Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary:
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.
Arjiki Encampment,
Thousand Year Grasslands,
Summer,
1860
The pain was strong, near unbearable.
Legs spread wide, she held tight to Fiyero, teeth finding home in the softness of her lower lip. She could feel it, this new child, moving within her, making its way towards her opening so it could enter the world. Without a sound, she bore down, forgetting about the shaman or Sarima, focusing only on her child as it went through the process of being born.
She and Fiyero had set about creating this new little one in what the whites called November of the previous year; it had been a little over forty-eight moons since she had come to the Arjiki as a white captive- a little over four years, in the white man's world. But on this summer eve, she had no thoughts of the white man, or the white family she had left behind; she thought of this family she was building with Fiyero, of Irji, and this new little one making its way into the world.
"Voglio un figlio." He met her gaze, silent.
"Ha i suoi?" She nodded. A son; she wanted another son. A moment passed before he chuckled, meeting her gaze.
"Voglio una figlia."
It was a stubborn argument between them; she longed for another son, while Fiyero wanted a daughter. He wanted a beautiful little girl with Elphaba's hair and eyes, with her smile. He longed to be the father to a little girl who sang like her mother, and possessed the same soft skin as her mother. He dreamed of her, this little girl, and that she would run to him, how she would grow to be like her mother...
A groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and his wife sat up, pressing her palms flat against his knees as she bore down. Now familiar with the throes of childbirth, she allowed her body to do as it was told, following its orders. The babe's head soon appeared after several strong pushes, followed by a shoulder. She lay her head back against his shoulder, sucking in deep breaths, gathering her strength to continue with the birth.
Another push and another and another.
The babe was coming, slowly. Neither the shaman nor Sarima tended to Elphaba, for she knew what to do by now and didn't necessarily need their assistance. Occasionally, they would examine, make sure everything was okay, but for the most part, they left her be. It was the late afternoon hours before the babe's shoulder finally appeared, first one, then the other. A few hours later, the babe's hips appeared, until finally, with one strong push, the infant was out and in the world.
Once in her arms, Elphaba turned to her husband, meeting his gaze, eager for his response. "Marito, una figlia."
He swallowed hard, tears coming to his eyes. A daughter; his wife had borne a daughter. And she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. A moment passed, before he brushed a firm kiss to her head, his gaze never leaving the baby in her arms. She needed a proper name... a good name, a strong name...
"Nor." Tearing his gaze from the baby, he met his wife's gaze. "Nor leie sarà."
A moment passed, as he thought the name over. Nor. He knew the meaning behind the name- Morning Star. And as he watched his wife and daughter, as his father led Irji back into the tent to meet his new sister, he knew that it was the perfect name for their little girl. He beckoned their son closer, pulling him into his lap once he got close enough, as Elphaba shifted and sat up, adjusting her hold on the baby. "Questo è Nor, Irji." The little boy, now a little over a year and a half, looked from the baby in his mother's arms to his father and back.
"Sorella?" The toddler asked, turning back to his father, who nodded. He kissed his son's hair, meeting his father's eye. The chief nodded silently to his son, though inside, he was rejoicing in the fact that he now had a granddaughter, and that both his daughter-in-law and the babe had come out of this healthy. Fiyero shall not suffer the heartbreak I did, when I lost you and our daughter. Though Fiyero had only been the tender age of six when his mother died in childbirth, he had very few memories of her; the memories he possessed were few and far between, much like Elphaba's memories of her family before she came to the Arjiki.
Though he was certain that Elphaba had had many years with her mother before she was stolen by the Scrow, for she had been thirteen moons- almost fourteen- when she came to the Arjiki, but the memories of her white family had faded over the years. Not intentionally, but as she had grown to adapt more and more to the ways of the Arjiki, the memories of her life in the whites had faded, replaced with new memories, with a new family.
"Padre?" Avaric snapped out of his thoughts, turning to his daughter-in-law; she held the baby out to him. "Incontra la tua nipotina." After a moment, he allowed her to lay the baby in his arms; she stared up at him with wide, unfocused eyes. The broken heart he'd carried since his wife's death had slowly begun to heal; perhaps it was Elphaba's arrival, her marriage to Fiyero, or the births of her two children, but something, coinciding with the young white girl's arrival had slowly helped the chief's heart to heal.
Yes, the white girl who had come to their tribe, who had married his son, who had now, borne two children, who was now fully Arjiki, had brought life to not only the tribe, the Chief's son, but the chief himself. Avaric had chosen wisely, when he saw the young girl with the black hair and the paisley blue dress being brought into the Scrow camp that day. She had a fire in her that meant survival. She, more than any of the other girls, could survive in life among the Arjiki.