I'm publishing this oneshot here, as opposed to in Harmindon's Finest, because it's not directly related to the main story. It's an epilogue chapter of sorts, so enjoy!

(By the way, GreenScholarTales I hope you don't mind my blatant borrowing of the name Marden, it's the Medlithor family tradition of names beginning with M that gets me)

•●•●•●•

The afternoon was waning, and Marden, seven years of age, was beginning to get worried. He had been sitting on the cold stone doorstep for some time, waiting.

"Did your father say he would be this late?" Elandil asked eventually. He was in the same class at school as the other boy and was quite good friends with him.

"No," Marden admitted, leaning his curly head against the door frame and watching the King's grandson swinging a long stick he'd found on a walk through the forest of Ithilien. He'd rarely so much as held a blade, but from watching his father and uncles, he swung it about with some skill already. "He said he would come when he could. Mother and the baby are still very ill, you know."

"I'm sorry," Elandil said, dropping the stick and rubbing the back of his head.

"He has other things to think about. You can go home now if you want."

"No. I'm staying here - we can't be out alone after dark. My father will come looking for me and then he can take you home too."

At that moment, the door opened and Marden sprang up, nearly falling back down again from the sudden onslaught of pins and needles in his legs. Tharanir, their teacher, looked surprised.

"Still here, boys? Be off with you now. Anybody would think you'd enjoy staying the night at school."

Marden began to explain in his quiet voice, but Elandil interrupted. "We would most certainly not! Good evening, sir!" he cried cheerfully, and hauled Marden out onto the street before he could say a word of complaint.

"What did you do that for? Master Tharanir's not such a bad old stick really. He would have let me wait in the schoolroom."

"Perhaps, but admit it, he would bore you to pieces with lectures of second-age geography or something equally dull." The two boys started to walk up the cobbled streets of Minas Tirith, already half in shadow from the setting sun. Prince Elandil got some bemused side-looks and polite nods from passerbys. Marden walked with his shoulders hunched slightly, rubbing his thumbs.

"Elandil!" A call came from up the street. It was Prince Eldarion, still in his armour, striding down the hill toward the two boys. "What are you doing, hmm? I recollect you promising to come home straight after school. How can I trust you to be independent if you - oh, good evening, Marden."

Marden bowed his head politely.

"I couldn't leave him alone, Father," Elandil said. That seemed to be all the explanation Eldarion needed, as his eyes swept the young boy with a hint of worry.

"Go home, ion-nin - your mother will worry. Lalaith has already been there an hour. Mind you go straight there, no detours, do you understand me?"

Elandil nodded, and dashed off after thumping Marden's shoulder in a friendly fashion.

Eldarion looked at Marden, who looked at the ground.

"Would you like to go home?" Eldarion asked gently. "Or would you like to stay the night with Elandil? Malbeth talked to me today, he said it may be for the best."

"Go home!" Marden looked up in alarm. "I need to see Mother! That is - your Grace - please might I go home?"

"Very well. Would you like me to come with you?"

"No thank you, your Grace." The Captain of Gondor watched the young boy hurry away. He took after his father in many ways, tall and soft-spoken, with his mother's high Haradrim cheekbones and curly black hair - the makings of a good, brave man. Eldarion shivered as he thought of what Malbeth had told him that afternoon.

Barahir's birth had been traumatic enough for Eruthiawen, that much Eldarion knew. But it seemed a Valar-sent miracle that Lady Jeddah had survived her second childbirth at all. The rumours that Malbeth's wife was clinging to life as though by one of her many embroidery threads had flown though the gossip mills of Minas Tirith in days past. And it was all for nothing, Malbeth had said more bitterly than Eldarion had ever heard the usually positive, cheerful man ever speak. The baby was born too early and it was doubtful it would live much longer.

Eldarion turned to go home, to his wife and children and warm hearth, sending - as he did every day - a thankful prayer to the Valar for all that made his life worth living.

•●•●•●•

Marden tried to slip in through a side door, unseen, but came face-to-face with his aunt Miarka almost immediately, undoing her apron, very flustered.

"Darling, I am so, so sorry - I was just about to go to collect you - I assumed Malbeth -"

"Probably he assumed you would collect me," Marden smiled faintly. "Please, xaltî Miarka, how is Mother today?"

"She is sleeping now, my pet - the fever has broken, thank the Golden Serpent for that - she is at peace now." Miarka smiled with more effort than it had ever taken in her life. Her young heart had taken a heavy blow in the last few days - it was in a phase where it was unsure whether it would ever laugh again. "Lunch was some time ago, you must be looking for food. There is some bread and cheese - cold chicken if you feel up for it -"

"I'm not really that hungry, xaltî Miarka. Can I see Mother?"

"- I baked some apples with honey - they might be cold now, but still sweet. They're your favourite. Also -"

"Miarka - Mother! Can I see her? Please?"

Miarka hesitated.

"Come, then. Be very quiet."

The house was silent as the young Haradrim woman and her nephew slipped upstairs as silently as possible. The stairs did not creak, as they were softly carpeted. One of the midwife's apprentices, folding linen with a maidservant in a guest room, whispering softly, did not notice them. The lamps were dim, but the chief light came from the scarlet sunset spreading steadily across the sky, flooding the house through he windows with its brilliance. On the second landing, Miarka stopped.

Marden went on ahead bravely, and tapped on the door with his small, childish knuckles. It was so soft, it probably did not carry through the door, so there was no response.

He pushed open the door as silently as possible.

There were two people in the room. His mother, asleep on the bed as Miarka had reported, and his father was also out cold in a chair by the bed, his hair glowing in the scarlet sunlight filling the room. The cradle, at the foot of the bed, was silent.

Marden tiptoed over to the bed.

The sheets were white and pristine, and one of his mother's hands lay there motionless. Her hair was spread across the pillow, her face clear of worry and perfectly at peace - and her chest rising and falling gently. The fever had broken, like Miarka had said.

Marden took hold of her hand, almost having to stand on his toes to reach - the bed was huge and soft, the mattress stuffed with the best goosedown.

"Mama," he whispered softly. "Dêde - wake up for me."

Jeddah opened her eyes so suddenly Marden nearly jumped back in surprise. She did not smile, yet, but her eyes were softer than usual.

"Your hand is cold," she whispered. Malbeth stirred in his chair.

"Sorry," Marden muttered under his breath, and withdrew it.

"No - hold my hand, darling. Tell me -" she took a moment to steady her breaths. "Tell me how your day was."

"We learned about King Elessar in school, and -" in a monotone, as though reciting - "how his reign has improved life in Gondor after the War."

"That sounds complicated," Jeddah whispered sympathetically.

"Oh, indeed it was. The twins were so funny, of course - they know all this already, naturally - imagine learning about your own grandfather," Marden giggled, so relieved was he to talk to his mother again. "Lalaith went home straight after school but Elandil stayed behind to keep me company until Tharanir chased us away."

Jeddah's lips twitched. Not a proper smile yet. Her face ached, and she shivered, though the room was quite warm. The embers of the fire glowed, and the windows had been shut since a brief rain-shower that afternoon.

"Come and kiss me, darling," she whispered. Marden hesitated, and climbed onto the bed in such a way he wouldn't disturb the mattress by clinging to the bedstead with his toes. He had to grip his mother's hands fairly firmly to keep his balance as he quickly pressed his lips to his mother's smooth forehead, but if it pained Jeddah, she made no sound.

At this moment, the cradle stirred as the baby began to stir, whimpering restlessly.

Malbeth was awake in an instant and scooped up his newborn daughter. She was so small she could have fitted in one steady hand, had he not handled her as carefully as a fragile glass spider's web, holding her close to his chest and supporting her head as he soothed her back to sleep.

"How is she?" Jeddah croaked, struggling to sit up. Marden slipped onto firm ground again and looked to his father in alarm.

Malbeth skilfully manoeuvred the baby girl - already falling back asleep - onto one arm and pushed Jeddah's shoulder back onto the pristine pillows with gentle firmness.

"Don't worry yourself so, my petal - see for yourself, she breathes more easily by the hour."

He gave the baby to her mother, and she nestled close to her chest and fell properly asleep. Jeddah finally smiled.

Marden stepped back to observe the scene.

"Have you thought of a name for her?" Malbeth asked tentatively.

"Actually, yes," Jeddah said, seeming more awake. "I would like to call her Nadiya. That was Grandmother's name. It means hope."

"Nadiya. Do you know, I like it. What about you, Marden?"

"Nadiya." Marden came back to the bed and looked in wonder at his new-born sister, for the first time. "She's very small," he added doubtfully.

"Would it surprise you to know you were once that small?" Malbeth grinned.

"I was never!"

"Indeed you were, son. Come here."

As carefully as possible, Marden chambered up onto the bed, curling into a ball next to his mother. He stuck out a hand and stroked his sister's head, covered in soft hair like a little duckling.

They stayed like that for a while in silence, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars came out. Marden was hustled out by Miarka, yawning, and taken to his own bed. Nadiya's next feed would not be for another hour or so, and still she slept deeply.

"She must be tired out, poor little thing," Jeddah whispered.

"I'm not surprised. It's been a hard first week, but she's a fighter, and no mistake. She gets that from her mother," Malbeth smiled, putting his arm around them. "She will be the brightest star in all of Erynos."

"I agree. Have you though much more about the move?"

"You should not. You are still unwell, my love."

"I need distraction," Jeddah complained half-heartedly, struggling to sit up. Again, Malbeth pushed her down so gently she hardly felt it.

"That may be. But now, you need sleep. We can discuss this when you are well enough, if you are determined to do so."

Jeddah nodded, eyes already sliding shut. Malbeth's voice was so soft, the room was so warm, little Nadiya was so much warmer and more alive, breathing easily, and ever Jeddah could breathe easier now that her fever had dropped and she was beginning to recover. Malbeth crept from the room, leaving them to rest.

"Good night, my petal," he whispered.

"Good night," Jeddah murmured, asleep almost immediately.

•●•●•●•