Tu Es Ma Lumière

4 - Birth

"Push, Majesty! Push!" the midwife yelled in the middle of the Empress of England, France, Scotland, Ireland and Wales' legs. The young, resplendent Empress screamed out in pain as it continued to worsen and worsen, like something was ripping her apart from the inside out.

"I know," Lola Narciesse said -the mother of her husbands' stillborn bastard son-, taking her Empress' hand, wiping a cold cloth upon her brow. "I know," she affirmed. "but you have to keep going, Mary." she tried to comfort.

"I can't do this." Mary sobbed, falling back against the pillows. "I-I can't."

"You can, Mary." Francis murmured from her side, holding tight to the hand that had clamped around his like a vise. He kissed her knuckles and the back of her palm rapidly, his brow contorted as sweat ran down the back of his neck. He feared for his wife and his son's life, although far from an expert of childbirth, he knew it was a dangerous business. And let it be known that the Emperor despised seeing his Empress in the throes of such pain in which she was right now.

"Ah! Ah!" Mary's screams grew in volume and pitch, her body tensing as it fought to release it's little occupant from it's womb. She grit her teeth harshly, leaning her head forward as her body contracted, tightening like a vise as she pushed and pushed and pushed.

"That's it, Imperial Majesty! That's it! You're so close!" the midwife yelled amongst the frantic shuffles of nurses, doctors, midwives and servants. Mary screamed out, falling back into the pillows as she pushed.

"Breathe, Imperial Majesty." one of the midwives insisted. "Rest, you're so close." she finished as Kenna leaned a cup of water to her Queen's lips. Mary drank eagerly, sighing as the Empress enjoyed the lack of pain, even for a moment. Lola continued to swipe the cold, wet cloth upon Mary's brow, murmuring words of encouragement as the Queen continued to labour.

Francis bit his lip as the pain came back, bringing with it his wife's scream as she continued to cry and bring their child into the world. He wrapped his other arm around her back, supporting her weight as she leaned forward to try and force out the child. Kenna and Greer -who were supporting Mary's legs- gently pushed them backwards to give the midwife more room to deliver the baby.

Mary screamed out in pain as it worsened and worsened. Francis' grip on his lip almost drew blood as he saw how much crimson and scarlet had coated Mary's legs and the sheets.

"That's it, Majesty! That's it!" the midwife yelled from Mary's legs. "I can see the head, Majesty! One more! One more!" she encouraged.

Another scream, another push. Francis caught his wife as she sagged, almost lifelessly, into his arms, gently laying her form onto the pillows. Mary panted for air, laying like a rag doll  as her legs were lay down onto the soft sheets below. She inhaled shakily, breathing in deep as the midwives dove for the small bundle in the leader's arms.

The shrill cry of a newborn baby brought breath from almost all of the occupants' lungs. Mary laughed -although exhausted- with Francis. He placed a kiss onto her lips and to her head, turning to take the screaming bundle from the midwives' arms.

"My Emperor." she smiled. "A son."