CLOSED: When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel, Anders, Cyril, and Merrick
WHAT: Really frigging long labor and fairly short confinement.
WHEN: Forward-dated to Bloomingtide 18-24
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: CW for giving birth. TW for blood. Both will be marked on the relevant threads.

You will come of age with our young nation
We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you
If we lay a strong enough foundation
We’ll pass it on to you, we’ll give the world to you
And you’ll blow us all away

Comments

[dalishious]

Merrick goes about shedding his coat and outer layers, then climbs back into bed with Pel.

He doesn't seem all that interested in idle conversation, but that's to be expected. No matter what happens, he's staying by her side, so he gets ready to be here for however long this takes.

[samahl]

Cyril smiles at the comment about the toy that he made for Purrelden. "I'm glad that it's held up," he says. He had been a little worried that the part that made it jingle might fall out and had been extra careful to craft the ball to stop that. It was good to know that even with an animal batting it around, it had survived.

"Do we have all of the supplies we need?" he asks, looking around. If they are here for the long haul it might be good to make sure of that. "Do we need any more water? Or... anything? I don't mind making a run to the kitchens if needed."

[mythalenaste]

Pel puts an arm around Merrick's neck, cuddling close. She feels like she is floating on this bed of support, these people so ready and eager to help her. She also feels she is going to need it. If she has no support now, she will crumble.

"I might need you to make me cups of tea with sugar every once in a while."

Her expression changes, though it's not so much a matter of looking pained as pained might look on other people. Her brow lowers, her mouth tightens, her eyes go nearly shut. She leans against Merrick heavily, hiding her face as is her custom when she is in distress. It's just a contraction, nothing is going wrong. It doesn't necessarily feel wrong, even. But it's pain like she has never known and she had thought she had been ready for this. But nothing prepared her for how bad it would be.

[justice_is_blond]

"Other than fresh tea, we have everything."

Anders' expression turns a little sympathetic as Pel braces; this part isn't easy on anyone. ...None of it is, really.

"Breathe evenly if you can, Pel. It will help to focus on regularly breathing in and out, because I can't give you anything for the pain just yet." Their systems are too joined. In a few hours baby Sina will be in the birth canal and Anders can offer Pel elfroot if she'd like, but everything's still settling into place.

"And if one of you wants to give her a hand to squeeze, she may appreciate that. Though I'll warn you, it will likely hurt."

[dalishious]

Fear grips Merrick's heart at the sight of her face contorted in pain, and he has to take a deep breath himself as he holds her close and strokes her back.

"Breathe in...and out," he says rhythmically in Elvhen, his low voice close to her ear, repeating those words his father used to say to him when he got frightened during climbing lessons.

[samahl]

Cyril takes Pel's hand the minute that Anders suggests it. "Squeeze as hard as you need, lethallan. I can take it."

They are Dalish, after all. Enduring is part of their culture, and even if all three of them had been rejected from their Clan and family, they still had some aspects drilled into them.

[mythalenaste]

Her eyes were up at the sky when she lay at the mercy of the needle. It came so close to her eyes, and the closer it got, the more painful it was. The tap of the rod against the needle became as ceaseless and senseless as the storm of warm pain. She did not know if it was sweat or blood trickling down her temple. But she would not flinch. She would not cry out. Every part of her conscious aimed at that pain, a shove of defiance, an internal scream. If she could feel every corner of the pain, if she could know it utterly, she would not be afraid of it.

Then the tattooer started on the bridge of her nose, needle against bone, and she realized it had been foolish to believe she could know the borders of pain.

Pel figured contractions would be like monthly cramps, except many times worse. That was foolish. It's not just her womb that is giving birth to this baby, it's her entire body, so her entire body feels it. And the worst is yet to come. There is no finding the edge of this pain and using it for strength. All bets are off, and this is territory she never imagined.

She tries to relax, tries to let her hand lie loose in Cyril's. That doesn't help. It makes her feel more adrift. So her grip quickly goes from limp to crushing. It's the breathing that helps, the rhythm echoing in her ears as Merrick voices it.

In...and out. In...and out.

It's going to be a long night.