Ok, so second one-shot here...boy, this collection is getting more publicity then my two other stories O.o. YAY! Altair/Maria is getting some love =). Btw, I'm getting some heat here at the home because of the 4th of July parade yesterday. All the drunken idiots of this town decided it would be O.K to leave their beer cans /cigarettes/ candy wrappers/ whole bunch of other garbage on our property, so I'm spending the next two days cleaning up the mess. Anyway, enough of my whining. Here ya go!
Altaïr dipped the quill into the inkwell, covering the tip in the gooey substance and swinging it over the parchment. Scratching away the instructions, his mind couldn't help but wander over to Maria.
He should be by her side.
Quickly finishing off the letter, he stood up from his chair just as Malik came up the stairs, with a look unfit for the hardened Assassin. Malik perked his eyebrows in question as Altaïr walked past him with a mixed expression of compassion and determination.
"The birthing chamber is no place for a man, Altaïr." Malik called after his friend, amusement in his voice. Altaïr stopped abruptly in the middle of the staircase once he heard the crippled man's voice.
"I know. And I have a feeling I will regret it once Maria sees me, but I want to be there to see if my child is healthy." Altaïr responded rather coldly. Behind him, Malik sighed, knowing it was impossibly to change his stubborn friend's decision.
"Novice..." Malik muttered to himself, and for a moment, it seemed Altaïr was going to turn around and argue. But the Grandmaster had already descended down the stairs from the study, determined to reach his wife.
Altaïr calmly walked through the gardens, but with each step he took towards the birthing chamber, anxiety began to take its' toll on him. Questions rushed through his mind; what if the child is dead? What if he looks at the child and feels no fatherly draw towards it? Will he uphold his promise to love it unlike his father did?
...What if Maria dies?
No, this was no time to ask such morbid questions. But his steps only slowed once he heard his wife's howls of pain and swearing through the wooden door, and he began contemplating whether he should have come. The midwife's servants told him Maria had just entered labor, and likely will be continuing for many hours. Maybe he should come back later...
But then, the women let out an ear-tearing wail that seemed it had awoken the village below, as dogs and young children of the citizens began to join in a chorus of screams. Altaïr grew more alarmed, and before he knew what had happened, he gently opened the door.
"YOU!" He heard Maria shout at his back as he closed the door behind him. Before he turned around to his wife, something small and hard hit him in the back, stunning him slightly. He looked down to see a small, round rock wobbling around the floor, making a hollow whirring sound as it settled down. He looked back up to Maria, who was completely red in the face with anger, frustration and covered in sweat from her painstaking labor. Maria's mouth was fixed into a ruthless snarl, and it seemed that the midwife's servants were having trouble holding her down from leaping off the bed to tear apart every unlucky human in the room.
"YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING BASTARD! LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" Maria let loose a feral growl at Altaïr as he walked toward her. She broke one of the servant's grip once Altaïr was close enough and grabbed his head, locking her husband and slamming him close to her chest in a death-grip by the neck.
Maria threw her head back when another howl escaped her throat as the cramps in her lower body suddenly grew more intense and began to burn with searing heat.
She snarled at the midwife, saliva frothing at the mouth, "WHY WON'T YOU DO ANYTHING? GET THIS OUT OF ME!" Altaïr gently took her arm, trying his best to be as gentle and calm as possible to this deadly cobra who was holding him at her mercy. Squeezing her hand with his right and raising her arm, he slithered his head out of her grip, but soon found his appendage being crushed as Maria reared up with another wave of pain.
"Maria...don't worry...it will be over...soon...please?" Altaïr begged the midwife more so than reassuring his wife. His breathing came out in sharp gasps just like his birthing wife as she kept the same unwavering grip on his hand.
The midwife came around to the foot of the bed, where Maria's legs were propped up. Lifting the blanket slightly, the old women smiled, "Looks like you're almost ready, my dear...now listen carefully to me..." she looked up to Maria's contorted face with compassion and understanding, then to Altaïr with an amused expression at the Grandmaster grimacing in pain. "I'm going to tell you to push, and when I say 'push', I mean PUSH. This won't take long, deary." Maria could only nod and bite her lip as another wave came.
Then, suddenly, the waves stopped and were replaced by a force pushing down on her stomach. Maria huffed at the sudden loss of breath, but remembered what the midwife said: take deep breaths, and push when I say.
"Altaïr, since you're not thin-skinned like the other men, do me a favor: cool her down by soaking that cloth in the water there," the midwife motioned toward the towel on the stand Altaïr was standing by and a bucket full of crisp, icy water on his right. He could only nod in affirmation and proceed to the task at hand. It was rather difficult reaching the cloth with his right hand still in the clutches of the fire-breathing dragon on the bed, but by criss-crossing his arms he just barely managed to knock it off the stand, stumbling slightly to catch it just as the midwife began to bark orders at Maria.
Maria groaned in pain as she reared her back, letting her head fall forward with the strong push she forced out of her already diminished strength. She sat back down on the bed, panting furiously to keep up with her deep breaths. Altaïr gently pressed the damp cloth onto her forehead and the back of her neck, being abnormally caring and calm towards his wife, at least in the servant's eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity of pushing and encouraging, Maria began to grow exhausted, and Altaïr's patience wearing thin, "How long is this going to take?" he demanded, eyes bloodshot and voice devoid of every emotion except fear and concern.
"Just one more push should do it..." The midwife smiled up at the mother and father. Suddenly, the unmistakeable wail of a newborn let loose and echoed throughout the room. Maria let her head fall on the pillow in a flurry of dark curls and drops of sweat, grip weakening on her husband, and ragged breathing issued through her lips in a frenzied rate as her tiredness overtook her. Altaïr, however, could only stare at the squirming, wailing child being cleaned of blood and wrapped in warm cloth, and from the pit of his chest, a strange warmth spread throughout his body.
Beside him, Maria stood up slightly from the bed, eyes wandering across the room in search for her child. The midwife, with a large smile and shaky hands, gently laid the tiny package in the arms of its' mother before chortling, "Congratulations you two, it's a boy. I think we'll leave you three alone for now. I'll be outside if you need me." Motioning to her servants, the band of young and old women quickly left the birthing room, leaving Altaïr and Maria in the room with their new son.
Altaïr drew his gaze down to the tiny being laying in Maria's limp arms. His son.
Their son...
A strange, long grin spread across his face as he stared at the squirming newborn. He looked so much like his father on a smaller scale...a large, hooked nose, tufts of dark hair covering his head...Altaïr wondered if he will have his eyes or Maria's.
Looking up to Maria, her gray eyes met his brown, as well as the proud smile both wore. Altaïr placed a soft kiss on Maria's forehead, but then she mumbled, "Do you want to hold him?"
Altaïr nodded, putting his arms out in front of him. Maria adjusted her hold on the package and settled the newborn into the father's arms, chiding Altaïr tiredly to make sure he is holding their son correctly.
"What shall we name him?" Maria whispered, sleep coming close to taking her.
Altaïr did not take his eyes away from his son, watching him squirm and kick his limps sporadically, face scrunched into a pucker. When Altaïr spoke, it seemed to shine with pride, "Haytham...The Young Eagle." he brought the child closer to his face and brushed a light kiss upon the top of the child's head, "Welcome to the world, Haytham..."
A/N: Awww! Did I make you guys go aww too? No? Did I make you sh*t your pants with Maria giving birth? No? Fine...
WOW! I wrote this in a day! I hope Altaïr didn't seem too OOC in this chapter and the last one, but I was really focusing in on Maria and making her look like the girl from the Exorcism O.O can you imagine what Altaïr went through when dealing with a scenario like this? Man, I do kinda hate how I made him act like such a pushover, but you know, don't fight against a screaming about-to-give-birth women who's got you in the headlock maneuver.
I like how it turned out, but do you guys like it? Please R&R! If you have an idea, don't be afraid to offer one, as I'm running out (sad face).