Rejection: Do not Miriena
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.
Arjiki Encampment,
The Great Kells,
Fall,
1858
Many moons had passed since the young girl once called Sophelia had been stolen in a raid on a wagon train crossing the Thousand Year Grasslands by the Scrow, sold to the Arjiki, and married to their Crown prince. She had since gained a new name, a new home, a new life, with purported 'savages'. Twenty-four moons had passed since she had come to the Arjiki- two years of being away from her real family, her white family.
Though she often thought of them with pangs of guilt, they were always fleeting within her mind; carried on the winds of memory, only to be cast from thought with something new to learn or do. Now sixteen years of age, the young princess had near completely assimilated into the Arjiki tribe, though she still retained some of her 'white man's' beliefs and ideals, but not many. She was still headstrong and stubborn, and often set in her ways, but she no longer contemplated escape or tried to leave. She'd had no choice but to assimilate into the tribe; her livelihood depended on it.
She looked up as Sarima entered the tent; for weeks now, she had been feeling ill, yet she didn't know why. The older woman silently studied the young princess; she was paler than normal, with rings of black around her dark eyes. Her thick twin braids hung down her back, obscuring the green diamonds that water-falled down her back towards her buttocks. She sat with a blanket wrapped around her body, for she'd felt too warm to wear her dress, despite the fire burning in the center of the tent.
Fiyero stood back in the shadows, allowing the woman her space to work. It was evident that he was worried, though he did his best to hide it. After several minutes, Sarima made her way towards the young woman, kneeling before her. She lifted the girl's head, meeting her gaze, before slowly moving her hands over the milky skin. Her worn, old fingers brushed against the girl's breasts, and she winced, for they were tender to the touch. Sarima made a mental note, and moved her hands down the woman's sides, before sliding them over her belly. She moved to pull away, and Sarima glanced at Fiyero.
"Principessa, quando è stato il tempo della vostra ultimo sanguinamento?"
She furrowed a brow, thinking. The time of her last bleeding? What was so important about the last time she bled? Unless-
Her gaze met Sarima's, dark eyes widening in shock, as she stuttered, "U.. un mesa fa. Forse due."
"Due?" Sarima asked, making sure. The girl nodded. Sarima glanced at the young prince, a knowing look in her eyes. If it had been nearly two months since her last bleed, then there could only be one reason. A reason that would come with the new harvest. She turned back to the young princess, who held fear in her eyes. Gently, she laid a hand on the girl's head, trailing a finger down her forehead in a sign of relief. "Principessa, non preoccuparti." But more fear filled the girl's gaze at her reassurances.
Why should she not worry? Something was wrong, she was dying or... or...
"Arriverà nel periodo di il nuovo raccolta."
The girl turned her gaze to her husband, confused. What would come? And why was the new harvest so important? Sarima wasn't making any sense. But Fiyero understood, for his blue eyes widened in surprise. "Sarima, sei securo?" His voice was soft, yet thick with the weight of such a question- was she really certain? Sarima nodded.
"Sì. Raccolta il babe verrà con la." The young woman's head snapped up. Though she still had trouble with the language from time to time, there was no mistaking what she'd heard.
Baby.
Was that what Sarima was so certain about? A baby? Was she... was she going to have a baby? A baby that would come around the time of the new harvest? She met Sarima's gaze, and the older woman nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, as the realization dawned on the young woman. She turned to her husband, who was just as surprised as she was. Sarima silently excused herself, leaving the young couple alone. After several minutes, Fiyero joined her, taking her hand and lacing their fingers.
A baby.
They were going to have a baby.
She slowly met his gaze, uncertain of what to say or how to react. But suddenly, everything she'd been feeling made sense. The tenderness, the tiredness, the sickness. Similar to what her mother had gone through with each of her pregnancies. The only difference was that her mother had been twenty when she'd had her, not sixteen; a grown woman, not a mere girl still in her teens. She met her husband's gaze.
Was he happy about this? "Marito, sei felice?"
A moment passed, and he thought about it. Happy? Surprised was more like it. But happy? Yes, he supposed so, once he got over the surprise. "Sì." She instantly relaxed, and crawled towards him until she was settled in his lap, the blanket she'd wrapped around herself now wrapped around them both. A moment passed, before he gently laid a hand on her belly. To think, their child was growing within her as they sat together before the fire. Her body would change even more than it already had; her belly would grow; swell, really, until she was heavy and swollen with child. And when the time came, around the new harvest, their child would come, expelled from her body into the world, like their parents before them had been.
But for now... for now, he would relish the news that his wife was with child. Though there were no words for him to accurately describe what he was feeling, he settled for simply, "Così molto felice."
She smiled softly, kissing his firmly. Despite the surprise, in that moment, she too, was so very happy.