I am in a meeting with the Defense Council when a page comes bearing a note. Romelle has gone into labor. I do not even know what I say to the stiff old men, or how I get out of the room; all that is on my mind is getting to min elske. I am certain I knock down more than one person, running through the halls, but. . .I promised I would be there always when she needed me, and she needs me now.
At the door to our suite, I am brought up short by Sir Bathok, one of the most senior members of the Council. "You must not be here now, Commander," he tells me in what he apparently thinks is a sympathetic tone. "Royal tradition; the father always goes out hunting until his child is born." He puts a hand on my shoulder, clearly intending to lead me out, when I hear it.
"Sven. . . please, I want Sven," Romelle's voice drifts from our suite, and I glare down at Sir Bathok with every bit of intimidation I have ever possessed.
"My vife vants me vit her. If you vant to continue to live, never mind serve de Crown, get out of my vay and take your hand off me." Bathok pales and melts away from me, muttering about crazy Earthmen; I ignore him and let myself into the suite. As I step inside, I am reminded of my grandmother's chickens; Romelle's maid Catera is fluttering and clucking EXACTLY like her hens. Romelle is tucked up in bed, at least a hundred pillows behind her, hair down and face pale. Despite the situation, I have to smile; she's bypassed the nightgown that Catera clearly laid out and is wearing one of my old Academy tshirts. "Elske, I am here," I say softly. Catera glares but doesn't dare say anything; Romelle's face lights up.
"Sven!" She holds her hands out to me; I cross the room in two steps, arriving at her side just as she doubles over and cries out. "Contraction," she pants to my worried look. "Normal."
"Gud i himmeln, elske." That looked as though it hurt. Quickly making a decision, I pull out about three quarters of the pillows behind her and take their place, cradling her against me as I have done so often late in her pregnancy when she could not get comfortable. Romelle leans back against me, lacing her fingers through mine as I wrap her in my arms. "Rest, kjaereste," I say softly, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "I have you."
She turns her head to kiss me softly, still with a touch of innocence. "And soon we will have our son."
Six hours later, I am horrified at the hell I have condemned my elskede to. She's screaming in agony, crushing both my hands with a grip worthy of Hunk when the pain peaks. When it ebbs, I bathe her forehead with cool water, kissing her gently, telling her she's doing wonderfully. Privately, though, I wonder how she will survive this. She's limp against me between pains, exhausted, blonde hair nearly as dark as my own with sweat. "Romelle. . . min elskede. . .I love you. .. ."
She doesn't have the energy to speak, but squeezes my hands as the doctor moves to the end of the bed to check her again. "Almost there, Majesties. I can feel the top of the baby's head now."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Almost? Vhat do you mean, almost? She cannot take any more of dis! It is killing her, DO SOMETHING you. . . ." I'm building up to really lose my temper with this. . .quack, show him WHY I am called crazy, when a gentle hand touches my leg.
"Sven. . ." Romelle says softly, and with no more than that, my anger vanishes as if it never was. "Don't. . .love. This is normal. Promise. And I'm stronger than you think." She digs her nails into my leg, grunting as she pushes through another contraction, then falls back against my shoulder. "With you. . .can do anything. FOR you. . ." she breaks off with a scream, gripping my arms and bearing down. I feel her nails break my skin, but the pain vanishes as I watch our son's head emerge from her body, sporting flaming red hair.
The doctor quickly catches him. "Easy, Majesty. . .let me get his shoulders free. . .now, one easy push. . ." Romelle obeys him, and a few seconds later I hear the indignant howl of our son as he comes free of his mother. The doctor looks up at me. "Commander. . .would you like to cut the cord?" He holds out a pair of scissors, pointing to where he wants me to cut, and suddenly I have to take a breath to steady my trembling hands. Romelle puts her hand on mine, and together we take the final step to bring our son into the world.
As a nurse takes him away to do whatever is done with new babies, and the doctor finishes up, I wrap my arms around Romelle and kiss the top of her head. "You did it, elske. I love you so much. . .I'm so proud of you. . ."
"WE did it," she corrects softly, smiling up at me. "I couldn't have done it without you." The nurse comes back, bearing a blanket-wrapped bundle that she places in Romelle's arms, and my elske is. . .transformed. I know no other word to describe how her face lights up, and the love that shines in her eyes for our son brings me to tears. "Hello, Erik Sven," she coos softly, stroking his face with a delicate finger. "Welcome to the world, little one. . . your mamma and pappa love you."
Erik starts snuffling, nuzzling at Romelle's breast. The nurse comes over and lifts her shirt, then shows her how to help him latch on. Hellige helveter. . .I have seen some amazing things in my life, been lost in the speechless beauty that is transdimensional space. Nothing, nothing at all, compares to the wonder of my Romelle with the miracle that is our son. "Look what we did, elske. He's. .. min gud, he's. . ." Words fail me, even in my native Norwegian; I settle for kissing Romelle, and resting my hand gently on Erik. Soon he stops feeding; Catera reappears, changes him, and brings him back, urging us all to sleep. Romelle and Erik are both out almost before she finishes the sentence; I sit holding them, marveling still, and thanking God above for the twist of fate that threw a princess into a pit to become the mother of my child, and the love of my life.