4-8-15
Willing
One
Jenny Gardener was no stranger to the mysteries of childbirth. As the oldest of five daughters and sister to four younger brothers she had assisted in bringing all but the oldest of her siblings into the world. When she was small she had done little more than hold Mama's hand and helped keep her calm and steady while Old Mabel or one of the other women had done the actual delivery. But when baby Sybil was born during the great storm of '003 nobody had been able to get to the Gardener home in time and Jenny had brought her sister into the world all on her own.
Well, with a little help from Mama, of course.
So this time shouldn't have been any different, right?
Old Mabel was here and she knew everything there was to know about birthing a baby. She had been delivering babies, along with potions and salves and charms and the like, since way before Jenny was born. Probably even before Mama and Papa were born, too. Nobody was really sure exactly how old Old Mabel was.
But she was here and everything was going to be all right.
Wasn't it?
She raised her head and looked down past her own distended belly at the ancient woman kneeling between her thighs giving her directions. Jenny could feel the baby making it's way down her canal and she wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to weep with happiness and nervousness and a million other emotions which raced around and around in her mind like leaves caught in a whirlwind.
Speaking of a whirlwind, from the entrance to the tunnel came a great rushing of wind outside. It carried a roar of it's own and there was another deeper roaring over the top which echoed through the deep long tunnels as it came and went.
Master was restless and impatient and he circled the mountain like a thing possessed, giving voice to his unease and trumpeting to the sky. Folk for leagues around must be hiding in their cellars and whispering prayers he wasn't headed their way.
Jenny wished he would calm down. She was nervous enough for all of them and his throwing a tantrum wasn't helping any. This was her first child and she was told they were always the hardest.
This was very hard.
Hard to stay still.
Hard not to cry out with the ache, though she was no stranger to pain.
Hard to listen and obey the directions she was being told.
Oooohhhh god... this was hard.
And it hurt.
A squeeze on her sweaty fingers shifted her focus. A strong firm hand held hers. The hand was attached to a long nicely muscled brawny arm and that arm was likewise attached to the body of a tall handsome trained Guardsman of the Watch. She looked up at his face and saw the concern and love in his eyes and she could feel all of the strength he was giving her through this simple act of being there and holding her hand.
Andrew MacMeel, the love of her life.
Well, the second love of her life.
Master was still outside.
Her life was... complicated.
And getting more so by the second.
"Another 'un, dearie! Poosh ye now! 'Most done I says! Poosh gell! Poosh!" Old Mabel only had one tooth left in her head and at times she was a bit hard to understand.
But her directions were clear enough.
Bracing herself against Andrews grip, she bore down with all of her might, trying not to succumb to the pain and push the baby on through.
Push push push push push! Aaaaaahhhhh...!
Then there it was. She felt the awful pressure in her belly release. The absence was almost a different kind of pain in itself and she did weep this time, more in relief than anything else. So distracted she missed several of the next few moments while the old woman crouched between her sweaty legs and did things to the baby.
Her baby... wasn't crying.
They always cried.
"My... my baby?"
The wizened old woman held up the newborn in her hands wrapped in a blanket, the old gray rheumy eyes wide as she stared at the child.
"Oooohhhh, my..." Was all she had to say.
Two
Back To The Beginning
She had awoken, much to her surprise.
Her heart was beating hard and fast, as if she had awakened from a nightmare and she felt sweat cooling on her brow. If she had been dreaming, the last vestiges of it faded away by the light as her eyes opened and she surveyed her surroundings.
Half surprised it didn't look like the inside of a dragon's belly.
One just never knew with dragons.
As a child Jenny Gardener had been fascinated with dragons. She had gone to see all of the plays which dealt with them and sought out the storytellers as they sat on the corners begging for pennies and dunned them for tales of the great beasts. Once or twice when she was older she had actually been able to see books... real bound books with color drawings, some of which actually fit the pictures in her active imagination.
The little tin chest in the corner of her room which held her clothes also contained dozens of fanciful drawings she had done herself on any scrap of paper or parchment or skin she was able to get her hands on. Her childhood dreams usually had two favorite themes... herself as the mighty hero slaying a great beast or as a powerful princess with a fierce dragon as a pet.
So strong had her desires been she ran and played and climbed and fought as hard and as rough as any of the boys. Young Jenny learned how to fight with staves like swords and how to shoot a bow and use a knife, even if it was just a stick because Mama wouldn't let her have a real knife yet.
Whatever her future held for her, she was going to be ready for it.
As the years progressed Jenny grew into a beautiful strong young woman. Life on the Gardener farm was hard but not difficult and the work she had to do each day between the fields and the animals and helping Mama in the kitchen kept her body strong but also gave her mind time to wander.
Those wanderings almost always took her back to familiar ground.
Most nights she dreamed of dragons.
Then, in her nineteenth year, everything changed.
Including her dreams.
