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Eep! Chapter 8! Woo hoo! Please read and review…you know the drill. :-)
Three of my OCs in this chapter have a common factor…see if you can figure it out…it's kinda tricky. ) Extra Valentine's Day candy for those who can figure it out…
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Morning dawned without excitement. Aragorn and Thranduil arose before dawn and, as expected, were able to 'barter' with the fully hung-over innkeeper for more supplies than their party was technically allotted. Thranduil seemed to get some satisfaction from 'agreeably forcing' the man to do so—not that he was really putting up much of an argument. Aragorn personally witnessed him trying to give their money to an inanimate statue, thinking it was his assistant.
They were heading back to the edge of town towards the woods when a wild, piercing scream shattered the still air like the swinging of a sword in a room full of glass.
Aragorn half-turned and froze, listening intently. Thranduil's eyes narrowed and he rested a hand on the long dagger at his belt. Both barely breathed, listening.
A moment later a second yell split the air. This time, however, it contained words.
"Help! Please, oh please, my mother…"
A young boy of perhaps fourteen had appeared at the top of the hill, at the foot of which Aragorn and Thranduil currently stood frozen. He was looking around wildly, tears streaming down his face. His stance was urgent and panicked as he pounded down the hill to where the two strangers stood.
"You've gotta help me," he panted, gazing imploringly into their wary faces. "P-please, sirs, there's nobody else around, no one else who'll help…"
Aragorn had not relaxed his guard but replied cautiously, "What ails you, young sir? For what reason is our help required?"
The boy's eyes widened dramatically. "It's my m-mother, sir," he choked pitifully. "S-she's about t-to have her baby, you see, an' my father's off to work, he don't get home 'til it's way past dark…I'ma 'fraid she won't make it…"
He trailed off, sobbing renewed afresh.
Thranduil and Aragorn exchanged incredulous looks. Surely this lad could not expect them to help deliver a child? For Valar's sakes, they were warriors, not nurses!
"Child," said Thranduil bravely, in an attempt to be diplomatic. "Is there no midwife around? Surely a female would be far better equipped than we to help your mother."
"N-no, sir, beggin' pardon, there's no one," the boy cried. "Look around, sir, d'you see anyone? An' do this seem like a good proper town where's you'd find a birther at?
"No, I suppose not," the king admitted. He looked helplessly at Aragorn, who looked equally unsure.
"Please," the lad pleaded. "You're the only ones awake, everyone else's drunk as death…"
"I suppose we must try," Aragorn said in a low voice. "If the boy's story is true, I cannot in good conscience leave his mother to her pains…though my experience birthing children is…minimal. What say you, my lord?"
He looked at the king in askance. Thranduil looked almost amused.
"I have not seen the birth of a child since Legolas," he said, sounding almost regretful. "And Aragorn, you must understand, that was well over a thousand years ago."
Aragorn sighed. This was ridiculous. A moaning sound came from beside him, and he looked down to find the boy clutching his arms, rocking back and forth and moaning.
Thranduil, again displaying a knack for irritating elven standard, this one apparently of chivalry, muttered something about how the father ought not to leave home if his wife was that pregnant. Aragorn sighed again. "Show us the way, lad."
The boy's face brightened instantly. He gestured anxiously at them. With an energy he looked too frail to possess, he darted up the hill, frantically waving an arm.
The elf king and Ranger were quick to follow. The boy began to run, and the duo were forced to follow suit to keep up.
The lad certainly knew his way around. Darting around prominent boulders, taking indecipherably significant turns, they followed at an exhausting pace for perhaps twenty minutes before the child stopped abruptly in front of the crudest-looking house Aragorn had ever seen. It was no more than a shack made of rough branches and sticks, held together by young saplings and mud. The pair of them probably could have constructed it in a day. A dull glow emitted from the inside, and a woman's groans were clearly heard.
"Parri? Parri, is that you?" her weak voice came faintly.
"Yes, momma, it's me," the boy said anxiously, dashing inside and indicating frantically that they should follow. "I brought help, momma…"
Thranduil and Aragorn followed cautiously inside. The boy had been telling the truth—a woman lay inside on a small cot and was heavily with child. Her swollen belly protruded from the covers on the thin cot. She gave an audible gasp at the sight of the men.
"Parri, what is this?" she demanded in a whisper, while Thranduil and Aragorn pretended not to be able to hear.
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "They were the first I saw, momma, everyone else was drunk…and they came willingly…"
The women's eyes fell upon Thranduil and widened.
"And surely…" she whispered, stretching a finger weakly in the king's direction. "Surely you are no man…?"
"I am an elf," Thranduil replied evenly, guardedly. The woman actually smiled.
"I have heard of the wonders of elves—"
She didn't have a chance to say anything else. Her face suddenly contracted and she gave a sudden scream.
"The b-baby," she whispered, her face drawn and white. "It's c-coming…oh stars…it's coming…"
Parri lurched to her side, stroking her hand and whispering comfortingly to her.
Aragorn knelt at the foot of the bed. He had done this a few times, but only when the need was dire…although he thought that the current circumstances probably qualified as that just now. Usually, however, he had not been alone. Typically it had been helping his father Elrond, or a professional midwife, in a hospital or other place where babies were supposed to be born, not in a dirty shack in the middle of the woods…
Thranduil glided to the side of the bed and knelt gracefully at her side. Aragorn glanced questioningly at him.
"Elves are oft of comfort to many a creature," the king answered his gaze quietly. "I believe I can be of some assistance in this matter."
Aragorn nodded silently and turned his attention back to the woman. Beads of sweat poured down her forehead, and her face was scrunched up tightly in pain and concentration. Her son Parri clutched her right hand, gazing fearfully at her.
"Do not fear, child," Thranduil's voice was soft, and Parri jumped slightly. "Birthing is not an uncommon experience and I daresay your mother seems strong enough to pull through quite well."
Parri nodded, still looking uncertain, though his shoulders relaxed slightly and his breathing became more even.
With the boy at ease Thranduil now turned his attention to the lady on the bed.
"What is your name?" he inquired softly.
"P-Praha, they call me," she whispered, with an effort.
"Praha," said Thranduil easily. "A lovely name. Tell me of your son, Praha." He glanced kindly at Parri, giving him a slight smile of encouragement. "He seems a fine lad."
"Oh, he is," she breathed, beaming weakly at her child. "H-he is ever so helpful with the work, never complains about his chores, always does what the ma—I mean, always does as my husband says…"
Thranduil's sharp ears had caught the slight deviation. He felt certain she had not been about to say 'husband'. He stored it in his mind but did not dwell on it now, for pointing this out during her childbirth was unlikely to ease her pain.
"It seems you and your husband have raised him to become a fine man," Thranduil said. "It takes fine parents indeed to raise a child to be as lovingly obedient as your son appears to be."
"Th-thank you, Master Elf," she murmured. Thranduil noticed a slight flush in her cheeks though they were already stained red with effort.
"Tell me of your husband," he said, watching her face carefully as he remembered how she had stumbled over her words earlier.
"He—" she hesitated before continuing. "Berlon was…is…Berlon is a wonderful man," she finished hastily. She glanced at Thranduil, who had schooled his face to appear that he had not noticed her slight of words. "Apologies, sir," she breathed. "I don't usually get my words mixed up like this…the baby…"
"I understand," Thranduil replied graciously, though a nagging feeling at the back of his mind was prodding him.
"Berlon," she continued before halting abruptly and groaning. Her back arched and she clutched the hands of her son and of the elvenking for support.
"It…hurts…" she ground out, tears squeezing out from between tightly clenched lids.
"Avo 'osto," Thranduil murmured soothingly, stroking her hand gently, and Aragorn was startled to see her relax almost immediately and begin breathing less heavily. He supposed he should not have been surprised, having lived with elves for nearly his entire life, but he had never seen the calming effect elves had on women giving birth.
"Do not fear," Thranduil repeated, this time in Common. She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him.
"It is good for you to be here," she whispered.
There was no more time to say much else, for at that moment she cried out again and Aragorn began rapidly muttering to himself under his breath as he peered where the baby ought to be appearing.
Thranduil merely continued to stroke her hand and murmur soft words of Sindarin to her, as it seemed to soothe her. He knew that Aragorn, having lived under Elrond's roof for so long and being a Dunedán, would be better at this and that the king himself was helping more by acting as comforter.
"I see it," Aragorn said in fluid Sindarin. His frame suddenly stiffened.
"What is wrong?" Thranduil questioned swiftly, careful to keep his voice low so as not to alarm Praha.
"I can see the feet, but not the head," Aragorn replied tersely.
"Forgive me, but I am not accustomed to the ways of human birthing," Thranduil said. "Pray tell what this means."
"The head must come out first," Aragorn murmured in explanation. "If it does not the child could suffocate within the mother's womb."
Thranduil nodded grimly, understanding.
"What are you going to do?" he inquired softly.
"I must try to get the child out very quickly," Aragorn said. He extended a hand and grasped the tiny feet firmly.
Praha meanwhile was gasping and sweating. She could hear the Ranger and king talking, even if she did not know what they were saying, and could tell something was amiss.
"What is wrong?" she gasped, groaning as another wave of pain overtook her. Her son looked wide-eyed from Thranduil to Aragorn, to his mother. He looked even more frightened than she did.
Aragorn did not lie to her. "There is a complication," he told her gently but truthfully. "I am afraid the child's feet are the only part visible."
At his words the woman began to sob in earnest. "N-no," she cried. "This cannot b-be…that ch-child is m-my only h-hope…if it d-dies…Parri will be taken from m-me…"
Aragorn and Thranduil exchanged startled glances.
"Let us assume for now that these words are emotional ones of a pain-ridden mother," Aragor murmured. "Perhaps later we may converse about it…"
Thranduil nodded, and reverted to soft elvish words to Praha. This time they only calmed her down a bit. Tears still poured down her pale yet flushed face.
Aragorn took a deep breath. He knew if he did not act, the baby would die. He grasped the feet with one hand, and used the other to try to create a larger opening, using his fingers to extend the opening. Gently but surely he pulled the tiny infant out, with Praha pushing as hard as she could, gasping for breath as she did.
"Nearly there," he muttered to himself, straining to guide the baby into the world as he delved a hand into the woman's body to create more room.
A set of knees appeared, followed by impossibly thin white thighs… a torso.…sickly shoulders…and finally, the head, followed by arms, which had been thrust up while the rest of the body slid out. Aragorn stiffened as the child slid into his arms; its tiny face was blue and it wasn't breathing. Mucus covered its mouth, and the umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck. Aragorn thrust a finger into the tiny mouth and scooped out the mucus blocking the airway, but it wasn't enough.
"Thranduil," Aragorn hissed, dispensing with formalities. "I need a sterilized knife, now."
Thranduil glanced over and pursed his lips, seeing the still form of the child.
Subtly so as not to alarm the exhausted Praha, who had slumped back against the bed and was now sobbing quietly, he slipped a slender blade to Aragorn, nodding once to assure the cleanliness of the knife.
Aragorn took it with a silent nod of thanks. He severed the cord with one deft cut, and tied it off neatly.
Gently he pressed two fingers over the unmoving infant's chest and pumped twice, then paused. He leaned down and blew a firm yet still gentle burst of air into the child's lungs. He followed by pumping the chest again, and breathing into its mouth once more. He followed the procedure three more times with no success. With a sinking heart he realized he was going to have to tell Praha that her child was stillborn.
He was determined to try once more, however. Pressing the full heel of his hand on the sternum he thrust down with more force than normally used on an infant, and breathed forcefully into the lungs. Three times he did this and a moment later was rewarded by a tiny cough. There was a split second pause, before an piercing wail split the tense air. Parri, who had only been looking at his mother, now gave a giant whoop of joy and fled to the foot of the bed to examine his new sibling. Praha was sobbing harder than ever, but from happiness, and both Thranduil and Aragorn's faces were split into grins of relief.
"Na vedui!" Thranduil exclaimed. "Mae carnen, Dunedán, mae carnen!"
"Le hannon," Aragorn murmured back. He took the tiny infant to a washbasin in the corner of the house and bathed its tiny body before taking a length of cloth from Parri and wrapping it soundly.
"Praha," he said softly, approaching the bed. He knelt at her side and placed the child in her arms. "Congratulations. You have a new, beautiful little girl."
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A few hours later, Aragorn and Thranduil exited the small shack. They had left Praha, young Parri and the girl with more provisions and some money, as they seemed somewhat lacking. They had not wanted to go, but Praha had been extremely persistent, insisting that her husband was coming home soon and would not want to find two strangers in his home, no matter how helpful they had been. He could be unreasonable at times, she had explained, looking faintly embarrassed. When Thranduil and Aragorn had offered to stay until her husband arrived home later that evening, she had become almost violent in her insistence that they leave.
She had thanked them profusely, and become ashamed when she could offer them nothing in return, though naturally the two refused any offers she tried to make.
Her husband would be back any minute, she had explained, as it was nearly dark, and cheerfully waved to them from bed as the little girl cooed happily in her arms. Parri had seen them to the edge of the woods, thanking them, too.
"Little Sîdh Meren is quite the screamer," Aragorn commented with a wry grin.
Thranduil nodded serenly in agreement. "Interesting, is it not?"
"Precisely what?" Aragorn asked, slightly confused.
Thranduil inclined his head slightly. "The child's name. She desired an Elvish name."
Aragorn nodded, understanding. "Peace and Joy," he murmured, thinking of the meaning of the two elvish words which Praha had chosen for her infant's name.
Thranduil chuckled. "Peace…I think not! Not with all those screams emitting from that six-hour-old throat!"
Aragorn shifted his pack to his other shoulder and permitted himself to smile again. "I believe she was making up for lost time!" he exclaimed. "Perhaps she was letting the world know how much she disliked being stuck half in the womb and half out!"
They made their way back to Blood Gulch and carefully threaded through it, as it was the most direct way back to where they had left Áirúlas and Belthan, Thranduil's warriors.
"We wondered, Lord," Áirúlas admitted seriously after they had met up again. "Yet we remained, as instructed."
"Thank you," Thranduil replied graciously, smiling slightly. He knew his warriors and knew they would obey any instruction given by him, to the death.
"If I may ask," Belthan spoke up from Thranduil's right as they prepared to set off again. "What kept you, my lord? We expected you back some time ago."
"Extenuating circumstances," Thranduil replied evenly. "I assure you, my friend, that we were in no danger."
Both warriors relaxed slightly, for that was what they had been wanting to hear. What they king did was his business alone, but where the king's safety was concerned, that was entirely another matter. If one good thing could be said of the Mirkwood elves it would be that her warriors were loyal to her king to death.
A cry from Aragorn made the elves whirl around.
"What ails you, Ranger?" Thranduil demanded. His eyes narrowed and a hand drifted absently towards his waist, where his elven blades were kept.
Aragorn held up a small pouch and Thranduil's eyes widened. He recognized it as the one they had left Praha containing money and other provisions.
"How did that reutrn to our care?" Thranduil wondered. Aragorn shook his head.
"I know not," he said. He hesitated. "I find it very strange," he admitted. "Did you perchance hear some of what she said during the birth? It did not make sense."
Thranduil nodded slowly, considering. "She used 'was' instead of 'is' when she referred to her husband," he recalled. "And began to say 'the', followed by a word beginning with the letter 'm' after it, before she quickly corrected herself."
"Could her husband be dead?" Aragorn mused, his eyes narrowed as he thought.
"Perhaps she referred to 'the master'," Thranduil speculated quietly. "I can conclude nothing further…"
"But," Aragorn continued. "Why would she lie to us? We have emerged unscathed and the situation seems perfectly innocent. A boy comes running to us to tell us his mother is about to bear child, and we come and see that his tale is one of truth. We assist, and leave." He frowned.
"We should return," Thranduil said. It didn't add up. Something here was wrong.
Aragorn nodded. He hoisted his pack onto his back.
Thranduil motioned to his warriors, who had stood silently by.
"I assume you now realize our goings-on during our absense," he told them shortly by way of explanation. "Something does not feel right when it should. The truth must be sought, and swiftly."
Each elf nodded unblinkingly. They were ready to follow their lord to wherever he lead them.
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The jaunt ldead them once again through Blood Gulch and to the edge of the wood. Aragorn, being a superb tracker and the best in the group, was easily able to retrace their steps. He lead them through the woods, around the various boulders and other markers which his Ranger's mind had stored. Invisible to any but a very skilled tracker, it was by these details Aragorn was able to lead the party swiftly to the very spot where only hours earlier they had helped Praha deliver young Sîdh Meren.
Aragorn stopped short. The slightest sharp intake of breath from Thranduil confirmed that his eyes did not deceive him.
The cabin was gone. Utterly and completely gone.
Where the rude shack had formerly stood there was now only a pile of lumber with the thinnest tendril of smoke curling lazily from it.
Praha and Parri were nowhere to be seen.
The thin, piercing wail of a newborn infant shattered the ominous air.
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A/N-I have never given birth and am not very familiar with the process! I understand I may have messed things up, but I did some research and did the best I could. So, I ask you to keep this in mind if you desire to point out a medial error of mine in reviewing. Thank you!
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Sidh Meren: Peace Joy
Avo 'osto-- Fear not
Na vedui!--At last!
Mae carnen!--Well done!
Le hannon--Thank you.
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Please, please review!!
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