Morning Chats

by MerryK

“Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them.” —Richard L. Evans

Grateful for the big blue rug on the floor of his mother’s room, Turion made his way forward as quietly as he could. Ada was a Ranger, and could move silently, but though Turion often attempted to be like his father, today he was being quiet for another reason. Ada had asked them all at breakfast to be very quiet, for Mama was sick in bed and would not appreciate loud noises. It had been said in that distinct tone that Ada used when he asked questions that were really commands in disguise. Beren called it the “Captain” tone, after hearing that his father had been Captain of the Ithilien Rangers.

So Turion was being quiet. He worked his way next to his father and mother’s great bed, but was unfortunately too short at three years to see up over it. He did not want to disturb his mother if she was sleeping or too sick, so he decided to test if she was awake.

“Mama?” he whispered. There was a rustling of sheets, and then a questioning: “Hmm?” from the bed.

Gathering his little courage, Turion called out a little louder: “Mama?”

Eowyn had woken that morning with a feeling she had grown all too used to, and told Faramir with a green face that she was too ill to make it to breakfast. A father of four with another on the way, Faramir needed no further comment, and gave her a sympathetic squeeze before going to inform his progeny of the orders of the day.

But as the morning had begun to fail, Eowyn’s nausea followed suit, and she had been just about to get out of bed when the little voice had reached her.

“Mama?” it asked, and she answered: “Who is it?”

“Tuwion,” came the voice.

Smiling some at the sweet tone of her littlest, she answered: “Come up on the bed, my little love, so that I can see you.”

“I can’t. I am too 'mall.”

Eowyn scooted a little closer to the edge and, leaning down, saw the great blue eyes of Turion looking plaintively upwards. “Up you come,” she said, reaching down for him.
His worried look melted into a smile as he put answering arms up to hers. He was then brought to her side, where he wiggled quickly under the blankets and hugged her. Ignoring the cold little feet, she asked: “What did you want?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said, his voice muffled from burying it in her side.

“I am glad you did. It is very dull in here,” she answered. Though dull was an improvement. During her pregnancy with Elboron she had nearly gone insane from being bedridden, so much did it make her feel caged, but Faramir had reminded her that being bedridden was not always bad: had it not been for the Houses of Healing, she would not be in a position to have a child. That calmed her nerves quite a bit, even if she thought it rather manipulative of him to bring that up. But this was her fifth pregnancy, and though she had gotten beyond being antsy, it was still dreadfully wearying.

Turion looked up and said understandingly: “I know. I am sick sometimes, too.”

Then his face looked more puzzled, and his eyes scanned the round curve of her belly. His head tipped to one side, and he put his little hand on it curiously. Then he said:

“Is thewe a baby in thewe?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Your new brother or sister.”

“How did it get thewe?” asked Turion.

After answering this question three times before with her other curious children, Eowyn did not have to think before responding: “Ada and I loved each other so much, that we decided to make a baby.”


“It is a secret.”


“Because you are too small to understand.”

“Why did you want a baby?”

“Why would we not?” asked Eowyn, genuinely surprised by this question.

“Because I don’t want one,” said Turion, as if that explained everything.

“Why do you not?” asked Eowyn.

“I don’t like bwothers or sisters,” said Turion firmly. “They are only annoying.”

“Only?” asked Eowyn, tickling his chin a little. “Even when they tell you stories?”

“No...” said Turion slowly. “But they don’t tell me lots of stowies.”

”I had a brother who told me no stories at all, but he was not annoying. Well, not much, anyway.” Eowyn knew she was fudging a little, but she was very fond of Eomer and would not downplay him to his nephew.

“But he wasn’t like my bwothers,” answered Turion darkly.

Deciding to try no further reasoning with a three-year-old, Eowyn said: “Well, this one will not be annoying, I am sure. Would you like it to be a brother or a sister?”

Turion frowned. “I don’t like bwothers, they always win games.”

“Perhaps it will be a sister, then. What shall we call her?”

“Luthien!” said Turion energetically, bouncing a little. “I like that name.”

“Oh dear,” said Eowyn sadly. “I am afraid that the Queen would not like that. Luthien was her great-great grandmother.”

“Weally?” said Turion, eyes wide. “She must be vewy old!”

“I think so,” said Eowyn with a twinkle in her eye. "Ancient, maybe."

“How old exactly?”

“Why do you not ask her when you see her?” Eowyn decided this would be payback for the time when Eldarion asked her if she was really a hero who just pretended to be a woman. “Do you like any other names, Tur-tur?”

“Find-oo-las is nice,” said Turion with the tone of a connoisseur.

Eowyn, even more sadly, said: “That was your grandmother’s name. I do not think we should use it again.”

“Then what name can we have?” asked Turion, flopping back onto the pillow with a frustrated sigh.

“What if we make a new name?” suggested Eowyn, amusedly patient. “Names are not hard to make. Just think, what things do you think a sister would like to do?”

“Giwls like to sing,” said Turion.

“Yes, they often do,” agreed Eowyn. “If we were to make that a name, we could call her Liriel. Is that not a pretty name?”

Turion thought for a moment, then frowned a little. “Not weally,” he said. “It is too 'mall.”

“Hmm. What if she was an elf singer? Elliriel?”

Turion nodded. “I like it. I think I want that name for my sister.”

“We will see,” said Eowyn. But the name was pleasing to her ears, and rang true with her motherly instinct.

“Mama? If we name the baby an elf, will she live fowever?”

“No, love,” said Eowyn. She looked out the window at the position of the sun. “Turion? My love? I do like snuggling with you, but it is time for Mama to get up and do her work.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Turion, disappointed that he must leave the warm blankets.

But he was not done, for on the way to the door he turned around and asked: “Mama?”


”Why is the baby not in Ada?”

And with a quick move, Eowyn planted a kiss in her little one’s hair and gently pushed him out the door as she said: “Because.”

Turion sighed, for the door was shut before he could ask why. Well, there was always Ada to answer questions...

The End