A/N: This is a response to The RLt Green Room's October 14, 2013 prompt: "Today's challenge is to choose as your fic's main character a minor character who doesn't get a lot of screen time in canon. Stickers if, instead of just giving that character his/her own separate story, you incorporate your character in a significant role into the canonical main characters' storylines in the original fandom (extra shiny stickers if it's totally canon-compliant instead of just "what-if")." I chose the character of Cynthia from George R.R. Martin's vampire novel, 'Fevre Dream.' "Green Room" challenges should be 1500-2000 words in length.
This story takes place between the final chapter of 'Fevre Dream' and the epilogue, setting it in 1870. I freely admit I am no expert on the time period, so I hope you'll forgive me if this ends up a hopeless anachronism stew. No one's going to have a cell phone or anything obvious like that, but there are probably going to be some less obvious inaccuracies.
When the Silent Voices Whisper
"My doubts were re-ignited
And fear awakened from its sleep"
- The Crüxshadows, "Eye of the Storm"
"Mister and Misses York, I understand that you two are expecting." The doctor smiled cordially over his half-moon spectacles. The yellow glow of the streetlights outside the window brushed across the recently-scrubbed floor, joining pools of light from the lamps inside the small office.
"Now, Missus York," the doctor began, looking at Cynthia expectantly, "what was the date of your last menses?"
Cynthia twisted her small hands in the brown fabric of her skirt. She didn't understand the question, and it felt as though this were a test a human woman would pass easily, proving her worth as a mother. She glanced sideways at Joshua for help. "What's a 'menses'?" she finally whispered, feeling embarrassed.
The doctor looked somewhat surprised at her question, but he was polite and professional as he explained.
"Oh." She remembered now that human women did bleed thus. "I have never had a menses," she responded honestly.
The doctor's eyebrows pulled together as he tapped his pen against the pad of paper in front of him. "How old are you, Missus York?"
Centuries. He wouldn't believe her if she told him the truth. She suddenly felt like snapping at him that she and Joshua were not in fact married, but he didn't really seem the type to be properly scandalized by the revelation. She turned to Joshua for help, her eyes pleading.
"My wife and I are...not human," Joshua explained.
Cynthia smiled, relieved. Joshua could explain it so this human would understand. She remembered how she had felt that evening she'd awoken to see Damon Julian on his knees, finally thoroughly beaten. She remembered how the baby inside her had leapt as if it too shared in the joy of its father's ultimate victory. If Joshua could conquer the red thirst and the monster Damon Julian, Joshua could do anything.
But as Joshua carefully and patiently explained the truth to this human doctor, it soon became clear that the man did not and would not understand. His face grew angrier until he finally stood decisively and demanded that they both leave his office. He was a busy man and had no time for their childish foolishness. If they persisted in their inane lies, he would have them both locked up and sedated as befitted the mentally ill.
Cynthia clutched at Joshua's arm as they stood outside in the cool night air. "There are other doctors," Joshua assured her, "and we still have time."
But she knew they would not simply meet with every human doctor until they found one willing to help them; telling even this one doctor the truth had been dangerous.
The next doctor wasn't angry when Joshua explained the truth to him. He seemed intrigued, asking a lot of questions, making careful notes, and nodding thoughtfully.
He listened to both Cynthia and Joshua's chests with his stethoscope. He made them hold thermometers under their tongues—Cynthia hated the thermometer, as it almost made her gag. He looked into their ears, eyes, and throats. He looked with great interest at Joshua's pale skin and mentioned how he'd love to observe and record the sun's effects as well as the healing afterwards. He wanted samples of their every bodily fluid. He wanted Cynthia to stay in his hospital "for observation," starting right away. Cynthia squeezed Joshua's arm until her fingers shook. "I need to talk to my wife alone for a few moments," Joshua told the doctor.
As the door closed behind the human, Cynthia let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Let us leave this place and never return. Please, Joshua. Please."
Joshua gently embraced her. "He might be able to help us," he said softly.
"No. No, Joshua. He doesn't want to help us." She rested her cheek against his chest as she leaned against him. "He wants you to burn just so he can watch, Joshua. He would burn our child as well. He would let me die so he could cut up my body and learn its secrets."
Joshua sighed and stroked her back. "We'll find someone else," he said.
But finding another doctor they might be able to trust took time. And time was something of which they had less and less.
Cynthia sat alone on the deck of the Fevre Dream one evening, watching the moon rise. She wondered if the child growing inside her was a boy or a girl. She wondered if the baby would have brown eyes like her own, or grey eyes like Joshua's. She hoped she would live long enough to see.
She heard Simon's steps approaching before he sat down beside her. "Joshua is out looking for another doctor," he said.
Cynthia already knew; Joshua usually told her where he was going and when he expected to be back.
"Yes," she said, wishing to be left alone. Simon had always been loyal to Joshua, and she liked him for that. But she didn't feel much like talking to anyone.
"Have you considered that it might not matter?" he asked. "Our women die in child-bed. My mother did. Joshua's mother did. Your own mother as well, I assume."
Cynthia raised her chin defiantly. "Joshua won't let that happen to me."
Simon sighed. "Joshua is the youngest of us all," he reminded her. "What does he know of birth?"
Simon didn't have to add that he had personally witnessed Joshua's birth, the death of Joshua's mother.
Cynthia smoothed her hands across the blue silk of her dress, thoughtful. She had known since she was a child that she would likely die if she were to ever have a baby. That was the way with their race; there was no doubt. So when she had realized she was carrying Joshua's child, she had been at once filled with joy and gripped with fear. When she told Joshua, she had seen the flash of fear in his own eyes, warring with his own joy.
"Joshua has always wanted children," she said finally. "He's spoken of it often enough—the future of our race and how our salvation lies in humanity's advanced medicine. I don't have his understanding of science, but I know that our people are dying; if each woman can only ever have one child, a race simply cannot survive, no matter how long the men might live."
Simon nodded, looking thoughtful, then he smiled and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Joshua will find an answer. You are very important to him."
As Simon stood and walked away, Cynthia couldn't help wondering if Joshua, even with all his wits and all his strength, might not be able to solve this. No matter how many human doctors they found, she had to be strong enough, strong enough for Joshua. Valerie had loved Joshua and had thought herself strong enough to face the day with him, but while he had survived, Valerie had not. It had been Valerie's choice, but Cynthia knew Joshua still blamed himself for Valerie's death. If she were to die bringing his child into the world, Joshua would blame himself yet again. Somehow, Cynthia had to live. She couldn't be another life on his conscience, another failure weighing him down.
A few nights later, when Cynthia and Joshua went to meet with a third doctor, they found his office door locked with a note saying the appointment would have to be rescheduled. Joshua glared at the slip of paper as if he could will it into submission. Cynthia understood his anger; it wasn't easy to get to these evening appointments when you couldn't travel in daylight, and now their trip was wasted.
As they turned to leave, they were approached by a stooped elderly lady with a woven shawl around her shoulders. "Excuse me, but would you two happen to be Mister and Missus York?" she asked pleasantly.
Joshua glanced at Cynthia then nodded at the woman. She introduced herself as "Mother Brown" and stated that she was a midwife with forty-five years of experience. She had heard they were having trouble finding a doctor and offered her services.
Cynthia found that she felt more at ease around Mother Brown than she had around any human before. Mother Brown didn't work at the hospital or have an office—Mother Brown would assist them wherever Cynthia felt most comfortable. Perhaps most importantly, Mother Brown didn't seem to mind when Joshua explained that they weren't human.
"All babies are important," she said. "Not matter what race they might be."
"And what of their mothers?" Joshua asked. They were sitting together over tea in a quiet corner of a nearly deserted cafe.
Mother Brown smiled. "Mothers are just as important as their babies."
Joshua explained how nearly every woman of their race died. Mother Brown gently enquired as to the details of the deaths, and since neither Cynthia nor Joshua had ever witnessed a birth, Mother Brown had to meet Simon. She spent two hours interviewing Simon about Joshua's birth and anything he knew of other births in their kind.
"We have little time left," Joshua said to Cynthia afterwards. He looked tired. "And few options for human doctors that we could even reach in that time."
Cynthia took his hand. "I would take my chances with Mother Brown."
He sighed. "You're sure? I could always try..."
She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'm sure."
Mother Brown stayed with them for two weeks, in case the baby came suddenly, in case the baby came during the day. No one would have to risk sun exposure to fetch her.
It was about midnight when Cynthia realized the odd cramping feelings she'd been getting all night were in fact progressively getting stronger, and might in fact be labour pains. She had expected it to hurt, but it really didn't at first.
"I think the baby is coming," she told Mother Brown. Cynthia's hands were shaking and she found it hard to breathe. She was no stranger to fear, even fear for her own survival. But now, she wanted to live so badly, for Joshua, for herself, for their child...even for Mother Brown.
Mother Brown held her gently and reminded her to breathe. Joshua brought her a bottle of his special drink, in case the labour pains brought on the red thirst. In the early morning hours, Simon brought her several more bottles—she had already finished the first one.
While the other people of the night slept, Simon and Joshua sat with Cynthia in the dim bedroom. No sunlight could seep into their sanctuary, but they burned an oil lamp for Mother Brown's sake.
Mother Brown encouraged her to stand and walk as much as possible, but once the sun rose, there wasn't much room for walking.
Cynthia leaned against Joshua for support. She cried because she was scared, because she was tired, because it hurt. Cynthia threw up three times, then cried and said she was sorry for wasting the precious drink. Joshua stroked her damp hair and said they had plenty and he could make more. Once, Cynthia lunged at Mother Brown, but Joshua held her against his chest with one arm and held the bottle to her lips with his other hand, so she drank.
She glanced ashamedly at Mother Brown. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Mother Brown took her hand and smiled. "It's not the first time a birthing mother has tried to bite me," she said with a chuckle.
Cynthia felt sleepy, so she lay down on her side on her bed. Joshua lay behind her—the heat and weight of his body was comforting.
About half an hour later the pains felt stronger again, and Mother Brown suggested that she get on all fours.
"This is how horses give birth," Cynthia said with a shaky laugh.
"It works well for humans too," Mother Brown replied.
In the end, Cynthia found that she preferred to squat, leaning against Joshua as she pushed their baby out with a gush of blood and water. She collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
"It's a girl!" Joshua was beaming.
Mother Brown tied off and cut the cord, then placed the baby on Cynthia's chest. "She must suckle," Mother Brown said.
Simon spoke up from the corner of the room, "Shouldn't the baby be washed first?"
"Washing can wait." Mother Brown sounded tense. Cynthia wasn't sure why; everything seemed wonderful, like a pleasant dream—the glow of the lamp light seemed to wreathe everyone in halos like saints in a Catholic church's windows. She smiled as her baby found the nipple. She felt so sleepy, but she tried to keep her eyes open to see her baby.
Mother Brown was pressing on her stomach, massaging it, but it felt as though it were not her body—it felt so far away.
"Is there anything I can do?" Joshua sounded strained. When Cynthia glanced at his face, he looked even paler than usual.
Cynthia closed her eyes and when she opened them Joshua was massaging her stomach and Mother Brown was encouraging the baby to suckle. Cynthia tried to smile at the other woman. Her body lay motionless on the bed, as though she had no muscles or bones. Mother Brown had a bright white halo now—or maybe that was the whole world?
"Cynthia," Joshua said, his voice low and urgent. "Please."
"Joshua?" He seemed so distant now. She couldn't quite see him through the light.
Suddenly, she felt her stomach again—it was cramping, like the early labour pains. She gasped and opened her eyes. There was Joshua, looking down at her with shining eyes. "The bleeding's stopped," he whispered and kissed her forehead.
Cynthia wasn't sure who had been bleeding, but Joshua seemed happy. Cynthia's arms tightened around the baby who was now energetically suckling at her other breast.
Joshua put a bottle of his drink to Cynthia's lips. She suddenly felt both hungry and thirsty, but the drink helped.
"She's going to live," Simon said in wonder.
"I do think she will," Mother Brown said, sounding at once relieved and exultant.
As she saw Mother Brown clearing away piles of blood-soaked sheets and towels, Cynthia suddenly realized it had been herself who had been bleeding, nearly to death. But she had survived. She couldn't help the joyful smile that spread across her face. "Thank you," she whispered.
A/N: So the way I figured it, vampire women in 'Fevre Dream' likely die from hemorrhaging, which is still a very real risk for human women even to this day. The actual book is very vague on the details, but the vampires' enhanced strength and rapid healing would make most other causes of "death from childbirth" very unlikely. Also, it fits in with the whole blood thing, so yeah. Mother Brown's methods of abdominal massage and having the baby breastfeed are both real life treatments for hemorrhage due to childbirth (and conveniently don't involve any modern technology).