"An t-uisge mu dheireadh a lìonas am baraillean" – The Last Drop That Fills the Barrel

  Rohan, August 1, 67 F.A.

  The night was cold as I turned the small vial in my hands. The glass felt smooth—too smooth, as if it might slip from my fingers at any moment. Mairwen had procured it for me. "Just a few drops, Your Majesty," she had whispered as she pressed it into my palm. "It will help. At least until you’re with child again."

  I opened the stopper and sniffed. The scent was bitter, almost metallic, like blood and earth. I hesitated. I knew I was playing a dangerous game. For nights, I had barely slept. Always the same dream: hands tearing at me, a sharp pain between my legs. The mere thought of what awaited me that night sent my heart racing. With trembling fingers, I let two drops fall into my wine. The liquid darkened slightly, as if whispering that I had made a pact with something dark. I drained the goblet in one gulp and silently begged Eru for forgiveness. Then I waited.

  After a while, my limbs grew heavy, and the fear that had haunted me for days slowly receded. It wasn’t happiness, just a dull, comforting emptiness.

  When Théodred arrived later, I was ready. We exchanged a few words, then I let myself sink onto the bed and submitted. His touches were there, but distant, as if I felt them through thick fabric. His voice reached me muffled, as if I were underwater. It was bearable. Almost.

  August 2, 67 B.C.

  I woke with a strange taste in my mouth, as if I had swallowed ash. My head was heavy, and the light seeping through the curtains felt like a thousand needles pricking my eyes. Had Théodred mentioned when he would return? I couldn’t even remember when he had left. I sat up in bed. Mairwen opened the door and brought me water and a piece of bread. It tasted of nothing.

  "You’re pale, Your Majesty," Mairwen noted quietly as she helped me dress.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I forced myself to begin the day. The council meeting was exhausting. The nobles’ voices sounded distant, as if reaching me from afar. I signed documents without reading them, nodding at the right times even though I barely understood what was being said.

  "Your Majesty, the Eorlingas request an audience soon," one of the councilors said in Rohirric. I understood his words, but they made no sense.

  "Speak Gàidhlig, damn you!" I snapped, louder than intended. The men exchanged irritated glances. I felt my face flush, but I couldn’t take it back. For the rest of the session, everyone made a concerted effort to speak Gàidhlig, but many struggled to find the right words or had to rephrase, dragging the meeting on endlessly.

  That evening, Théodred returned, and I had cautiously taken a few more drops than the night before. "I’ve heard about your outburst in the council. That wasn’t wise," he said. Suddenly, I noticed his hands on my shoulders. "You should impress them with your Rohirric, not anger them." His words barely registered. "Mh. Yes. Maybe." The effect was stronger today, but so were the side effects. My mouth was dry, my thoughts muddled. When he touched me, I hardly noticed. It was as if I were observing my own body from far away.

  "Remember not to alienate the council again tomorrow," he remarked as he dressed afterward. I didn’t answer and closed my eyes in relief as the door shut behind him.

  August 3, 67 B.C.

  I woke feeling as if someone were hammering against my skull. My stomach cramped, and I lurched to the chamber pot, retching. Mairwen was already there with a damp cloth, pressing it to my forehead. "You’ve hardly slept, Your Majesty,"she said. "And you’ve eaten nothing." I shook my head. The mere thought of food made me gag. "Just bring me water and dress me." She obeyed silently, but I saw the worry in her eyes. Once dressed, my hands trembled.

  The audience with the Eorlingas was torture. Their voices reached me as if through cotton, blurred and incomprehensible. I forced myself to sit upright. One of the elders spoke of border conflicts with the Dunlendings, but his words dissolved into unintelligible noise. "Your Majesty, what is your decision?" he finally asked.

  I blinked. "Double the guards. At the border." My voice sounded alien, as if it didn’t belong to me. The council table seemed to shift beneath my hands. I reached for my goblet, but my fingers trembled so badly I spilled some of the wine. The men exchanged glances. "Are you certain you’re well, Your Majesty?" one dared to ask.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Of course," I lied and took a sip. The wine tasted of nothing. "I’m just tired."

  That evening, when Théodred returned, I had already taken four drops. The world around me was blurred, as if seen through a veil. His touches seemed to happen far away, but my heart still raced.

  "You’re trembling," he noted, brushing a strand of hair from my face. He had dressed again and sat down beside me on the bed. "Are you ill?"

  "Just tired," I murmured, hoping to get rid of him before the effect wore off. He said something else, but I simply fell asleep.

  August 4, 67 F.A.

  The first thing I noticed was Mairwen’s hand on my forehead. My head pounded as if someone had struck my temples. The light filtering through the curtains was too bright, like a dagger. I groaned and tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t obey. "You’re awake, Your Majesty," Mairwen whispered. "You scared us all."

  I tried to sit up, but my body refused. "What... what happened?" I croaked.

  "You collapsed in the council chamber," she said. "Your mother called for the healer. He says you took something that made you ill."

  I closed my eyes. Of course. She knows.

  "Where is my mother?"

  "She’s waiting outside. She wants to speak with you."

  I felt my throat tighten. "And my husband?"

  "He’s on his way."

  She adjusted the pillows behind me, propped me into a semi-upright position, and trickled some water into my mouth. Then she left me alone.

  The door opened, and Mother entered. Her face was a mix of anger and disappointment. She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze boring into me.

  "What did you take, Celebrian?" Her voice was icy but not loud. That only made it worse.

  I avoided her eyes. "Something for the pain."

  "Pain?" She grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. "What pain?"

  I hesitated. "I couldn’t... I couldn’t bear the nights."

  Alyndra let go of me and stood up. She walked to the window and looked out, as if searching for words. "You take tinctures to numb yourself?" Her voice was quiet now, but cutting. "Do you know what that does to you? To Rohan? To your son? If anyone finds out—"

  "I didn’t know what else to do!" I burst out. "I couldn’t think clearly, I feared every shadow!"

  She turned around. "And now? Are you better?" She gestured at me. "Look at yourself. You can barely sit up!"

  I felt tears welling up. "I needed it. I needed something to... to let me rest."

  Alyndra sat down beside me again. "You will stop. Today. No more tinctures. No more numbness."

  "And if I can’t?"

  "Then you will anyway. Because I won’t let you destroy everything."

  I nodded slowly. Mother took a few deep breaths, and I thought I saw her hands trembling. "The official story is that you have a fever. We’ll talk more about this. But not now. Gather your strength. As soon as you’re better, you’ll make your confession." I agreed, and Mother left me alone.

  I must have fallen asleep, because the soft creak of the door startled me awake. Théodred entered the room. His face was a mix of concern and irritation. He stood in the doorway, studying me.

  "Your mother says you took poison," he began without preamble. "Is that true?"

  There was no point in lying. "Yes."

  "Why?" His voice was calm, but I heard the undertone. "Why would you do such a thing?"

  "Because I couldn’t bear it," I whispered. "The nights... You."

  He stepped closer, his face twisting in anger. "You take poison to endure me?" His voice was sharp now. "And in doing so, you destroy yourself and everything your father built?" I nodded without looking at him. "I didn’t know what else to do."

  He studied me for a long time. "I don’t want a wife who has to numb herself to live with me," he said finally. I felt something inside me clench. "Did you ever stop to think of the consequences? You would have killed yourself, sooner or later!"

  I wanted to say something, but he didn’t let me. "I’ve seen women do what you did. Not in Rohan. In the villages beyond the fords, where orcs raid. They started with a few drops to forget the pain. In the end, they forgot everything, even why they were still alive. Some just vanished. Others destroyed themselves." He ran a hand through his hair and looked me in the eye. "But those were peasant women. Not queens."

  I fell silent, abashed. My head throbbed, and I caught myself wishing I could sink back into the dulled state of numbness.

  "I expect you to stop. To learn to live with what is." He stood up. "And to fulfill your duties. As my wife. As queen. As mother."

  "I’ll try," I said.

  Théodred nodded. "Good. Then I’ll help you." He walked to the door but turned around one last time.

  "But if you relapse, Celebrian, I will take measures. If I must, I will put my people and my son above a princess of Arnor who destroys herself."

  I felt a chill. "What do you intend to do?"

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked weary. "We won’t have to find out if you keep our agreement. I know the place Eru has ordained for me in this world. I hope you know yours as well." With that, he left the room.

  Alyndra stayed in Meduseld longer than planned. She had the healer bring me herbal tea to ease the withdrawal. It wasn’t an easy process. My body rebelled, and my thoughts were a whirlwind of chaos at times. But every time I weakened, Mother reminded me that I had to stop.

  "You are a queen. And you will survive."