It was not an easy birth, nor was it a short one. There were murmurs of concern that a caesarian might, in fact, prove necessary. The longer it went on, the more it looked as if it might be...
     There was blood. There is always blood, at a birth. But it is true that she tore more, this time, than in times previous. Was she in true danger of death? Is death ever far, when there is new life being ushered in? But she did not die, and the new child - Peter, in honour of her father (or Pedwyr, or however it's spelled in deference to the ancestral manse) survived as well.
     A particularly strong and large child, but a strangely quiet one, with hair so fine and fair like his mother's with only a wash of red among the gold, and a curiously penetrative blue-green gaze. Quiet, he is, aside from the first lusty cries of the shock of this new world, this new and strange environment, so unlike the womb...
     His appetite has been unceasing. Hour after hour, every hour on the hour, Fiona has had to be up to feed him. Thank god for breast pumps and other modern miracles; it's allowed her to get a few hours' extra sleep here and there. Now, though, she's had a glorious sleep - four whole hours! - and she has insisted to be allowed to go downstairs to dine. She wears only the thinnest of gowns, able to be unlaced in front for when a baby's fussing requires it; her hair is again cut short, she hasn't the time nor the energy to fuss with it, to braid it, no, not even with magic. And she is tired. Lord - so tired, she looks as if she could dissolve into dreams, so fragile, so worn thin. The pale primrose pink of her gown lends colour to cheeks which have not yet regained their heady, healthy, ruddy flush; there is still blood to rebuild, health to regain, strength to be restored.
     And sons and husbands to be loved, and a kingdom that must still wait until Fiona's other priorities have been met. Even if she is stubbornly holding forth at the table right this moment.
     "...I'm not talking about going and doing diplomatic treaties just yet. But I think a few minutes of each day there would be good for me. And, of course, I want to keep my eye on things."

     In truth, Rhodri hasn't the strength to argue. He has been as sleepless as the new mother. Up with her on the hour of every hour. His eyes are rimmed darkly and he is dressed haphazardly in comfortable lounging pants and a pull over tee-shirt. He looks as though he feels strangely six-hundred-and-ten. He covers up a yawn, his head turning to look past the food, which he's barely touched, and back toward the doorway. As if he could hear Peter waking. He could tell if he were, but he isn't. Not yet anyway.
     Davydd is the one to whom she's insisting and his eyes wander briefly from new mother to new father. They are dark, those eyes, and keen, and eventually, with an exhaled breath, he gives in. In front of him an empty plate. "Alright," ap Owain says, "...but no pushing yourself. If I hear you've fainted," he looks at her, peering in that professorish way, "... I'm putting the kibosh on it."
     As if by some invisible force, Rhodri sits up and shovels a bit of food in and promptly sits back, taking a glass of cider with him. The salmon's restorative, the potatoes hearty and the cider will provide energy for at least the next two hours.
     At the other end of the table sits Iowerth, whose eyes (much as they did when he was small) wander from adult to adult to adult in this triangular marriage. His appetite is not as it normally is but he's still managed to clean his plate and have half a second round. Since receiving word of his mother's labor, he has been here in Powis Castle, all talks of weddings on hold and future brides put off (again) for at least three weeks. His mother's health and the delivery have given him something else to focus on, a nice respite from his other feelings despite the seriousness of her own plight. But things have gone well, about as well as could be expected, and now the family has one more. There's a look of Do you think she's talking about me? as his mother mentions keeping an eye on things. Iowerth manages to finish his salmon and likewise sits back to digest.
     "It'll be fine," Rhodri assures softly, his voice even in its confidence. Emerald eyes land upon Fiona, there's the warmth of smiling love there, and then to Davydd. "I agree. I think it would be good for her. She'll heal faster there, even if it's only for ten minutes. The stronger she is, the better." Rhodri looks to Fiona. "Is he taking to the nipple alright? I don't want him to get too lazy with my bottle feeding him."
     Iowerth's eyebrows quirk up a little at the casual mention of his mother's nipples at the dinner table, but such is the conversation of new parents. "I'm starting to feel a little faint," he drolls. "Is this what I'm in for then?"
     Davydd chuckles, his dark green eyes slanting to his son. "You have no idea, boyo, what your in for." His look holds a touch of sympathy amid the chuckles. At least Iowerth is cracking wise. That shows a bit of promise after so much lying about in bed, drinking and moaning. "Fine, I think we're all agreed. And your other son here," a nod to Iowerth, "...has offered to be your escort. I'm guessing he could use a break from his interviewing. I hear he and Bella-y-Mellis of Golden Dale parted in... how shall we say... loud terms?"

     "I won't faint." Fiona looks slightly smug; she hasn't the energy to be more than slightly. She has a victory, though - and there is nothing to make her feel better than that. "But Rhodri's right; I'll heal faster there, the moreso since then we can use magic to make it so."
     She turns, and there is a tender look given to the younger of her two husbands; his hand is taken, gently, so gently. No, she is well aware how difficult the birthing was. She knows how close she came, more than anyone might think. It has made her hold all the tighter to her life, and to those in it. "He's fine, darling. He latches on just fine, and as tenacious as any of my boys ever has." Which is definitely TMI for some. But Gwilym isn't here...
     Oh, he'd made an appearance (his family would have his hide if he hadn't). But he didn't stay long. He seemed the same on the surface, but there was still that curious hollowness to him, that odd lightness, as if he were empty. Perhaps noone has noticed but Iowerth. Perhaps. The shadow prince did not linger long before making the excuse of pressing business - something to do with a sword - and then he was gone again...
     Fiona doesn't seem too upset by it; disappointed, perhaps, but not enough to make mention of it, aloud or any other way. She has her new son to distract her. Now she turns a Look onto Davydd which is still a thinner imitation of her usual Looks. It is paired with a serene smile. You're next, she tells him. Those two words and nothing else, and she reaches for her plate, eating slowly. She is still drinking tea, water, milk, juice - nothing which might poison an infant's system in her milk.
     "Bella-y-Mellis," Fiona says aloud, eyes half-closed. "I've just given birth, I don't have to be diplomatic, do I? Fat in the ankles and fat in the head. Oh, and the way her nose turns up? Terribly porcine, I'm afraid; I want to have healthy grandchildren, not piglets. Good for you, Io, darling." She nods, picking up her fork.

     "Beautiful and sweet," Iowerth drolls out, for that is how Bella-y-Mellis translates. "They must be joking. At any rate, apart from her appearance her personality was for shite. And I didn't have the inclination," he emphasizes so very pointedly, "... to be either polite or diplomatic." No, for the past few weeks he has not had much patience or much inclination for much of anything, especially meeting women. And ungrateful or spoiled women? Even less so.
     Davydd sighs sympathetically, finishing his beer. "You have to kiss a lot of frogs, isn't that the saying?" Forest eyes shoot a glance to Fiona and he smiles in a streak of warmth. "Look, Io," Davydd rumbles, sitting forward, his arms on the table. "I know this isn't easy. And you're handling it with all the grace a crown prince should. Just... give it a chance, yeah?" Those eyes turn to you again at the little message you send him. The corners of his mouth upturn slightly. You know, I figured you talking about any next babies wouldn't come for a few years after all that. Silly girl. Am I not babe enough for you? That mouth slants and green eyes glimmer in a wink. What's passed between them silently is anyone's guess.
     But those around the table wouldn't have to try that hard...
     Rhodri leads his wife's hand to his own lips. I love you is murmured there. "Good. He knows what's good for him then." He kisses her fingertips and then just holds her hand. The look that passes between the two exhausted people at the table is nothing short of adoration. Humor edges it as Rhodri turns to give his other brother the eye. "I heard something of a rumor that some of the far kingdoms were sending potential brides. How many have you seen, Io?"
     "It seems interminable. But I think I've only seen five." Iowerth chuckles softly, helplessly for a moment. "Duw. All this and only five." Shaking his head, he settles back in the chair. He grows quiet as the rest of you are allowed to speak with one another. Iowerth nurses his drink and picks at his food. Being here with his mother and his brother during the birth of his other brother/nephew has had a profound effect on him. He's not only nervous about taking a wife and a crown but in the knowledge that events like this will be sure to follow. And Iowerth Rhudd Draig is not ready, he does not feel, for fatherhood.
     A great paw reaches over as Davydd leans in and puts his hand to Iowerth's shoulder. "You're going pale there, boyo. Don't let your brother put The Fear in y'. It's not tomorrow, you know. As for the outer kingdoms, good. I'd like a daughter in law with some sense, maybe a little ...je ne se quois..."

     "Frogs aren't so bad," Fiona coos, giving Davydd an almost saucy look. "You just need plenty of garlic and butter." She smiles, the corners of her mouth curving up. Oh, I'm not rushing into it. You two are protecting me, I know. It's going to be a while before I'll be fit to have sex, let alone want to. I ... well, we won't talk about that. Later for that. The smile wobbles, the eyes going a trifle too bright with sudden tears, and she turns to Rhodri instead.
     "Iowerth is unfortunately too much like you, darling," Fiona tells Davydd placidly, though her gaze is on Rhodri. Are you alright, dear? I know this was rough on you. On him? As if he were the one giving birth. "Io, you're jumping things through much too fast. I know it's hard, but stop trying to compress things; they'll come in due course. You have plenty of time. Remember that a royal wedding will take a minimum of a year to prepare; I have every intention of hogging my firstborn's attention quite a bit before he is married off, and you still have what, eighty or ninety girls yet to meet? Meeting two a week, that's another forty-plus weeks; that's close to four years, and then another year or two before the wedding. A lot can happen in that time."
     Darling, and this time it's to her eldest son, I do know it's rough on you. I am thinking you need a vacation. With your father and brothers.

     You want to send me off with those three? His thoughts are warm with humor, matching the wry look upon his face. I'm alright. There's no point in putting it off. I'm just not sure I'm ready for any of it. I'm definitely not ready to be a father. No offense. Iowerth's periwinkle eyes flash up as his mother speaks of all the time pending. He seems momentarily relieved. "I just hate the waiting."
     "I don't know what you're talking about," Davydd rumbles with a laugh, "...he's nothing like me." As if. They even sit in the chair the same way. Something Iowerth notices first and tries to remedy to no avail. Now he just looks like his father trying not to look like himself. Davydd smirks, giving his head a shake as if to say: There's no use, boyo, just give it up before you start to fight it. "Well, so he's like me. Devastatingly handsome, cunning and wise, and damned charming to boot."
     Rhodri looks to you. So attuned to you, he notices everything. His fingers lightly clasp your own as he sees your mouth wobble. I'm fine, sweetheart. You know, a little drained. But I'm not going to complain. I have you, I have my family. There's nothing but joy in here. And our boy... he's beautiful. He's going to set the world on fire, I can tell. He has your hair and my nose. God bless him. Rhodri bends his head, adoring his wife's fingers with another kiss as father and son banter.
     Let's not put the cart before the horse, there's enough of that going around with Iowerth. Davydd's voice crackles within you, then softens. It will be a long while. I am just looking forward to having my saucy wife back. I miss her. So I'll just have to hang about and help take care of you, is all. So I get her back all the sooner, yeah? Don't cry, baban... it's all alright.
     Iowerth looks between his mother and his brother. They have a different relationship than his mother and his own father. Different, no more or less rich. How you've three managed to balance it all -- Iowerth watches the interplay, hoping to learn from it.

     Oh, pish-tosh. You adore your family, and you men need male bonding time - those of you old enough to shave. You can leave me alone with little Peter for a week and I'll be fine, just you watch. I had a life before you or your father and brothers, you know! Iowerth gets roundly scolded, but with a softness underlying the words, a warmth of her own. "I know. The waiting is always the hardest part. But enjoy what you can while you wait, instead of just enduring, Io. There's so much to enjoy, instead of trying to force your way through. You'll give yourself a hernia from lifting."
     With a small sigh, Fiona leans back in her chair, her eyes closed. She is still so very tired. I'm looking forward to getting over there, if only because fifteen minutes there can be eight or twelve hours of sleep! It is openly thought. To all of you. And then her eyes open, her free hand coming up to wipe at her eyes a bit. To Rhodri, she whisper-thinks it, it's flavoured with the faintest wistfulness and cinnamon toast. He is beautiful, and I love him. And I love you. I know...
     It trails off again; she can't make herself say it. She reaches for her tea with both hands, for her hands are too unsteady for her to one-hand her drink. It's Davydd's turn, besides. I don't want you sacrificing things, Davy. You're far too fast to do so... I love you, and I miss being me, too. I - there are things I want to say, but if I say them, I'm going to go into hysterics, Davy. And I'll worry Rhodri if I do.
     She bites her lower lip for a moment, unconscious of how her expressions flicker, alter, every emotion displayed upon the film of her face. I'm glad you're here. Each of the men gets that, the thought even sent to the infant in the other room. I'm glad I'm still here to be with you ...

     Rhodri smiles at his wife for the thoughts. There is in that smile the realization that it could have gone much worse, and a fierce gratitude that it did not. That you are, indeed, still here with all of your men, large and small. Leaning toward you, he places a kiss on your temple. "I think we should be getting back upstairs," Rhodri murmurs. "You look tired, my love. And you should get the rest while you can. Another hour and Peter will be looking for meal number four."
     Let's not talk about it now. Besides, what have I given up really? Nothing. Davydd flashes a smile at the couple and he reaches over, giving his other son a wrangling pat upon his shoulder and arm. "Let's go take a walk around the grounds while they nap." Though it's worded like a request, it's mostly rhetorical. There's no saying 'No' to Davydd ap Owain.
     Rising from his chair, Iowerth heads over to his mother. he bends and kisses her on the cheek. "Please rest... and I will see you in the kingdom. I've moved into the palace," he notes. Off the ship. For the first time in ten years he's actually living in his assigned apartments. "I will help, mum... with...whatever." He shrugs. Whatever you need. I'll even go on a male-bonding trip with my family, if it'll make you happy. He was worried, but now that you are well and improving, he can set his worry for you aside and begin to attend to his own worries for his own life. Again.
     "Thanks for being here, Io," Rhodri seconds. "Get some rest. I'll need to be spelled a bit during the day," he says to his brother. A nod to Davydd and Rhodri wearily smiles. "He misses all the fun don' he?" Sighing, Rhodri slowly rises and he turns toward Fiona. He offers her his hands. "Do you need ... or want," he smiles, "... me to carry you upstairs, love?"
     It is a joyous time, Davydd thinks as everyone is rising. Joyous because it was so hard fought. "What a family this is," he says with a warm exhale. "One the larger now. I'll come tell Peter a bedtime story tomorrow night. I'm thinking of boring him with my world war one stories..."
     "That should knock him out till Christmas," Rhodri grins.

     "Please." Fiona sighs. "I'm just so tired, you know? I don't want to stand up." The mug is set down; she's all but falling asleep sitting up. She sways slightly in her seat, though manages to remain upright.
     What will make me happy is knowing that my family is happy and well. The rest is in the details, my darlings.
     "He's a bit young for world war one," Fiona murmurs, lifting her hands towards her younger husband. "But if we're not careful, he might start world war three..."

Posted by rowan at August 16, 2006 10:58 PM