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

Merrick is sick with worry, but fiercely determined. It's a trait he picked up from a certain someone.

At Anders' request he simply slips his arms under Pel and lifts her, carrying her to the bed and depositing her as gently as possible. He stays there on the bed with her, cradling her close.

Edited 2017-05-15 00:05 (UTC)

Praise to Mythal, the all-mother. It's almost over. Pel rests on the bed for a moment before spreading her knees and bringing her heels to her bottom. It will be over soon. She can feel how low the baby is. Contractions are coming very close together, and each one comes with an irresistible urge to push. One comes now, and she begins to push before Anders has a moment to say what she should do. So close, the baby is visible after this push is over.

He opens his mouth to instruct her and then she's pushing, already on top of things. Instincts are powerful, and she's following the right cue. Anders pushes her skirt up so it rests on her knees, giving her a small bit of privacy while letting him see what's going on.

"You're going to want to push again but I need you to hold back and simply breathe. I can see the top of her head, which means you're so very close, Pel. Just breathe and let her move, all right? We're almost there."

He turns, grabbing the wash basin and bringing it over as well as a couple of towels before quickly reheating the water to being lukewarm again. Things are going fairly smoothly now that they're at this point, and both of them are nearly done working. He hopes.

The next contraction comes and the urge to push is strong, but Pel pants like he taught her, like blowing out candles, like playing a flute. Beads of sweat form on her forehead, her brow creases, but she makes no sound but the panting. He can see her. She is touching the world, though not totally brought into it. She reaches up to take one hand of Merrick's, one hand of Cyril's. She needs to pull against them both for the next part. Breathe and let her move. The stretch and burn is insane, but she and every mother before her can bear it. She focuses on the ceiling above, knowing the only way to help the pain is to plow forward.

Soon. So very soon, she will hold her baby.

"Good. You're doing so well, Pel. We're so close." He leans forward, towel ready to support the head as soon as it's out. "Just a few more moments, and her head will be clear and it will be one last push. Nearly there." He knows the strain is at its peak right now, the head is the largest portion to pass through, but he can hear Pel breathing.

"Here we go, here we go." Her head is out, and Anders wastes no time in supporting it as well as starting to wipe her mouth off. "Push for me, Pel, one last hard push, and she'll be out completely."

Pel releases someone's hand long enough to tug open the tie on the collar of her nightshirt. In a few seconds, that is where her newborn daughter will be placed. It needs to be skin meeting skin. There are some traditions from which she will not stray.

Then it's time. One more push. Anyone can do one push. She braces against Cy and Merrick, sucks in a last deep breath, looks toward her daughter, and pushes with everything she has. She makes almost no sound. She will not have the first thing her daughter hears on this side of the world be her mother screaming in pain. She is Dalish. She did not cry out when she was helping bury the corpses of her people. She did not cry out when Elan died. She did not cry out when the needle tattoed Mythal's devotion over the bridge of her nose. She makes no sound now.

There is a sudden end to the pressure. She slumps back, gasping, and listens.

Merrick's hand is on her forehead, pushing hair away from her sweaty face. He does not care about the child right now, only that Pel is close to being free from the brutal pain that has taken her these past few days. Anders says that it'll be over soon, and suddenly he finds himself praying for what might be the first time in his life--the life that exists since he died at the age of eight, because before then he'd pray just like everyone else, reaching out to gods that aren't there--praying that it'll be over soon, that she'll be all right, that the smell of blood is just temporary.

He's held her this whole time, and once she slumps back he's suddenly aware that he is shaking. He listens too-- Is it all right? Is it dead?

"There we are." His words are quiet, hiding the urgency of his motions as he works to clear the child's airways. She coughs after a moment before squeaking, and he's smiling up at Pel and Merrick. A moment later he's stopping himself from the usual routine of cleaning and examining the child, remembering Pel's request.

"Here she is, Pel. Your beautiful daughter."

The baby girl is gently set on Pel's abdomen so she can scoot, if she's able. Then he's heating a small knife to the sterilization and resting a glowing hand on the umbilical cord, monitoring for when the right amount of blood has passed through it.

"I'll check her further after she's crawled, but first sense says she's healthy."

Pel's beautiful daughter is covered in white gunk. Pel's beautiful daughter is pale as a sheet. Pel's beautiful daughter gurgles, then takes her first breath of air and screams. And because her lungs are mainly filled with amniotic fluid, she sounds like she is gargling water very angrily. She quickly begins to turn from blue-tinged to bright red.

Pel pulls one of those clean towels over her beautiful daughter and begins drying her briskly, rubbing off the white gunk that protected her skin inside the womb. The world is distant in this surreal moment. Her baby takes another breath, able to suck in more air than before, and gargle-screams again. Pel keeps rubbing her skin, watching it pink up under her touch. She touches those tiny hands as they tense, fingers no wider than spun yarn splaying uselessly. She wipes those swollen eyes and sees pale eyelashes. She dries her shock of hair, white as the halla, who inherited it from the halla-mother herself.

And it hits her like a flood and carries her away, her hands holding her beautiful daughter and feeling her weight against her--something she almost wants to describe as madness, a completely irrational euphoria in which the only things in the world are her and her baby. Love, as a ravenous hunger that devours all memory of pain and suffering. Love as the dead certainty that nothing will ever happen to her baby because she will always be there for her. Love as a greedy, ransacking, cackling derangement because the entire world has been conned into thinking gold and land make you rich, and she has been let in on the joke. Mine, mine, all mine.

Pel starts laughing and crying at the same time. How is she meant to survive this? If there is a happiness so great that it can kill, it's this.

"My baby girl," she half-sobs, half-giggles, beaming like the sun. "My Siuona." She dabs at that tiny mouth as it dribbles the last of the amniotic fluid that her baby was breathing in the womb. Sina goes quiet, cheek pressed against her mother's chest. A moment later, she looks up, eyes alert and gaze locked to her mother's face. Long has she known both this heartbeat and this voice, and now she can see and study the person it belongs to.

Throughout the birth the only thing that Cyril could do was hold onto Pel and help her by being a presence. She had to do all of the hard work herself but he could offer a hand and follow directions and make sure that she knew she had the support of people who loved her.

He stays out of the way for Anders to do the work he needs to do, hand still there for Pel to grasp.

Once the child is with Pel, though, he leans a little closer to get a look at her. She's covered in fluid and has a squishy face and she's still the most beautiful thing that Cyril has ever seen.

He grins a bit and feels a weird blurring of his vision. Cyril, who hasn't cried since his mother died, finds tears in his eyes. They don't fall, but linger there, expressing an emotion he doesn't have words for.

His hand moves to stroke Pel's hair. "You did good."

Merrick never knew his mother. All he had from her was a memory of ebony hair and striking blue eyes, which he wasn't sure was even real. Élan had been an erratic, unpredictable parent, and even before his death Merrick had found himself wondering with the other orphans what could have been.

Pel had been a part of his life even before the event that changed them both forever. She'd always seemed older than she really was; she'd been composed and responsible, even strict, but always there with a sweet or a bedtime story when needed. Merrick had adored her. Sometimes when he's grappling with his fractured mind he tries to reach for those memories with her, a time before the snap of a noose split both their lives in two.

She was Mother. She was the one who made sure he was fed and clean, who kept an eye on him whenever Élan had wandered off in a drunken haze and left him alone. She shouted at the other children when they teased Merrick, soothed him when he was sick or racked with growing pains, and she was there with him during the most harrowing moment of his life.

The feeling of hot blood splashing his face is part of his routine now, just part of the job description-- but he remembers standing underneath that tree with his hands still outstretched to start climbing it, streaks of red dripping into his horrified eyes. He remembers Pel snatching him up and carrying him away, covering his eyes, 'Look at me, Merrick.' Something terrible had tied them together then. Blood was an inexorable part of their relationship, and ugly shroud over both their lives, and seeing it on Pel again is almost enough to make him recoil into himself.

He doesn't, though. He sees relief on her face, and looks at Anders and Cyril as if he can't quite understand the happy smiles they wear. Why are they smiling? Pel has blood on her and--

A thing is placed on her chest, weird and wrinkled and bloody, and he feels nothing but horror for a moment until he sees a smile on Pel's face, too. He looks at it, the ugly thing, almost perplexed; it's the first time he's seen blood that isn't the result of injury or death, and it seems paradoxical. And yet--

Yet the child breathes, lets out little sounds, moves against her. There is blood and tears and hurt, but there is also life, a brand new life the person he loves most has brought into the world. It's incredible, overwhelming. Merrick lets his head drop on Pel's shoulder, and he draws a shuddering breath as he processes it all.

This is one of the most rewarding parts of being a healer, watching a mother meet their child for the first time. There is a new life into the world and he's been able to be a part of it. His life has been defined by death and yet he can still do this.

"You did very well indeed," Anders quietly echoes. He casts at the fire, warming the room a little to protect the exposed infant before turning his attention back to the umbilical cord. Enough blood has flowed and he carefully cuts it before healing the infant's remaining small stump closed.

"We've a little more work left before we're fully done, when you're ready, Pel." It's still an important moment which means he's keeping his voice quiet. There's no need to disturb baby and mother; this is important bonding time. "There's a little pushing needed, far gentler pushing, to get all of what protected and nourished her in there out."

And then he can give mother and baby some likely much-needed peace and quiet.

Pel pulls a clean blanket over Sina, who has started sucking on her own hand. Every so often, the baby kicks against Pel's belly, scooting centimeter by centimeter toward her left breast. It's difficult to concentrate both on the baby and on trying to deliver the placenta. It takes Pel a moment to remember herself.

"Remember to keep the afterbirth for Big Sina. She'll want it for the garden." She can feel contractions, but they're not nearly as strong. Pushing doesn't seem to do very much, but Anders has it monitored. She's not worried.

A few minutes later, Sina has barely moved. Then suddenly, she makes a dive for the right breast, rooting for a second or two before latching perfectly. At almost the same moment, the world tips.

It feels, at first, very much like it did when her water broke, a rush of heat between her legs. Then it feels sticky, faint, Pel's lips drain of all color and her eyes lose focus. Blood splatters on the floor in a gush.

Edited 2017-05-22 23:07 (UTC)

"Pel? Pel?" Merrick is examining her face, her eyes. He sees the blood and lurches from the bed in a panic.

His frantic eyes find Anders. "What's happening? Fix her!"

The blood makes Cyril feel panic grip him. He moves from the bed quickly as well, needing to give Anders space he needs. Instead, he crosses over to Merrick and grabs at his arm. The motion is just as much to calm Merrick as it is to give Cyril something to hold onto.

Cyril feels like he can't breathe. He knows sometimes women die from childbirth... but, no, they can't lose Pel.

He feels the blood leave her as he sees it, glow surrounding his hands yet again as he focuses on what's going on. Someone's yelling, he doesn't know who, and while he can't fault people for panicking he also can't give them a bit of attention.

There's far too much blood coming out... but not everything that needs to be out is.

"Sorry," he murmurs to Pel, but he doesn't really have time for full apologies. She's losing blood too quickly. Calmly, with full faith in Cyril having his back if Merrick tries to stop this, Anders closes his eyes and slides his hand inside Pel, searching with magic and touch to find the pieces of placenta that must come out, and must come out now. It goes quickly, at least - he knows how this is supposed to feel and what's out of place and several painfully long moments later he has everything out.

Then he's casting again, bringing everything back to size and slowing the bleeding down. His eyes are still closed. Anders' focus is on what her body is doing, and sight would be a distraction at a point in time that's as crucial as this one is.

It's only when she's stable that he takes a slow breath and opens his eyes again, forcing his own heart rate to slow. He's always afraid when someone he cares about is in danger, but he never has the time to acknowledge or indulge in it until the danger is over, like now.

"Someone... someone get her water. To sip. Me too, please." His voice is tired, and Anders isn't going to be able to do much more than stay here and monitor for a time here.

Later, Cyril will remember the way that Anders took action and be impressed at how quickly and efficiently he did. However, in the moment what mattered more was getting Sina to safety as Anders was focused on tending to Pel. He came forward, careful not to get in Anders' way to take the baby out of the way and hold onto her carefully. He wasn't able to provide the milk she wanted, but he could at least hold her while Anders saved her mother's life.

He kept by Merrick too, making sure they all three kept out of Anders' way.

Then, the mage asks for water and Cyril nods to Merrick. He thinks Merrick might need something physical to do, something to distract himself from the blood. "You get water. I'll hold the baby."

Good move, Cyril. As soon as the baby is taken from her, Pel's whole body snaps tight like a bowstring, and she screams. This, this is even worse than shoving a person out of her, this hand scraping two organs apart inside of her and pulling one of them out. Both hands reach up and take Merrick's in crushing grip, partly out of some inkling that if she doesn't hold him tight, he will intervene. That's what makes her suck in her breath and hold in all remaining screams. She has to keep Merrick from killing. First Anders, then her. Because if the placenta does not come out, she will die. And after such a long labor, it won't come out on its own. Fingernails dig into Merrick's arms, red closes in on the edges of her vision.

It's like being tortured. But when the last of the placenta is out, so is Anders. Pel can finally breathe, and she does, sobbing. Tears roll down her temples. The baby, who had started crying when taken from her mother and wailed after Pel had screamed, is settling in Cyril's arms. Little Sina has, if Cyril has any close, begun sucking on one of his fingers. She is warm, and close to a heartbeat, albeit a different one than she has been listening to. She's fine.

At Anders' order, Pel releases Merrick at last, lightheaded but no longer bleeding abnormally. It's safe. They're all safe. For a dizzying, horrible moment, it had seemed like Sam's warning would be for nothing. But it's over.

"Water," she echoes hoarsely. "Please, Merrick."

Reality is fracturing before Merrick's eyes. Pure, animal terror has consumed him, and he grips Pel right back, trembling violently. She can't die. She can't go like his mother, his father, Metaari-- He lets out a dry sob, his vision swimming as Anders maneuvers between Pel's legs, no longer certain if what he's witnessing is real or a nightmare.

Pel's screams when Anders reaches inside her make his vision turn red, his muscles go rigid. Anders is hurting her. He's fixing her, but he's hurting her. Merrick bites his lip so hard it splits, and he tastes blood.

And then it's over. He barely registers it, still frozen in place and shaking. He looks down at Pel, but can't see her. Voices are talking to him, telling him to do something, but they're muffled, distant. He's barely there.

Cyril and Anders don't get through to him, but when Pel asks him it finally clicks. He looks up and around the room as if snapping out of a trance, as if just now noticing where he is and who is around him. He shrinks like a frightened, skittish cat towards Pel, completely unwilling to leave her, but-- they're right. He needs to step away.

He tears himself away from the bed and goes to fetch the water, and hands some to Anders before moving to prop Pel up and help her drink.

Edited 2017-05-24 07:28 (UTC)

There's nothing quite like water when one is thirsty and shaky. Anders sinks down to the ground. His knees are close to his chest so he can support his arms as he sips - the last bit had taken a lot out of him. There's been hours upon hours of monitoring, a little healing here and there, both of which had worn him down as usual. The hemorrhage and the emotional weight of it being one of few people he counts as a true friend have taken their toll.

"If she pales further, at all, say something." Anders may be drained, but he's not completely without anything left. He will pull up all of his reserves if need be. "She felt stable, and Sina felt and sounds stable. But I need the floor's steadiness for a few moments, forgive me."

Showing weakness is something he hates doing. But there's a time when his pride cannot sustain him and he needs to be a little weak. This is one of those times.

Cyril does indeed offer his finger to Sina to help calm her. He holds her carefully and makes sure that Anders doesn't have to worry about the baby on top of everything.

"You do not need our forgiveness," Cyril reassures Anders. "Not after everything you just did. Take whatever you need to recover."

He moves a little closer to Pel, wanting to be by her in case anything else does happen. He really is going to need to think of a good way to thank Anders for everything that he's done.

Pel's sobs subside with the pain. But the bleeding subsides as well, though there will still be bleeding for days. Tears dry as she mutely sips water. Every part of her is exhausted, but there is still work to do. She takes a deep breath.

"Merrick, help me to a chair. Cy, give me the baby and get these sheets off the bed. There are spares in the wardrobe. Anders, can you make it back home? You need sleep as much as I do."

"I can make it home, but I'm staying until after you're transferred." He's not going to risk her moving around after he leaves, no matter how unlikely it is to worsen her bleeding. Worst-case scenario, he knows what to tell people to do until someone can run lyrium to him.

But for now, while they help her, he's going to keep this patch of the floor warm.

With as much gentleness as he can muster Merrick lifts Pel up again, terrified to jostle her even a little bit. He places her slowly onto the nearby chair, listening for any cues that the movement might be hurting her.

He kneels right next to it, not unlike a loyal pet, watching her anxiously.

Cyril hands over Sina and makes sure that Pel is comfortable holding her before he focuses on changing the sheets. He glances over at Anders, worried for both him and Pel, but is quiet for the moment. He's more focused on getting the sheets taken care of for now.

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justice_is_blond - 2017-06-06 06:44 (UTC) - Expand