My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It's Time

  36 weeks...

  Howls, unnaturally sharp for the deep roads, echoed off the stone crumbling around Lana. Dust, there was always too much dust. Dipping down to her knees, she tried to wipe the dust off of her shoes only to draw her hand back coated in blood.

  What the...?

  A piercing cry broke the air.

  Whipping her head up, she broke into a run down the ancient road in pursuit of the sound. Her Grey Warden robes swished around her ankles while she unsheathed the staff off her back. In the distance, across from the crumbling ground, a gang of hurlocks glanced back towards whatever was crying while scampering in fear away from it. Strange, there were darkspawn around her but she couldn't sense them.

  It was a problem to solve later. Lana redoubled her efforts, pursuing the tears because her body told her to. Someone was in pain. That was it. It was a cry of pain, or fear, as if a terrifying darkness was encroaching upon the poor soul. Shadows erupted out from below her feet, clouding the cavern. Lana twisted around trying to find her exit or even where she came from, but it all vanished into the void. There was nothing here but the sound of her breath and heartbeat.

  No. There was another. Below her more experienced throbbing heart was a smaller flutter, barely strong enough to strike the air, but it existed. The noise called to her, pulling her further along out of the void. As darkness faded she stepped into the light of day brighter than staring into the sun.

  Lana threw her hand up to block it, only to be met by the sounds of battle. Yanking her blinder away, she stared in shock to find herself atop the tower of Fort Drakon. Darkspawn swarmed in the multitude; soldiers, mages, elves, and dwarves all fighting for their lives and their cause. She tried to make sense of what was happening, how she could get from the deep roads to here, when the cry began again.

  By daylight, her ears recognized the wails of an infant. It tugged at her soul, the baby in a shrill panic as if it'd been starving for days. Turning around, she spotted a pile of blankets sitting in the middle of a ring of soldiers trying to fight off darkspawn. A hurlock corpse tumbled right beside the baby, its black blood dribbling near the pile of blue and silver blankets.

  Swords and bodies shifted, trying to block Lana from the child. Gritting her teeth, she barely broke the veil to send both soldier and darkspawn flying. Below her feet the blankets rustled, the baby waving its arms and legs in pain. She had no idea how to help, but she had to try. Dipping to a knee, Lana scooped up the bundle. Her fingers moved to draw back the blanket that fell over the child's head, when a roar that nearly cracked Ferelden in half shattered the air.

  A black spot circled the sky, its shadow lengthening over the ground to swallow it whole, until the archdemon landed upon the top of the tower. Stretching out its tail, a cry erupted from the horned head that knocked every body back. All the soldiers turned from their darkspawn and ran headlong at the creature, their swords waving as a cry of "For Ferelden" rang from each throat. Lana was too far from it for her spells to even reach, but she spotted a familiar tuft of blonde hair dodging a swipe of the dragon's claws.

  She blinked, and suddenly Lana stood before the weakened and bloody archdemon. A greatsword weighed down her exhausted arms, but the knowledge she had to finish this gifted her the strength. But how? She'd just been over...? The baby forgotten, Lana lifted the sword high and moved to stab it right through the archdemon's throat.

  As the blade was about to make contact, the dragon's head flipped around and a great yellow eye stared into hers. Its slit of a pupil constricted, power wafting off the creature while it seemed to be studying Lana as if weighing her heart. She tried to shake it off and finish the job, when the eye went milky white. A voice pounded in her head, inscrutable, but the depths of its baritone rumbled through her veins.

  The tower lit up around her, every darkspawn body screaming through her head as she felt them all. Every voice. Every tooth. Every song.

  A feral scream ripped apart Lana's throat, the pain agonizing. She tried to claw apart her burning flesh to free herself, but a hand caught her wrist to stop her.

  "Lana?" a terrified voice whispered out of the darkness. "Lana, what is it?"

  As soon as the pain struck it faded, allowing Lana to open up her eyes to find Cullen staring down at her. He'd cupped tight to her cheek, his eyes wide in panic. It was a dream, she tried to assure herself, nothing more than a darkspawn dream. But she knew that pain, she remembered it better than any other in her life.

  "Was it a nightmare?" her husband asked. He didn't seem to want to let her go, but she sat up, letting her feet hit the floor, needing to see it was their abbey and not the deep roads. Bad dreams happened to them both, the past rearing up from where it should stay, causing one to wake and try to talk the other down. She'd often come to from visions of blood streaking down her arms to find herself curled up in Cullen's. All those bad turns, all those nights and she'd never seen him so stricken white before.

  Hands curled against her shoulders, trying to massage away the pain as he rolled the strap of her nightgown back and forth. She wanted to fall into him, to let his touch soothe her as it always did, but it nibbled at the back of her brain. A tiny voice, almost imperceptible if she wasn't listening for it, sang for them all.

  "Darkspawn," Lana gasped, her fingers curling tight to the bed.

  "I feared as such," Cullen said.

  "No," she shook her head, the tears dripping down her cheeks as she turned to face him, "it's...Cullen, it's back."

  "What is?"

  She wanted to be wrong. She begged to be wrong. But she knew in her soul she wasn't.

  Screwing her eyes up tight, she breathed, "The taint."

  "What are you talking about? The taint, but it's been...over a year. How can it be back?" He was panicking too, one hand digging into his neck while the other remained tight to her arm.

  "I don't know," Lana shook her head, "I don't understand. Maybe I, I could have only knocked it down, and it was still there in my blood lurking. Waiting to resurge. I don't know," she gasped, her face folding into her lap.

  "You're wrong," he insisted, "it was a bad dream. You dreamed about being a Warden and..."

  "For the love the Maker," she spat, "I know what the taint is! I know what it feels like to have it swirling inside of me!" Her shout rang through their bedroom, Lana's wrath landing fast against her husband's insistent wall. He crumbled at her raw anger, Cullen drifting inward as she was struck back by it. Their one hope stolen from them. She'd been so cocky, so certain that she'd been the one to solve the curse.

  "What if...?" Cullen blinked through the start of tears, "You can take it again. Give yourself another year, and then another, and..."

  "That's assuming it'd even work again, or be as effective with each dose. I need to..." She shuffled off the bed and attempted to rise to her feet when pain walloped up her stomach. Gasping, Lana tumbled to a knee. It felt as if her intestines were set on fire and then tried to flee in terror. She attempted to knead the flaming pain away, her knuckles rolling across her lower stomach not swollen with child.

  "Lana..." Cullen dashed off the bed and fell to the ground beside her.

  She took in a steadying breath, shaking her head, "It's, they said it could happen. That there'd be..." Lana moved to wrap her hand around her husband to help her rise, when another one hit, stronger and deeper inside. "Maker's breath," she groaned, trying to escape the pain coming from within her.

  "Oh no," Lana felt something wet sliding between her legs. As she drew back her fingers, she blanched at the blood that'd begun.

  Cullen gasped, his face in a near panic as she tried to rise, "Lana, you're hurt."

  His words were so simple it drew a perverted laugh to her throat. Trying to bury it, she gritted out, "The baby's coming."

  "So soon?" he tried to scoop his hand under her stomach as if he could tell his child to calm down, "Is it too soon?"

  "I have no idea," she admitted, tea
rs springing forward. "I fear my body's rejecting the child, because of the taint."

  "What...?" Cullen gulped, the panic she wished she could have found adorable gripping tight. The about to be father's bumbling should be quaint and something to laugh at later. Instead, her own heart was racing as the pain of both impeding childbirth and the blight wracked her body. Her own fear threatened to engulf her pounding heart. "What do we do?"

  "Help me up," she ordered, her husband guiding his arms around her back, "then, you'll have to send for Misha."

  "The local midwife?" he sneered while sliding her back to bed. She groped down to find the blood pooling between her crotch wasn't as much as she feared. "I thought you hated her. What about using Mia's..."

  Lana dipped into the fade to feel her baby's life strong, its little heart thumping but growing more urgent as if in fear or running from danger. Shaking it away, she gripped onto Cullen's hand, "We don't have a choice. This kid's coming fast."

  "Okay," he nodded, "I'll, I'll send someone to collect her...just," Cullen moved to slide away, but he kept his hand knotted around hers. As their tether reached the end, he gasped, "Tell me you'll be okay. Tell me you'll survive this and not, just promise me."

  She was walking a fine tightrope across the unknown. A single wobble of her ankle or a blast of wind and Lana would topple into the void. In the process she'd lose not only her life, but her child's as well. Putting on a fake smile, she lied to Cullen, "I'll be okay."

  Wiping away the tears, he snatched up a pair of pants and dressed quickly. "Once I find whoever's awake and send them, I'll come right back. How many of the healing draughts should I bring? All of them? And towels. There was something about boiling towels..." He spoke to himself, needing to have something to do while Lana lay her hand against her stomach.

  Please be okay, little one.

  Please don't let my blood have poisoned you.

  * * *

  By the time Misha arrived the contractions had slowed along with the pain from the taint re-surging across her body. Lana was trying to keep focused away from the fear and abdomen wracking cramps by pacing back and forth in their room. Unaware she was doing it, her fingers kept snapping a single flame on and off from the candle upon her desk. It wasn't until Amber announced the arrival of the midwife that Cullen grabbed onto her hand to get her to stop.

  She blanched at the foolish move, about to apologize for letting her magic nearly slip out, when he cupped his hands around her cheeks and moved to kiss her.

  "You sent for me," Misha interrupted, trying to fill the doorway. There was truly no love lost between the local midwife who relied as much upon folk legends as common sense, and the sudden healer in the woods who seemed to mend people as if by magic. At first, Lana only interrupted into a birth if it was nearing a death even the glorified midwife couldn't handle. But as people came to trust the little woman in the abbey, no doubt in part thanks to their national love of her husband, Lana became requested by expectant mothers more than Misha.

  The midwife was dressed in the typical delivery apron, dingy from use with a few stains that'd never come out. Her greying and dusky hair was rolled back tight into a knot, the fringe of bangs making her appear younger than she was. Twisting her pinched face around the room she spotted her nemesis clinging tight to her stomach, then nodded her head to Cullen. "Commander."

  "Lana's in labor," he explained, speaking up first.

  "And the miracle worker requires my services?" Misha chuckled harshly once, "Excuse me while I inspect the sky for flying nugs."

  Cullen looked about to growl at her, but Lana gripped onto his arm and tugged him back. After sucking in a breath courtesy of the last round knocking through her spine, she stared up into Misha's hard blue eyes. "Please," she begged, "it's coming too early."

  "How early?" the woman uncrossed her arms and began to slide into their bedroom.

  "Four weeks, I think, perhaps three. The date wasn't the easiest to pin down," Lana confessed as Misha's cold fingers parted down her stomach.

  "Hopefully the father was easier to determine," she muttered to herself, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Has the baby flipped yet?"

  "No," Lana admitted, though out of everything going wrong somehow a breach was the least of her concerns.

  Misha's eyes narrowed and she gazed at her, "But it's not a problem because you have some secret way of flipping 'em around, right?"

  It was surprisingly easy for Lana to slip into the homes of people who'd never seen a mage in their life and cast spells. As long as she kept the fancy lights to a minimum they had no idea what was going on beyond suddenly feeling better. But the midwife who'd been through hundreds of births knew one couldn't just wave their fingers and roll a baby onto its head from inside the womb. At least no normal woman.

  Hissing, a strong contraction seized up her lower half, sending Lana towards the ground. Cullen grabbed onto her hand while Misha, surprisingly, took the other. Together they guided her back to the bed as Lana tried to suck in breaths and steady herself. It took a few more before she felt she could speak.

  "How far apart are the contractions?" Misha asked. She'd thrown aside her indifference as she helped Lana slide back onto the bed. Her palms slid across Lana's roiling stomach, palpating it to find the baby's head right where it shouldn't be.

  "Once every two or three minutes," Lana said.

  "Hm," Misha tapped a finger to her lips, "I know of a few herbs that can stop contractions. Perhaps buy you some more days..."

  "No," Lana sat up, grabbing onto her hand in a blind panic. "It has to come out, now. I can't...I can't wait."

  "Missing four weeks of growing time? Look, I'm not a fan of yours. Believe me, I'd be ecstatic if you up and left, along with your little abbey of healing so the rest of us can get back to what we know here. But I'd think even you know the baby needs to stay in there as long as possible."

  Lana had no way to tell her that the taint could kill her baby, was probably trying to right now. Her eyes stared over at Cullen who looked white as a ghost, his lips pulled back into a sort of forced smile that came across as a skull's rictus. Taken together it enhanced his undead facade.

  Catching on that her patient wasn't about to give in, Misha sighed, "What about your water. Has it broke?"

  "No, but there was blood. Enough to be noticeable," Lana confessed. She felt a failure at everything. How many children had she delivered? Perfectly healthy and happy babies that she left suckling on their mothers, and her first time out it was turning into a disaster.

  Misha followed Lana's eyes to spot the underwear and towel that mopped up the mess. True to her profession she didn't bat an eye at the gore, maintaining an aloof facade, but Lana knew it wasn't a good sign. "Perhaps you're right. It is doubtful the herbs will work."

  "Maker's balls," Lana cried, her hand snapping out to grip anything as a fresh contraction pulverized her already tender hips. This one felt as if someone placed white hot spikes into her pelvis and tried to jam it open. Cullen dashed forward, knotting his fingers around her clamped ones as he whispered something of encouragement. She couldn't make it out through the pain.

  Silently, Misha watched the performance, no doubt ticking her tongue at how Lana cracked from the pressure. She felt tears building in the sides of her eyes at the level of agony twisting through her body from a second joining to birthing a baby in the span of hours. Life was too cruel sometimes.

  "Breathe," Misha said. "In and out, you know how to do it. Think of something distracting. Many recite the Chant of Light."

  Dripping from Lana's lips came the first and last thing she wanted to think upon. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. Oh Maker," she shuddered, the acute pain fading away to leave behind only her typical background level. As she returned to herself, she glanced up into Cullen's amber eyes, her mouth already finishing the phrase, "In death, sacrifice."

  "That wasn't what I was expecting, but it worked," Misha said. "All right, I'll need to check y
ou over, see how things are getting on down there. But, I need to speak with the Commander first. Are you okay on your own?"

  Lana nodded, her teeth biting into her lip. The Grey Warden motto rattled around in her mouth like a bitter draught. It was why she was giving birth a month early, why she feared with every contraction pang what would come out of her, and also a reminder that she failed to finish it. Her victory against the archdemon, her vigilance in rebuilding the order, did none of it matter as she fled from the sacrifice?

  It took a few more grips of his hand before Cullen staggered away from her. They didn't get far enough away from her for Lana to not overhear Misha explain what was most likely going to happen. Most of it was typical birthing stuff, the mess, the time it'd take, the noises, but then she paused and crossed her arms.

  "Commander, I will not lie to you, the chances of your child surviving at this young of a stage are...slim. If you have anyone you can contact who is capable of great healing, I would do it now."

  "I..." he nodded, and for a moment glanced over at the woman trying to pretend she wasn't listening in, "I will do that. Lana, I'll return shortly."

  She waved meekly at that, unable to answer. This was her fault. All of it. She wouldn't be pregnant if she'd thought to plan for this possibility. She wouldn't be risking the life of an innocent if she'd not taken that stupid potion in the first place. And...Maker, damn it all, she wouldn't be facing holding its cold, little body in her hands if she'd gotten it right.

  The tears wouldn't stop, Lana trying to hide away as the only one left in the room was the woman who hated her. Misha watched a moment, her head pulling out of her medicine bag, while Lana shrieked in fear and shame against the fist she wadded into her mouth. Everything. She doomed herself, Cullen, their baby. It was all her fault.

  "It will be okay," Misha said. She unearthed a kerchief from her pocket and passed it to Lana, who tried to mop up her tears. "We take it one breath at a time. Luckily, you have the best midwife in Ferelden here with you."