A/N: So this is the chapter that made me change the content rating, just to be safe... I changed it due to talk of childbirth, breastfeeding, and then some violence in the next chapter. I like writing fight scenes, so hopefully there will be more of those to come as well.
Disclaimer: ch. 1; thanks!
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By the six time months had passed, word of Arthur's departure had spread throughout Britain, and the citizens of the island were less than happy. There were quite a few who had been opposed to the idea of a king at all, much less a half-Roman one. Rumors ran rampant, people guessing that Arthur had run off to rejoin the Romans or make an alliance with them, despite Guinevere's insistence that he was going to Sarmatia with his knights. Of course, few of the people on the island had ever even heard of Sarmatia. Those who had didn't know where it was or that its people were just as resistant to the Romans as they were.
Since the knights had left, summer had come and gone, and autumn was nearly over. Cymbeline knew that the ships would stop for the winter soon, if they hadn't already, and spent most of her time praying that this would be the day that Gawain returned with the others. Each day, her prayers were left unanswered, and she began to resign herself to the fact that not only would she be giving birth on her own, she was unlikely to see her husband again before the next spring.
Vanora had given birth a month earlier, to a beautiful and healthy baby girl that she named Jennie. Cymbeline was due any day, and terrified of that fact. And they weren't alone—three months earlier, Guinevere had come to them and Olwyn, fearful that she was also pregnant. Another month had passed before she was sure, meaning that Arthur would also return to find himself a father again.
Cymbeline was decidedly uncomfortable. Her stomach had stretched farther than she ever thought possible—she was huge! She was positive that she was bigger than Vanora had ever been, but the older woman insisted that was just due to the fact that Cymbeline was significantly smaller than her in both height and stature. Once she had told Vanora about her pregnancy, Guinevere and the other knights had been informed as well, and Bedivere had immediately forbidden her from patrols and spars, and only reluctantly allowed her to supervise training for another month and a half. After that, she had been relegated to the tavern, where she helped Vanora as much as she could until she began to find her stomach to unwieldy to allow her to do much to help.
Cymbeline stood on the wall, looking south over the fields, towards the forest. She didn't really expect to see her husband or the other knights, but she kept hoping and watching anyways. She drew her cloak more tightly around herself as the sun began to set to her right, coloring the sky beautifully.
Suddenly she gasped sharply, leaning forward and catching herself against the wall with one hand, the other flying to her stomach. The nearest guard on the wall rushed to her side worriedly. "Are you alright?" he supported her to take a seat on the low lip of the back of the wall.
"I'm not sure," Cymbeline gasped, another sharp pain shooting through her. "I think I need to get to the infirmary."
"I'll take you," the young sentry helped her up. "Melor!" he called to the next sentry. "I'll be back soon!"
The other man nodded and waved, moving closer to their section of the wall to cover for Cymbeline's escort.
Somehow, the duo managed to move rather quickly through the fort to the infirmary, where they found Bedivere teaching Lucan how to stitch a knife wound—on Griflet, the most notoriously clumsy of the knights in training. As soon as they burst through the door, Bedivere jumped into action, directing them to a small room to the side of the infirmary's main room. This area was dedicated to surgeries and childbirths, although many of the latter events took place in the homes of the mother.
"Lucan! Go fetch Vanora," Bedivere called to his brother. The sandy-haired boy nodded, dropping the needle he was using to stitch up Griflet and flying out the door. "Thank you, Jodoc. You can go." Bedivere told the sentry; he nodded and was gone in seconds. "Lean back," Bedivere soothed Cymbeline as he helped her get comfortable on the table in the operating room. "Try to relax."
"Right," Cymbeline grunted. "That's likely."
"Deep breaths," Bedivere encouraged. "Count them out to four—breathe in for four beats, and out for another four. Keep going like that."
Cymbeline began to take a deep breath, then grunted and gasped as another contraction hit her. "Try not to do that," Bedivere said unhelpfully.
"Don't make me stab you," Cymbeline groaned.
Bedivere laughed. "Griflet!" he called into the other room. "Can you please bring us a pillow? Try not to bleed on it."
The teenager appeared in the doorway, bearing a pillow, which he handed to Bedivere. The Woad healer propped Cymbeline up on the pillow, helping to make her slightly more comfortable on the table. "Is that better?"
"Not really," Cymbeline replied.
Bedivere ignored her, fussing around to get her settled while they waited for Vanora. Fortunately, the older woman was not long in coming; she burst through the door of the infirmary in a whirl of skirts and cloak, followed closely by Branwyr. "How is it going?" she asked.
Cymbeline opened her mouth to retort, but cried out as another contraction washed through her body.
"I see," Vanora smiled. "Hopefully, this will be a quick labor."
"That would be good," Cymbeline murmured weakly.
Vanora laughed and peered under Cymbeline's skirts. "How long has this been going?"
"Under an hour?" Cymbeline guessed.
"It's going to be a quick labor," Vanora reassured her.
"How can you tell?" Cymbeline asked, grimacing in pain.
"You're almost ready to start pushing the baby out," Vanora replied matter-of-factly. She turned to Bedivere. "How many births have you assisted with?"
"Several," the healer replied. "A few back in my village when I was younger. My mother was a midwife even before she was a healer. She taught me everything she knew about both practices. Although, it has been a while since I was present for a birth."
"Good," Vanora nodded. "You'll know what's going on. I've brought Branwyr to help as well." She nodded towards the girl in the doorway.
Cymbeline started as she felt a pop between her legs, then warm liquid began to pool on the table under her. "What's happening?"
"That's completely normal," Vanora assured her.
"It feels disgusting," Cymbeline grumbled.
Vanora laughed and rubbed Cymbeline's knee. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."
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Despite Vanora's promise of a quick labor, it was well into the morning before Cymbeline's first child was actually born. Yes, first—and by the morning, all of her complaints about the size of her belly were explained. The exhausted young knight gave birth to triplets—two boys and a girl.
That morning, the sun rose, peeping through the windows to greet the three new lives in the room. Bedivere carried Cymbeline into the next room, settling her on a bed so that she could rest, while Vanora checked on the babies. One by one, they brought the newborns to their exhausted mother, who greeted them joyfully.
"How have you done this so many times, Van?" Cymbeline mumbled, half asleep, looking at the flame-haired woman seated on the bed beside her.
Vanora thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said finally. "I just do. I mean, I have to."
Cymbeline laughed softly. "I guess you're right."
Vanora smiled and smoothed the hair off of the young woman's forehead. Across the room, Branwyr and Bedivere had also fallen asleep in two of the other beds. The babies were sleeping soundly, wrapped securely in small, soft blankets and settled into baskets in lieu of cradles. The infirmary was, almost impossibly, peaceful. The surgery was cleaned, to an extent, and, with the exception of the sleeping occupants, the main room was untouched by the messy nativity scene of the night before.