Post by Loendal on Jan 30, 2010 1:32:28 GMT -5
“You must push, Merril… You must push NOW!” cried the midwife, and the answering scream from the woman lying prone on the bed before her acknowledged the demand. Outside, the gentlemen paced quickly back and forth jumping with a gasp as his wife screamed out in pain. The older man sitting nearby in a robe of yellow chuckled quietly and looked up to the younger man.
“You must relax, Emmit.. This is normal, especially for the first born child. This is childbirth, lad, and it’s never pretty. You fear too much, people have been having children long before you and her!” Another shriek of pain echoed from the room behind the door and Emmit stopped and stared at the doorway.
His deeds had earned him captain’s stripes and the commendation of the church. He was well on his way to becoming one of the church’s foremost paladins at the behest of the bishops themselves, who had witnessed his valor and skill on the field firsthand. His increased pay and ranking within the hierarchy had finally allowed him and Merril, his young wife, to own a fine home and be well off enough to maintain it and much land around it. He had high hopes for this child, whom the mystics had determined was a boy.
It was customary to take one’s husbands to bed before and after battle. Before; in case he fell in battle that there would be a bloodline to maintain and afterward in celebration upon their safe return. He had seen many battles over the past few years, and had taken advantage of this custom whenever he possibly could and yet this was the first time they had actually managed to bear fruit. It was unusual, they said, that things were so difficult for them but at long last God had deemed them worthy to have a child this time. He was as proud as any new father could be; even more because it had taken so long to finally conceive.
With the blessed event finally have happened, they returned to their plans for a large family; back to their plans for a table full of children as Merril had always dreamed of and Emmit had slowly warmed to the idea of. He liked the idea of having many who would remember him as father.
He ran a hand through his straw-colored hair and sighed wearily. “Does it always take this long, though? She’s been in there for hours! What if something’s wrong? You can assure me this woman you have sent for knows what she is doing, yes?” The mystic, who was named Donavon, laughed and got to his feet, coming over to lay a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Of course I’m sure! She’s one of our best midwives, having ushered no less then 30 children into this world. Many of whom you call friends and comrades in arms and even a few of your commanders. She knows her business well”
“Why can’t I be there to help? I cannot stand that sound!” As if on cue, Merril let out another wail of pain, sobbing at the effort involved. Her cry was answered by the patient, scratchy voice of the midwife: “You’re doing fine… Breathe now... Steady... Steady…”
The mystic turned Emmit away from the door and ushered him towards the window.
“There are places that men have no business in being, and this is one of them. I promise you. I have seen some births in my time, when there were no midwives available and I can assure you that it is no pleasant thing.” He led the knight over to the window and opened up the panes to let in some fresh air. Emmit blew out a lung full of air and leaned on the windowsill, watching the wind blow the dry leaves of fall around the courtyard of their home. He failed to notice the calm silence from behind him until it was broken by the doorway slamming open and the midwife’s voice cutting through it with the authority of the most dominant of field commanders. “You! Boy!” she pointed to Emmit “Go and fetch old Nell, I need her here immediately! Run, boy, RUN!” she turned to Donavon, thrusting a finger at him “You! Inside, now!” she pointed back behind her and Donavon clasped Emmit’s shoulder tightly, a look of concern creasing his features before he moved quickly across the hallway and into the room. “Don’t just stand there, boy! Get moving!” she said as she slammed the door shut and the lock was turned.
Emmit stood dumbfounded for a moment, until his brain finally managed to catch up with his racing heart and he tore out of the hallway and took the stairs down three at a time. Everyone knew old Nell, she’d been a nursemaid since time began, or so it seemed. He flew past the astonished servants and all but tackled the stable boy in his haste to mount up the charger he was recently granted. The horse reared at the unexpected presence of its rider, but quickly came under complete control as he too sensed the unspoken urgency of the situation.
They bolted from the stable and made for the town square at a wild pace. Old Nell stayed at a hospice near the center of town, tending to the infirm, the elderly and the sick. He pulled up the reigns so hard that sparks flew from the cobbles as the horse skidded to a halt outside the hospice and leapt about nervously. “Nell! Nell! Quickly! I have been sent for you! Come quickly!” he yelled. Nell came out from within and saw immediately the danger and raised a hand, signaling him to wait as she ducked back inside. Nell came back out with a large bag, latched shut and carrying several large, fluffy towels. Emmit quickly held out his hand to help her up into the saddle and she glared at him, shaking her head. She took hold of Emmit’s hand and pulled him down from the saddle with surprising strength. With a wry smirk, she clambered up onto the charger’s back with surprising speed for one her age. The horse shifted nervously at the unusual burden upon his back and looked as if he meant to buck her off until she leaned down close to the horse’s ear. The beast immediately calmed and took the stance he took for battle. It seemed even the horse knew and respected Nell and they rode off at a wild gallop for Emmit’s home. He stood confused for a moment until an older horse owned by the hospice was brought around for him. He took the steed without even a word of thanks to the stable hand and began to ride for his home. When he arrived, he found his charger had already been dismounted and was being led back to the stable; Nell was nowhere to be seen.
He ran up the stairs and crashed headlong into Donavon, who caught him with a steadying hand, his features grave. “We must talk, Emmit... Sit...” Emmit pushed away the mystic’s hand and started for the door. He was caught by the arm and pulled back by the strong grip of Donavon. “There’s been trouble, lad. Calm down and let me explain, you will do no further good in there then those who are already in attendance. Those two will bring your son into the world, I assure you.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Is Merril alright?”
“She’s doing well enough, considering. This is a difficult birth, my boy. Your son has turned himself around the wrong way in your wife’s womb and is being born into the world feet first. This makes things perilous. I assure you this is not unheard of, but it is rare and unusual and makes things much more difficult for the mother and child both. His arms will be caught and it will be difficult to bring him to the world." He tried to assure the now frightened Emmit with a calm voice. "As I say, this is not so unusual as to have never happened in the past, but it does take special effort to assure the safe passage of your son and the health of your wife.”
Emmit said nothing, but stared at Donavon with uncomprehending eyes. He accepted those words as truth and clung to them as a drowning man clings to a log floating nearby and he waited. The wailing had begun again, but seemed sharper. It pierced his heart and he went to stand by the window with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring out into the evening sky as dusk slowly settled in. He quietly repeated prayer after prayer for the health and safety of his family.
At long last there came a piercing shriek unlike all the others, followed by the painful sobbing of his wife. Then he heard it; a pitiful whine that grew into a hale and hardy wail as only the newborn can make. Tears welled up in his eyes as his son’s crying grew to overshadow his wife’s sobbing and before long they were a mingling of voices crying together. A mother’s joy for her child and the choking coughing cries of a newborn babe, silenced soon enough as she took the child to her breast to feed him.
God Himself couldn’t have stopped him from going to that room now and he was angered to find the door remained locked. He shook the knob furiously until the lock was cracked open and he was allowed in. Both of the midwives looked deeply concerned at him as he looked over to their bed to find mother and child together. He saw in the child a reflection of himself, as if he were looking into a mirror that reflected back years into the past. The bond had been made.
The towels Nell had brought were all over the foot of the bed, covering his wife from the waist down and several having been soaked through with blood were piled in the corner. He looked between the towels and his wife then to the midwives in concern, not understanding.
“She has lost a great deal of blood, Emmit.” Said Nell quietly, “She should be well enough in a few days time but...” Nell fell silent and looked down to the floor. Emmit grew suspicious and the solemn silence drew even Merril’s attention. The suckling babe paid little heed at all.
“But what, Nell?” said Emmit in a tight voice.
“She will bear no more children. Your son’s birth was a particularly difficult one, and the damage done will make further children impossible. Cherish the blessing you have been given, and dote upon him all that you can. Both he and your wife are lucky to have survived this.” As realization crept over Merril, tears welled up in her eyes again but these were tears of loss and sadness. She cradled the boy close to her, rocking gently back and forth, her tears falling upon his small head with its wisps of pale blond hair and eyes of the deepest brown.
“You must relax, Emmit.. This is normal, especially for the first born child. This is childbirth, lad, and it’s never pretty. You fear too much, people have been having children long before you and her!” Another shriek of pain echoed from the room behind the door and Emmit stopped and stared at the doorway.
His deeds had earned him captain’s stripes and the commendation of the church. He was well on his way to becoming one of the church’s foremost paladins at the behest of the bishops themselves, who had witnessed his valor and skill on the field firsthand. His increased pay and ranking within the hierarchy had finally allowed him and Merril, his young wife, to own a fine home and be well off enough to maintain it and much land around it. He had high hopes for this child, whom the mystics had determined was a boy.
It was customary to take one’s husbands to bed before and after battle. Before; in case he fell in battle that there would be a bloodline to maintain and afterward in celebration upon their safe return. He had seen many battles over the past few years, and had taken advantage of this custom whenever he possibly could and yet this was the first time they had actually managed to bear fruit. It was unusual, they said, that things were so difficult for them but at long last God had deemed them worthy to have a child this time. He was as proud as any new father could be; even more because it had taken so long to finally conceive.
With the blessed event finally have happened, they returned to their plans for a large family; back to their plans for a table full of children as Merril had always dreamed of and Emmit had slowly warmed to the idea of. He liked the idea of having many who would remember him as father.
He ran a hand through his straw-colored hair and sighed wearily. “Does it always take this long, though? She’s been in there for hours! What if something’s wrong? You can assure me this woman you have sent for knows what she is doing, yes?” The mystic, who was named Donavon, laughed and got to his feet, coming over to lay a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Of course I’m sure! She’s one of our best midwives, having ushered no less then 30 children into this world. Many of whom you call friends and comrades in arms and even a few of your commanders. She knows her business well”
“Why can’t I be there to help? I cannot stand that sound!” As if on cue, Merril let out another wail of pain, sobbing at the effort involved. Her cry was answered by the patient, scratchy voice of the midwife: “You’re doing fine… Breathe now... Steady... Steady…”
The mystic turned Emmit away from the door and ushered him towards the window.
“There are places that men have no business in being, and this is one of them. I promise you. I have seen some births in my time, when there were no midwives available and I can assure you that it is no pleasant thing.” He led the knight over to the window and opened up the panes to let in some fresh air. Emmit blew out a lung full of air and leaned on the windowsill, watching the wind blow the dry leaves of fall around the courtyard of their home. He failed to notice the calm silence from behind him until it was broken by the doorway slamming open and the midwife’s voice cutting through it with the authority of the most dominant of field commanders. “You! Boy!” she pointed to Emmit “Go and fetch old Nell, I need her here immediately! Run, boy, RUN!” she turned to Donavon, thrusting a finger at him “You! Inside, now!” she pointed back behind her and Donavon clasped Emmit’s shoulder tightly, a look of concern creasing his features before he moved quickly across the hallway and into the room. “Don’t just stand there, boy! Get moving!” she said as she slammed the door shut and the lock was turned.
Emmit stood dumbfounded for a moment, until his brain finally managed to catch up with his racing heart and he tore out of the hallway and took the stairs down three at a time. Everyone knew old Nell, she’d been a nursemaid since time began, or so it seemed. He flew past the astonished servants and all but tackled the stable boy in his haste to mount up the charger he was recently granted. The horse reared at the unexpected presence of its rider, but quickly came under complete control as he too sensed the unspoken urgency of the situation.
They bolted from the stable and made for the town square at a wild pace. Old Nell stayed at a hospice near the center of town, tending to the infirm, the elderly and the sick. He pulled up the reigns so hard that sparks flew from the cobbles as the horse skidded to a halt outside the hospice and leapt about nervously. “Nell! Nell! Quickly! I have been sent for you! Come quickly!” he yelled. Nell came out from within and saw immediately the danger and raised a hand, signaling him to wait as she ducked back inside. Nell came back out with a large bag, latched shut and carrying several large, fluffy towels. Emmit quickly held out his hand to help her up into the saddle and she glared at him, shaking her head. She took hold of Emmit’s hand and pulled him down from the saddle with surprising strength. With a wry smirk, she clambered up onto the charger’s back with surprising speed for one her age. The horse shifted nervously at the unusual burden upon his back and looked as if he meant to buck her off until she leaned down close to the horse’s ear. The beast immediately calmed and took the stance he took for battle. It seemed even the horse knew and respected Nell and they rode off at a wild gallop for Emmit’s home. He stood confused for a moment until an older horse owned by the hospice was brought around for him. He took the steed without even a word of thanks to the stable hand and began to ride for his home. When he arrived, he found his charger had already been dismounted and was being led back to the stable; Nell was nowhere to be seen.
He ran up the stairs and crashed headlong into Donavon, who caught him with a steadying hand, his features grave. “We must talk, Emmit... Sit...” Emmit pushed away the mystic’s hand and started for the door. He was caught by the arm and pulled back by the strong grip of Donavon. “There’s been trouble, lad. Calm down and let me explain, you will do no further good in there then those who are already in attendance. Those two will bring your son into the world, I assure you.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happening? Is Merril alright?”
“She’s doing well enough, considering. This is a difficult birth, my boy. Your son has turned himself around the wrong way in your wife’s womb and is being born into the world feet first. This makes things perilous. I assure you this is not unheard of, but it is rare and unusual and makes things much more difficult for the mother and child both. His arms will be caught and it will be difficult to bring him to the world." He tried to assure the now frightened Emmit with a calm voice. "As I say, this is not so unusual as to have never happened in the past, but it does take special effort to assure the safe passage of your son and the health of your wife.”
Emmit said nothing, but stared at Donavon with uncomprehending eyes. He accepted those words as truth and clung to them as a drowning man clings to a log floating nearby and he waited. The wailing had begun again, but seemed sharper. It pierced his heart and he went to stand by the window with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring out into the evening sky as dusk slowly settled in. He quietly repeated prayer after prayer for the health and safety of his family.
At long last there came a piercing shriek unlike all the others, followed by the painful sobbing of his wife. Then he heard it; a pitiful whine that grew into a hale and hardy wail as only the newborn can make. Tears welled up in his eyes as his son’s crying grew to overshadow his wife’s sobbing and before long they were a mingling of voices crying together. A mother’s joy for her child and the choking coughing cries of a newborn babe, silenced soon enough as she took the child to her breast to feed him.
God Himself couldn’t have stopped him from going to that room now and he was angered to find the door remained locked. He shook the knob furiously until the lock was cracked open and he was allowed in. Both of the midwives looked deeply concerned at him as he looked over to their bed to find mother and child together. He saw in the child a reflection of himself, as if he were looking into a mirror that reflected back years into the past. The bond had been made.
The towels Nell had brought were all over the foot of the bed, covering his wife from the waist down and several having been soaked through with blood were piled in the corner. He looked between the towels and his wife then to the midwives in concern, not understanding.
“She has lost a great deal of blood, Emmit.” Said Nell quietly, “She should be well enough in a few days time but...” Nell fell silent and looked down to the floor. Emmit grew suspicious and the solemn silence drew even Merril’s attention. The suckling babe paid little heed at all.
“But what, Nell?” said Emmit in a tight voice.
“She will bear no more children. Your son’s birth was a particularly difficult one, and the damage done will make further children impossible. Cherish the blessing you have been given, and dote upon him all that you can. Both he and your wife are lucky to have survived this.” As realization crept over Merril, tears welled up in her eyes again but these were tears of loss and sadness. She cradled the boy close to her, rocking gently back and forth, her tears falling upon his small head with its wisps of pale blond hair and eyes of the deepest brown.