"Ma vhenan, ma vhenan, ar lath ma," he whispered. His throat ached and his words were choked. "Ar lath ma, vhenan."
A sharp, pained gasp escaped his lover. Chest heaving, muscles rippling and contracting. He touched the pale face of his love, covered in a cold sweat, but burning with fever.
"You'll be alright," Dalos breathed. He ran his fingers across the spidery black markings of the vallaslin that arched across cheeks and brow.
"Please, Keshel, do something," he begged, looking up at the healer. His cheeks were wet with tears, his eyes were bright. "Please…"
He healer made no comment as he worked. Cloth soaked in heated water, potions and poultices, hands that danced across the swollen stomach.
Hips too narrow, breasts too small that would produce no milk, a body too damaged to carry the infant.
Another spasm rippled across his love's stomach. Pale eyes squeezed shut against the pain, a cry just short of a howl. Hands clawed at the sheets. Sheets soaked red with blood. The bleeding wouldn't stop.
"Please, he'll die!" Dalos's cried.
"I'm doing everything I can!" The healer snapped. He raised his head, fixing Dalos with his milky gaze. His own cheeks were wet.
Heart pounding painfully in his chest, Dalos cradled his love, smoothing sweat soaked hair.
Rasping breaths filled the air. The raising heart stuttered, fluttering fitfully.
"Halani! Ma halani, Evanuris!" Dalos held his love to his chest. He could feel every spasm, every gasp, every pound of the fighting heart.
"You're going to be alright, ma vhenan. I promise you."
Time seemed to grind to a halt. A hand pressed and the contracting stomach. Steady and as calm as he could manage, the healer said, "Listen to me, you have to push. You have control. You can do this. I know you can."
Gasping and panting, muscles tightening and contracting, his love gasped for his hand. Eyes opened to fix upon Dalos, feverish, but intense and focused. Pale. The color of clouds reflected in water.
"You can do it. You have to, ma vhenan," he whispered, squeezing his love's hand.
His heart pounded, fighting to escape his chest, and tears flowed freely, but he wouldn't let go.
Blood, horribly red, hot, and sticky soaked the sheets. Breaths came faster and shallower than ever.
The healer's firm hands and voice acted as a constant guide, instructing and determined. His own fear and uncertainty were masked as best they could be.
Another heavying push and an exclamation. "Almost!"
Head…shoulders…a back…tiny hands…legs…feet…
Curled and almost purple with bruises, the healer scooped up the infant, working fast. His hands were quick, steady, and sure. He said nothing, his face grimly set as he worked.
He turned his attention from one to the other. Mopping up blood and wiping away sweat, he moved swiftly, fluidly. There was no joy, no relief, nothing in his face as he worked.
Dalos held his love, he felt the stuttering heart and prayed.
"I won't lose you, ma vhenan," he breathed. He bowed his head, tears all but spent. His hands shook and his heart twisted. He couldn't lose his love, not after all this…Not now.
The night was long and slow. A heart fluttered and threatened to still. Dalos hardly bared to breathe, let alone hope that night.
However, darkness gave way to light. Feverish skin cooled and ragged gasps steadied. The time to come would be uncertain, no doubt, but his heart unclenched ever so slightly with the coming of the dawn.
As his love steadied, Dalos held his daughter for the first time. Tiny and uncertain, weak and frail, but alive. Both of them were alive and he could ask for nothing more.
"Aneth ara, Da'len," he whispered as he held her. "Aneth ara. Ar lath ma."