Midnight Miracle
Gundshau jerked out of sleep to the sounds of a horse and cart wheels on the hard-packed ground outside.
"Nymhriel!" a man's voice shouted, high-pitched from panic. "Nymhriel!" There was a thundering pounding on the door of the cottage.
The healer bolted from the bed, nearly dragging the blanket off the orc in her haste, and ran out the door to let the late night visitor in. Gundshau listened intently to the voices out the window.
"Is it time?" the healer asked.
"I think so," the man replied, his voice shaking. "The waters loosed as you said they would, but she is in great pain."
"Goodness, Berenold, were you not there for her first?"
"Nay," he replied. "Eleanor came when I was at Pellenor Fields."
"Brace yourself, then," Nymhriel said. "Help me bring her in."
The orc was utterly baffled. None of the tark's words made any sense to him, other than the mention of Pellenor. He'd learned later that was the name of the field before Minas Tirith, where the great army was routed some years ago. Followed mere days later by the complete disordering of his world... All of a sudden, the keening wail of a female in terrible pain sounded through the window. Gundshau froze, eyes widening with alarm. Whatever was happening, he had not heard such a cry in his life.
The door to the bedroom banged open and Nymhriel hustled inside. Going to the wardrobe opposite the bed, the healer pulled out linens and pillows, then dashed back into the kitchen, where the orc could see the man carrying in the groaning form of a woman. As heedless as when she prepared the table for him, dishes crashed to the floor. He could see one end of the table; Nymhriel hastily prepared a bed for the woman. Berenold lay her gently down.
As Gundshau watched the scene in the kitchen, he realized Nymhriel hadn't closed the bedroom door.
The woman's face suddenly contorted from some great strain and she wailed again. The doorframe hid the woman from her grotesquely distended midsection down, so he wasn't able to see what the healer was doing.
"Berenold, hold her shoulders up," Nymhriel instructed calmly. The man did as he was told, cradling the woman in his arms. "Sweet Valar, it's breeched. Hannah, darling, I will need to turn it. This will hurt. Please forgive me. Berenold, hold her still as best you can."
Whatever Nymhriel did to the woman, it must have been horrifically painful, for Hannah threw her head back and bellowed so loudly the rafters shook. It was the kind of sound that caused Gundshau's instinctive need to run for cover to kick in. Even his shieldbrother's roar of pain while being ripped in twain by a troll hadn't been that tortured. Berenold's face paled, but he firmed his mouth and held his ground.
"All right, that's got it," Nymhriel said after a few moments. "Your little one is anxious to come out. I see the head. You should feel the need to push any moment now. Hannah, dear, slow your breathing. You will make yourself faint. Berenold, brace yourself, she will use you for leverage."
It did not take long for Hannah to fold forward and contort her face with a strain Gundshau couldn't understand. All he could see were Hannah's sweat-covered face, heaving chest, and clenched arms, and Berenold's gradually increasing expression of horror. It was enough to send the ignorant orc into paroxysms of terror as well.
"There, there, almost there," the healer crooned. "You are doing well, all is well. One more push..."
Berenold arched forward to see what was happening at the other end of the table. To the orc's surprise, the man's face suddenly went slack, and he slithered to the floor.
"Ignore him," Nymhriel said with a hint of amusement. "He can face the abominations of Mordor, but pales before the most natural thing in the world." The orc felt a twinge of anger at her reference to his kind, but quickly suppressed it.
Hannah bent forward once more, straining hard, then suddenly fell backwards, her head hanging off the end of the table, her breath coming in gasps. Nymhriel cried out in delight. "Oh, Hannah! You have given Berenold a son!" To emphasize her shocking announcement, the relative quiet of the cottage was sundered by the angry wail of an infant.
Gundshau's mouth fell open. He was further astounded by the woman's apparently swift recovery. Moments before, she had appeared to be in the worst pain imaginable, but once the swaddled form of her child was in her arms, she was cooing and smiling down at the tiny face, caressing the balled up fists waving furiously in the air. Memory stirred in the orc, and he found himself beginning to smile a little.
"He is beautiful, is he not?" Hannah said, speaking her first words since arriving. Nymhriel returned to her side, wiping blood and fluids from her arms with a towel.
"All babes are beautiful," she said, "but he is exceptional." The women beamed at one another. Suddenly, Nymhriel glanced up and met Gundshau's eyes. Frowning, she strode purposely around the table and slammed the door on the bedroom.
The orc's mind reeled. An infinite number of questions came to him. Fretting impatiently, he waited for hours until well after sunrise when Berenold and Hannah left with their new child. Eventually, a thoroughly exhausted Nymhriel quietly opened the bedroom door and entered with a bowl of oatmeal. His breakfast.
Seating herself on the edge of the bed rather than the stool she usually sat on, the healer began spooning the thick substance into the orc's mouth.
Questions could wait. He learned quickly that this woman was just as skilled in the kitchen as she was in the healing arts. Every mouthful was a gift, and he was not one to squander such things. He almost hoped she'd never release him, if she would only continue to cook such delicious food. The thought surprised him, since he'd always eaten his meat raw and never deigned to allow a vegetable to pass his lips before now. He was less surprised by the desire to remain imprisoned; the alternative was returning to the band of orcs he traveled with. There was no longer an organized army, but the group was led by a former lieutenant of Sauron's, and he ran their lives as if they were on campaign. It was nigh unbearable at times. As for being bound... and not tortured... such a unique combination. It bore thinking about.
Even so simple a dish as oatmeal could reduce the orc to languid stillness, a grin on his face. Belly full, he finally opened his eyes to look at her.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
She was so tired she seemed unable to keep her eyes open. "Tell you what?"
"Pain. It is normal?"
She nodded wordlessly, but didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
"Woman endure pain for child?"
She nodded in silence again. Her eyes were drooping shut.
"Why?"
"New life is a precious gift," she said wearily. "It is worth the suffering. I have been midwife to women whose suffering lasted for many hours. Hannah was lucky; she has borne a child before, and the boy came quickly, though backwards."
"Backwards?"
Sighing, she said, "Babies are meant to come out head first. He did not, so I had to turn him. It is not pleasant, but thankfully not common either."
Biting his lip, he whispered, "Come out where?"
Frowning, she tilted her head and regarded him carefully, as if unsure he was sincere. "You truly do not know?" He shook his head. "You know how babies are made, do you not?" He shrugged and nodded. He wasn't that stupid. "Well, the... passage is an entrance as well as an exit."
His eyes flared open in shock. He hadn't been inside too many females, but he knew it wasn't big enough for the size of baby he saw passed to the mother! Then he thought back to his little sister, tiny to his eyes when first presented to the family, but at least as big as the Woman's child. His brow furrowed deeply, trying to recall if he'd seen or heard any sounds like the Woman made when his ma bore any of his younger sisters. He couldn't; it had been too long ago, and he was too young then.
Nymhriel laughed lightly at his expression. "Yes, it can be a shock to men. Berenold was unprepared."
"You ever bear child?"
She seemed taken aback by his question. "Well, no, I have not."
"Want child?"
"I do not think that is any of your business," she said stiffly.
"Not seem fair," Gundshau mused, oblivious to her sudden discomfort. "Woman endure great pain for child. Woman endure pain to make child."
Again, Nymhriel was startled. "What... what makes you think it hurts to make a child?"
The orc gave her a withering look. "Why woman scream and weep when taken? See it sometimes. Orcess don't scream, don't weep."
The healer's mouth fell open in shock that was quickly replaced with fury. "You are an imbecile," she hissed. Lurching to her feet, she glared down at the orc. "A filthy beast. How you can equate rape with..." Too angry to say anything further, Nymhriel whirled and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Gundshau sank back on the pillow and stared out the window thoughtfully, considering her words and reaction to his. As he did so, he absently scraped the rope at his right wrist. His thoughts were too far away to notice the fraying and snapping of the strands.