

“I… don’t think so? She shouldn’t be…”

Men - even kings, it would seem - never knew anything.

“Do you know why she wanted me?”

“She did not say.”

Did you ask?

Éowyn withheld a sigh.

She only wished she did not smell so much of horse as she gently knocked on the door to inform her majesty of her arrival.

“My lady?” Éowyn called cautiously as the heavy doors drew shut behind her.

Her voice echoed softly. The ceilings were immense in this place, the light so dim.

“Here!” came a voice from farther away, then added with obvious misery, “in the bedchamber.”

Éowyn made her way through the several antechambers and drawing rooms, her heart high in her throat. The Queen was so… like no other.

A tentative friendship was slowly beginning to blossom between them. The two of them were so different… And yet, as women of high birth now finding themselves in a foreign land - and with foreign husbands! - it made sense to try and stick together.

But to enter the royal bedchamber! To see the bed on which such private things took place…

Yet when she cautiously stepped through the doorway, and Arwen gazed up at her with her starry eyes full of tears and reached to her with her slender arms - Éowyn forgot all that, and rushed to her aid.

Éowyn took her by the hands and sat on the side of the bed where Arwen was propped up on many pillows - and dressed as though for mourning. Her raven hair was an absolute mess.

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Arwen covered her face with her hands.

She said something unintelligible.

“My lady…?” Éowyn allowed herself to touch her gently on the back. “… Arwen?”

Then Arwen leant forward in her nest of pillows and pronounced with sudden force and anger, “I said, I am dying! This place is killing me!”

But then she turned her tearful eyes to Éowyn again, and looked so lost.

Forgetting all protocols, Éowyn put her arms around her, and the Queen let her.

“I hate him,” she said in a quivering voice. “He did this to me. Oh, I should never have come!”

Éowyn felt panic starting to rise up in her. She recalled the bruised cut she noted but did not comment on, on Aragorn’s face. Has he… raised his hand at her?

“Are you in pain?” she began in a roundabout way.

“No…? I don’t - know?” the Queen sounded so confused, and her own confusion seemed to distress her even more.

“Where…?”

“I… my…” Arwen made a strained downward gesture somewhere at her body which could equally indicate chest, abdomen, or thighs. “I do not even know the mortal word for it… We… don’t talk of these places.”

“Your belly?” Éowyn offered gently, an inkling of understanding finally arriving. When the Queen tilted her head uncertainly, Éowyn was almost sure before she even asked, “Between the legs?”

Arwen nodded, both relieved and so embarrassed that tears finally rolled from her brimming eyes.

“It’s bleeding,” she whispered, her rosy lips trembling.

“How…?”

“It just started - this morning. And it won’t stop, I can’t make it stop! It’s soaking through everything…”

Ah. Hence the black dress.

Éowyn raked her mind for what she knew of the practical workings of immortal bodies, which was… not much, actually.

“Has this… not happened before?”

“Well…” Arwen sniffed. “When I - back when Estel and I first lay together, there was blood. Though not this much. And now - it just started again.”

“That’s…” Éowyn licked her lips. So, if Elf-women lost their maidenhead same as everyone else, then perhaps… “That’s probably different, my lady. This second one - I believe that’s your monthlies.”

Arwen looked over at her slowly, eyes wide.

“It means you are not with child,” Éowyn added, hoping this would help. It did not.

“How… how do you know these things?”

“Well,” Éowyn snorted softly, “I learned the hard way, too, actually. You see, I was raised by men, and of course they do not speak of it. My servant-women and nannies must have all thought someone else had already explained… Anyway,” she shook her head. “We all find out soon enough, when it happens.”

Arwen nodded slowly. “So, this happens to all mortal women.”

“I’m afraid so. At least it lets you know where you stand in regards to being with child.”

Arwen frowned. “Did you say… but why is it called monthlies? Am I - am I to have a day every month where I just - bleed, right from my life-gate?”

Éowyn sighed. “I do not know how it might be for your majesty, but daughters of Men… well, it usually lasts more than a day.”

Arwen looked resigned now, and even a bit more like her usual dignified self, as she raised her brows in a clear request to elaborate.

Éowyn sighed again. “A week - for some. Five days, maybe less if you are lucky.” She squeezed Arwen’s arm gently. “But there are ways to ease the discomfort, and not make it stain through everything. I had to wear white dresses most of my life, I would know.”

But the Queen was not listening.

“A week,” she repeated. “A week every month! I take it, there is… no cure?” she did not sound hopeful at this point.

Éowyn shook her head gently. “Only for a time, while you are expecting - which comes with its own… tolls. Or else, old age. We - women born mortal - have it for something close to half our lives.”

Arwen raised her eyes to the ceiling, positively exasperated now.

“No wonder you stay in these bodies for such a short while. Half a life - that would be thousands of years for us. I could not have a thousand years of - this!”

But just as Éowyn was about to offer her more comfort, suddenly she sat up taller and laughed, if a little darkly.

“Then I am not even sorry,” she said.

“My lady?”

“I do not know what came over me! But he looked so - I do not know… he irritated me! I yelled at him, I do not yell, it is uncouth, yet I did. But he just stood there, staring at me. He looked - useless! And I… ” she looked at Éowyn, her wet eyes glinting a little fey, “I pulled out my hairpin - and I threw it at him.”

“You… The cut in his face?”

“Oh, it is awful!” Arwen brought her fingertips to her mouth. “But I thought he would duck! He is a warrior! How could I catch him unawares?”

Perhaps his majesty had not been expecting to be attacked in the bedroom, Éowyn did not point out.

Instead, she hugged her again. “He was worried for you. I am sure he still is.”

Arwen sighed. “There is so much I did not know! Do you - do you think he knows… of these things?”

Éowyn considered it. “Probably - in theory, at least.”

“Oh, my poor Estel, he must think… ”

“Oh, he will be fine, my lady. And he will learn to look after you, in this as in other things. Now, why don’t we get you tidied up, and then if you wish, you can receive him.” Then a sudden thought struck her. “Or perhaps you would eat something first, have you broken your fast?”

For the first time, Arwen smiled.

“Oh, I could eat,” she said. “We don’t… usually need food that much - but today! I could have a tray of those sweet tarts, with the jam from Dol Amroth, all to myself. Although,” and she squeezed Éowyn’s hand, “it would be better if you shared them with me.”

Just a silly little vignette that would not leave till it got written down, but please do let me know if you enjoyed <3