For The Love Of A Pendragon.

Chapter Twelve...The Birth of The Fated...

Nimue and Percy

Chapter Twelve…The Birth of The Fated…

Arthur was at my side in what seemed like a moment, he took my hand gently and told me to take my pain out on him. Within the next few hours of that dark night my husband would no doubt regret his offer. My labour, although relatively short was intensely painful and as it neared its conclusion Drusilla let out a cry of horror as she discovered the child was coming feet first. I had no understanding of this matter but from the fearful expression that clouded Lucile’s face I assumed it was a dangerous and unwanted turn of events.

                Pushing with all my might I willed my baby to come, to be released from its warm, bloody home and into the world that awaited it. Pain ripped through me causing me to fling my head back violently from the agony of it. As I did so the room disappeared for a moment, blackness descended.

‘This child shall be born, fear not Nimue.’ 

 

My god spoke and as it did so I felt the miniature form of a child slip from me with more ease than my pain and the women’s panic had seemed to suggest. Calm and peace washed over me but it only lasted a moment. My baby was not crying.

                ‘What’s wrong with it?’ I demanded, my voice coming more weakly than I had thought it would. The pain had been intense but in those final moments the god had saved me from the worse of it.

                Those around me seemed not to hear me, ‘oh gods!’ shouted Arthur, who was now besides the women. ‘Drusilla save her!’ he pleaded. ‘I can’t lose her! Not now!’ The baby’s a girl? My mind wondered for a moment before I fell unconscious of entirely natural means…

        

                                                                                     *******

The child would not cry and Nimue was bleeding profusely, she blacked out and we were thrown into panic mode. New-born and apparently lifeless the small parcel of blood and mucus was thrust into my arms with the command, ‘Wrap him in a towel for god’s sake Percy, warm him, try to make him breath!’

                I followed out the order without a second thought, Nimue may have just given birth to someone else’s son and I may have watched as she delivered a child that would never be mine but it was not a time for jealously or malice. The child deserved a life and if Nimue died I would cling to it as the only physical remains of the woman I still so dearly loved. I could not look at her as I endeavoured to save her son but Drusilla and my sister rushed backwards and forwards with hot water and wadding and most importantly needles and thread. The child had ripped her apart as he made his entrance into the world and I willed him to life if only so that his mother’s agony was not in vain.

                I rubbed with determined vigour, and after what seemed like a very long time but was actually only a moment or two, the baby let out a pitiful wail. Lucile cried in delight and turned to me in joy. I continued to warm his little body until he was crying more strongly followed by regular breathing.

                Meanwhile Drusilla stitched Nimue with her expertly neat hands and after a tense few moments withdrew a satisfied expression on her face. ‘She will be okay.’ The lady stated with conviction. ‘But we must let her rest.’

                Arthur knelt beside his unconscious wife and kissed first her hand and then her forehead tenderly, ‘well done my darling,’ he murmured devotedly. Lucile wordlessly aided Drusilla in changing the sheets around Nimue and covering her with warm furs.

                Then, for the first time all attention fell on the child within my arms. He had stopped crying now, his sparkling blue eyes wide open. He had a rough of feathery dark hair on his head but the face was entirely Nimue’s.

                ‘My son,’ Arthur breathed reverently stepping forward. ‘May I Percy?’ he asked, not even thinking to start questioning how Lucile and I had become involved in the matter.

                I nodded, feeling a sudden reluctance to give over the little buddle of life I held. ‘But you have to,’ I reminded myself internally, ‘he’s not yours and nor will she ever be.’

                Arthur took him gently and held him close before walking over to Nimue’s bedside and sitting down upon the edge of it. ‘That is your mother,’ he whispered as if he had no audience, ‘she is the most wonderful and kind and beautiful person I have ever known.’ I felt tears forming behind my eyes but refused to let them show beside me the women did not fret about their emotions being on display. They both began to cry and then embraced each other as if they were girlhood friends rather than a high born lady and a lowly serving girl.

                Slowly Nimue became to stir; her eyes flickered a little before openly fully. It was as if she sensed the presence of her husband and son and dared not miss them for a moment.

                ‘Arthur…’ she stated quietly, she sounded weak but as always determined. ‘Is our little one okay?’

                Arthur nodded his tears splashing down onto the child’s blankets and Nimue’s furs. ‘Yes my dearest love,’ he replied, ‘we have a beautiful, perfect little boy.’

                A contented smile spread across her face which was drawn with exhaustion. ‘I thank the gods – what shall we name him?’

                ‘Whatever you wish,’ Arthur answered gently.

                ‘What is he like?’ she asked.

                ‘Small but strong, we were worried for a moment that he would not live, so uncertain about it he was. He did not cry immediately but now he is well enough – thanks to Percy.’ The king’s words warmed my heart as I watched the scene unfurl.

                Nimue glanced weakly towards me and rewarded me with a grateful smile. Turning back to Arthur she made up her mind. ‘Uncertain one, I like that – much in his life will be uncertain.’

                ‘Except the love felt towards him by his parents and those around him.’ Drusilla interrupted with soft, quiet conviction.

                Nimue smiled again, though it was clear every expression and word required great effort. ‘Then we shall name him uncertain but well cared for… Mordred Pryderi Pendragon…what do you think Arthur?’

                ‘I think it suits him perfectly,’ the king replied overcome with a calm sense of joy and relief the like of which he had never known.

                ‘Mordred…’ repeated Lady Drusilla, ‘Yes I think that will do very well.’