Summary: Ardeth Bay had almost paced himself a trench in the sun-baked sand. It was a habit of his – when he was nervous. And he was not often nervous… ArdethOC. Oneshot. Second in the "Ardeth and Amani" series.
Disclaimer: Ardeth belongs to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios (dangit). Amani, however, is of my own creation.
A/N: This can be read as a sequel to "Wordless Promise", or as a standalone.
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Ardeth Bay had almost paced himself a trench in the sun-baked sand. It was a habit of his – when he was nervous. And he was not often nervous. He had no cause to be. But today… today was the exception. He halted as another cry reached his ears and clutched his hands into shaking fists, short fingernails somehow managing to bite into his palms. It took all his strength not to step into his tent, knowing one of the assisting medicine women would instantly shoo him out – Medjai Chieftain or no.
He would have to wait until it was over.
And waiting had never been so difficult.
When the tortured groan had subsided, Ardeth continued his pacing, hand raised to anxiously caress his lower lip.
It had been six hours, at least.
Surely this was not normal. It should have concluded some time ago…
And yet, his mother's playful bemoaning entered his thoughts. For her (and she'd never ceased to remind him) it had taken the best part of two days. She had been exhausted, yes, but had been gifted a healthy baby boy at the end of it. He could only hope such would be the result in this case.
For what had to be the hundredth time, he sent a silent prayer to Allah, pleading the safety of his wife and child. If he lost either…
He dared not think of it.
A scream.
"Almost there. Another push or two…"
Ardeth bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.
"Just one more…"
An abrupt piercing screech filled the air, and he froze; eyes on the closed tent flap, as though in hopes of penetrating the goats' hair barrier – to little effect. The sound was unmistakable, and he could take it no longer. The healers could scold him all they wished; but he would not be deterred.
Sweeping into the tent, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to its dim interior. First, he saw his wife, reclined on a bed pallet, chest heaving with great breaths and her brow glistening with perspiration. And even in this state, she looked beautiful. Her own attention was on an attending lady, and Ardeth followed her gaze. A small, pink, writhing body was being tended to; washed and dried without heed of its spectacular lament. Wrapping the babe in soft linen, the woman returned to Amani's bedside, directing the Chieftain with a pointed glare as she scurried along.
"A beautiful baby boy, Amani," the midwife cooed, passing the still-squirming child over. "Strong too. Like his father." Amani did not seem to be listening, instead smiling broadly as she embraced the bundle which was beginning to ease its physical and vocal expression of utmost dissatisfaction. A tiny hand and arm protruded beyond green-dyed fabric, and Amani took it in her own.
Ardeth stood motionless, speechless. As he was not often nervous, neither was he often at a loss for words. But any oral communication of his elation was not forthcoming. However, the smile that tugged his lips was a truer reflection of his joy than any speech. Amani gazed up at him then, face aglow and emerald eyes sparkling, even in the gloom.
"A son, Ardeth. We have a son…"
--fin.
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Feedback is much appreciated, as are any suggestions for future additions to this series.
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