Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.

Arjiki Encampment,

Kellswater,

Spring,

1859

The whites called it April, though to the Arjiki, it was known as the Spring Solstice, a time when new life, new harvest, was born and rose. A time when a woman would become a mother, and a man a father.

Now greatly swollen with child, the young princess was finding it difficult to get comfortable, walk, or even stand for long periods of time. Her belly took up most of her body and energy, to the point where not even the softest of buckskin dresses could satisfy her comfort. But on this eve of the Spring Solstice, it would all change.

As a ceremonial fire was lit and the dancing and celebration for the return of the Great Mother began, she stayed within the tent, unable to move for the pain clenching her abdomen. Her husband had rushed for the shaman as well as Sarima, and all three had returned to find her deep in the throes of labor. Among the blankets, legs spread wide, she bit her lip to keep from crying out, for it was looked down on by the gods for a woman to cry in pain as she brought new life into the world; a child was a gift, and to cry or scream during birth was seen as being ungrateful to the gods. Without another word, Fiyero rushed to her side, holding her close, as Sarima and the shaman set about their work.

They did not have much work to do, for the babe's head had already appeared, and was slowly making its way out of her, widening her opening as it came out. She reached down, grasping her thighs, pulling her legs a little farther apart, before reaching back up for her husband's hands. Her fingers brushed gently against the head, and she hummed softly in an attempt to ease the pain.

Her labor lasted long into the night, as she pushed and strained and bore down; as the babe slowly made its appearance. She reached up, caressing her husband's cheek. He is not coming, husband. Why? He caught her hand, kissing it softly. "Perché non sta venendo?" But he could only shake his head, kissing her temple.

"Orso giù, principessa!" She pushed her hips up, groaning softly in the back of her throat.

She was bearing down, as hard as she could. She had spread her legs as far as she could, she was bearing down with all her might, and still, the baby was slow to come. What more could she possibly do?

Sarima gently rubbed oils across her forehead, calming oils that would help her to relax and make the birth go easier. Clove, myrrh, cinnamon. She breathed deep, as deep as she could, letting the scents surround her, letting them calm her. She relaxed back into Fiyero's arms, allowing him to give her his strength. Another pain grabbed her around the waist, and she groaned pushing as hard as she could. The babe continued to works its way out of her and into the world.

For several more hours she pushed and strained in the throes of childbirth. It was slow, tedious even, as the child slowly pushed through her opening. She groaned, feeling a shoulder begin to slowly slide out of her. And set of strong pushes brought the other shoulder. "Grande Padre, presto lascia che sia finita." That was all she wanted, was for it to be over. In another few hours, her prayer would soon be answered.

Four hours later, the babe finally slid out of her body, into Sarima's arms. Strong, healthy cries were heard from the newborn, and Sarima quickly sucked the fluid from the baby's nose, spitting it away before wrapping it in a blanket. She pushed herself up, still in Fiyero's arms, and reached for the baby, the meaning clear. Without a word, Sarima laid the bundle in Elphaba's arms.

Oh, how beautiful he is. Tears began to prick her eyes as she held her son. The baby looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. As she caught her breath, she turned to Fiyero. A name, what shall we name him? She bit her lip. "Marito, andiamo chaimarlo? Tuo figilo?"

Fiyero met her gaze. His son? He was not just his son, but hers as well. Call him... we shall call him... He couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order, for the sight of their son in her arms struck him momentarily dumb. Several minutes passed, before finally, he said,

"Irji."

She knew the meaning immediately- 'Bringer of Hope.' It was perfect for their little prince. Eventually both Sarima and the shaman left to inform the chief, and outside, they could hear the chief of the tribe telling of the good news- that their princess, after much labor and pain, had borne a young prince, a true blessing on this night of the solstice. It was a sign of good fortune to come for the tribe, that the babe was healthy and strong, clearly the gods looked on them in favor, for such a babe to be born upon the eve of the Solstice. The celebration would last long into the night, but the chief instead made his way to his son's tent, to meet his grandson and check on his daughter-in-law.

Elphaba looked up as he entered, a small smile on her face as she cradled the babe in her arms. "Padre, venire a contatto tuo nipote."

And he did, kneeling before his daughter-in-law. His son sat beside her, in awe of the babe she held. He remembered wearing the same look his son now wore when he was born. "Elphaba, il su nome?" She grinned at him.

"Irji, Padre. Il su nome Irji."