DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HOBBIT
Garah hugged her swollen belly with one arm while she scrambled away from the camp. She stopped behind an outcrop of rocks and allowed herself a soft hiss of pain. She leaned her forehead against the rock, rocking herself slowly till the spasms that gripped her belly passed. The last spasm caused her to cry out and she quickly covered her mouth. She muttered a curse at the fates that had taken away her spouse from her. Stupid Gragg. Too much pride and too little brains. She hoped that his offspring would not come out like that. But would be both strong and wise.
She looked back to the camp hoping that no one had noticed her gone. She had lied and told them that she was not due for another three months, when she knew that she was due in but a few days. She had seen the silent shadows moving about the camp at night when the journey had begun; looking for those that were becoming weak or sickly. Those that they had placed a mark on had disappeared and suddenly the camp had meat in the stew. Then things had gotten worst; troublesome members that spoke against the chief, ones that complained a little too much on the road, and worst of all sometimes a child or two, all had gone missing only to end up in the stew. Garah swallowed the bile that rose into her mouth. She had eaten the stew when it had been the old and weak. She had eaten it when the troublesome and complainers had been in it. But when she found the small bones that could never be a wolf or a deer or a bird she had to swallow both fear and disgust with every mouthful.
Things were harder now than it was then. She knew for sure that if they found out her child would be marked and then she would have to eat the flesh of her flesh. And that would never happen. This child was special. She was sure of it the first time he had kicked in her belly and her body had vibrated from the force of it. He would be a great Orc Chief and she, Garah, would see it done.
She took a deep breath again, cast a last look at the camp and ran again. She crossed rock and stream until she reached a low hillock of barren rock. A small cave stood out; a blacker shadow against the black of the rock; into which a small stream diverted its course and then ran out again. She looked back to the camp. It was now a small dull orange glow in the otherwise black land. Then she ducked into the cave. The cave was high and wide enough that she had to stretch her arms out in all directions to touch the walls. She gave a satisfied snort and then settled down to wait. She sat with her back against the rock, her feet facing the small stream and the small bag of supplies by her side. From her position she was lying at an angle to the opening and her eyes traced the stars of the sky.
Then a very familiar group of stars began their slow descent. "The Scimitar," Garah said smiling softly before the pain hit her. She grabbed a hold of the hard earth beneath her grounding her teeth together. This was the worst of the spasms that she ever had. Her mouth opened in a silent wail of pain as another spasm ripped through her. She felt her body begin to tremble then a soft splooshing sound reached her ears and she felt a hot wetness between her legs. She sat up awkwardly and looked to see a dark liquid spreading out from under her. The time had come. Her child was ready to be born.
With shaking hands she undressed and quickly rummaged through the bag for the things she would need. She paused and bit into her arm until the spasms passed. Her belly felt heavy and leaden. She pulled out the knife and a bundle of clean soft cloth. She laid them side by side and then leaned back again. She bent her knees and spread her legs wide as she had seen other Orc females do; then she gritted her teeth against the horrible stretching pain that began to engulf her. She grunted in throaty grunts as the spasms began rolling in faster and faster.
Sometime during another soft wail of pain she remembered that she had to push to get her offspring out. She steeled herself and fixed her eyes on the point of Scimitar as it sank slowly to slice into the dark horizon. Then when the next wave of pain rolled in she grunted a long and low and pushed with all her might. Her legs trembled violently and her grunts gave way into a harsh scream as the stretching sensation became almost unbearable. She took in a ragged breath and pushed again. Again she screamed; her lower body felt like it was being torn asunder.
She convulsed and fell back with her head resting against the floor. The spasms were like one constant wave of pain with just tiny lulls to show when one started and the other began. She placed both hands on the top of her belly and abandoned all semblance of safety she screamed loud into the night and pressed her hands down and pushed. Her voice echoed in the cave almost deafening her. The stretching pain was now beyond description and still her child would not come. She glared in single minded intent at the Scimitar and pressed and pushed again. Her throat began to feel raw and she tasted a bitter metallic taste in her mouth. She glanced away from the sky and into the dark of the cave.
"Great Angmar," she wheezed, "how is this going to last!" She gave a choked scream at the roof of the cave. Her eyes were losing their focus. She fixed her sight on the gleaming blade and wondered if she would have to take a knife to her belly to cut him out of her when a powerful spasm hit her. She knew instinctively that this was the one. IF she did not get him out with this wave she would lose him. She leaned her head back and let out such a scream that she felt the wall in the cave shake. She pressed her hands down and pushed harder than she ever had before. For a second she felt that she had failed and then the stretching pain went up a notch higher and the scream stuck in her throat. Then all of sudden it was as if she had been released from a vise and the pain went away. A sick wet sucking sound echoed in the cave and her body went limp.
Garah lay panting, her breath misting in front her face. She turned to see the Scimitar sinking into the horizon. She licked her lips and sat up to see what her new born looked like. She froze as she gazed at the form that lay wrapped in blood and thick slime like fluid. He was large. Much larger than other Orc babies. But the most outstanding thing was that he was Pale. Like the colour of the moon. She reached down and picked him up, the thick birth line following him. She laid his down between her legs and quickly slashed the birth line and tied it shut. Then she took hold of the part that was leading out of her. Her fingers had barely enough energy to wrap around it. Then with a deep breath she gave one vicious pull and rest of the birth sac flowed out of her with a nasty wet slosh and nauseating slippery sensation. She tossed aside the birth sac and turned back to her son.
He was looking up at her with clear gray eyes. Another strange quality in him. She reached down and stroked his cheek. He gave a noise halfway between a cry and growl and Garah smiled.
"Welcome to Middle Earth, Azog my Son," she whispered.
