Broken. Ambrosia could think of no better word for Shiress in this moment. Normally, Shiress was so calm and collected, and there was a part of her, even now, that still was. But there was something wrong. Ambrosia could feel it. Perhaps it was just the physical pain of labor, but Ambrosia didn’t think that was it, certainly not all of it. For nearly a month before the stabbing, there had been all sorts of discussions about a name, and though one had never been decided on, the way Shiress called it ‘the baby’ sounded so distanced, as if it were a thing and not a living being. It was as if she knew something she wasn’t telling them, but Ambrosia didn’t know what that was.
All she could do was her part, so she listened to Shiress’ instructions and prepared for what was to come. Everything they needed was close at hand, the string and the knife like Shiress had asked for and something soft and warm to bundle the baby in.
Then, Ambrosia was waiting terrified between Shiress’ legs, and all she could think was that she hoped this never happened to her. While Shiress had been excited about the child, it all culminated in this. Here, between Shiress’ legs, all Ambrosia could do was look at Shiress’ swollen belly and know that anything that could make it swell that much would not be able to fit through the narrow though dilated opening before her. It was impossible, but Shiress had asked Ambrosia to be here for this.
And then Shiress cried and strained, and Ambrosia was certain of one thing. She couldn’t do this, never mind Shiress. The sound of pain, pure unadulterated pain, ripped at her from Shiress’ throat, and Ambrosia felt about as helpless as she ever had. She wanted to run. She wanted to be away. Shiress needed her though. Ambrosia didn’t want to be needed. All Ambrosia could think about was that she wanted to be back in a bar among people whose greatest need was the filling of an empty mug. She wanted to be in a place where she knew what to do, a place where she could be the center of attention, if she so chose.
Ambrosia was ready, ready to run. She wasn’t strong, not the way others were. She had her little place of comfort making other comfortable, but this was asking too much. She was ready to run, but then, something changed. As Shiress pushed, a scent filled the air, a scent unlike anything Ambrosia had ever experienced, something she couldn’t describe. It was at once pleasant and not. Ambrosia couldn’t decide if she liked it, but she latched on to it, buried herself in its comfort.
It was tinged metallic with blood, but that was only part of it. Interspersed with that and overpowering it with ease was something that was so wholly this, something all Shiress, something entirely birth, unique to it in a way Ambrosia found things seldom could be. It was both pungent and sweet and something else Ambrosia couldn’t place. Whatever it was, Ambrosia focused on it, and it gave her mind something to think about other than Shiress’ pain. Perhaps she was too immersed in it. Perhaps she should have offered more words of comfort and encouragement. But she was there, and she was stoic.
She didn’t know how much time passed as they waited for the child, but to her it felt like an eternity. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Shiress. Time passed though, and the impossible became real as Shiress’ flesh stretched to accommodate the dark-haired head of her baby. Everything happened as Shiress said it would. The head came, and then, the shoulders, flesh stretching beyond anything it should have been able to, and Ambrosia hurt for Shiress, a tingle of imagined pain deep inside of her pelvis. And then, the baby was out entirely. Terrified she would do something wrong, Ambrosia gave Shiress no smile or congratulations as she tied the cord in two places with all the efficiency and emotion of a machine, but as she cut the cord and handed the child off she noticed one thing. It had parts she didn’t.
“It’s a boy.”
And as she finally spoke for the first time in a bell, relief flooded her with an exhaustion that filled her to the deepest parts of her body and her soul. She turned to Shiress and smiled, but her friend was turned away., away from her and away from the baby.
“Don’t worry, Shiress. Cas and Taalviel will take good care of him and get him cleaned up.” She could hear water gently streaming over the baby behind her. “What’s his name?”
She needed some noise, some sound, whether or not it was her own or someone else’s as she cleaned up the afterbirth Shiress had said would come, but as soon as the words left her mouth silence took over again except for the murmurings between the siblings. Now, the silence was as potent as the scent that now soaked her hands and would doubtlessly stay for weeks on end. It was unlike Shiress to be so quiet, but after what she’d just been through, Ambrosia didn’t blame her. Adjusting pillows so Shiress could sit more comfortably, Ambrosia tried to think of something to say or some noise to make to fill the silence.
Aren’t babies usually louder?
That was the only thought that came to mind, but fortunately for Shiress’ heart, Ambrosia didn’t voice it. She waited din the awkward silence until Taalviel brought the boy over and practically forced him into Shiress’ arms.
Peering down at the little face that peeked out with eyes closed from the blanket, Ambrosia’s heart lightened. She cooed at the baby. “Hello, little love. Aren’t you handsome? You probably get it from your mother.” The next thought was ridiculous as the baby was covered except his face, but it sounded like the thing to say in the continued silence. “Oh, look! He has my thumbs.”
Several things happened at once. The baby cried. Caspian took one look at them, then went out the door. Shiress didn’t move, at first, as if she didn’t believe the noise had come from her baby boy. For a moment in time, Ambrosia wished they had never found her. The two of them, Shiress and Caspian, had been content without her, and now, in a moment that should have been filled with joy, they were not.
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by Ambrosia Alar on November 7th, 2020, 9:27 pm 
