Family

The coronation is overshadowed by the birth of Touchstone and Sabriel's first child.

It's time I was going to sleep:

I'm up too late tonight.

I've watched all the stars

Growing pale in the early dawn light.

So I'll make one last wish:

That you'll grow up and no have to fight.

Then I'll cover you up,

Here's a kiss.

I love you.

Goodnight.

Touchstone had long thought that an inn was no place to deliver a baby. Sabriel agreed whole-heartedly, and would much rather have been at the House, but they'd already returned to the city by the time she'd discovered her state, and she'd been so busy cleansing the city that by the time she'd thought to make any arrangements it would have been nigh impossible – and ill-advised – the turn back from the fast-moving path life had laid out for her and Touchstone. The inn would just have to do. The Palace was still a mass of slow-moving construction, and was completely unfit to house peasants, let alone those of royal blood. And although it really was a very nice inn, which they had effectively turned into their home in the many weeks they'd been in Belisaere, there was still an element of unfamiliarity in the deep wood paneling of the bedroom that made it harder and harder for Sabriel to relax as time wore on. Her worry had grown with the babe in her belly, and, somewhat belatedly, she realized that the feeling wriggling around inside of her was dangerously close to fear. As the days streamed past, more and more often she remembered just how young she was, and she thought continuously of how small her baby would be, and how big and dangerous was the world into which it would be born.

All these things coupled with the impending coronation – a lengthy ceremony taking place at dawn the coming day - had worked Sabriel into tears. She was all the more disheartened because she was by herself, which had been happening more and more often of late. Touchstone's affinity for ordering others about had been a fairly recent discovery, and he seemed to want to get as much practice in as possible before taking on the full weight of the crown. As such, he hadn't delegated as many tasks as he otherwise might have, and Sabriel had spent an increasing amount of time on her own, or in the company of her newly acquired handmaiden – who, thus far, had proven to be a poor conversationalist. Most days she was left to wallow in her self-made pit of misery and depression.

When Touchstone returned to their room late that evening, it was to find Sabriel laying on her back in their bed, in her nightdress but on top of the coverlet, staring blankly at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. She didn't look at him as he unbelted the swords at his waist and slung them carefully across the back of a nearby chair only to pile his russet-colored coat on top of them. She said nothing as he sat down the bed and bent to unlace his boots, kicking them off in a huff. It wasn't until he had stretched out beside her and laid a hand on her much-swollen belly that she finally spoke.

"I can't do this," she said softly, listlessly. "It's too much. I'm too young, and too scared, and," her breath hitched as she continued, "and how can I possibly be the Abhorsen, and a wife, and a queen, and a mother? It's enough work for ten people, and I am only one woman!"

Sabriel jumped slightly as, in the ensuing silence, the baby kicked against Touchstone's open palm, and he smiled despite her bleak words.

"You will do just fine," Touchstone said gently, reaching across her shoulders to pull her closer. Then he took her right hand in his left, laced their fingers together, and laid them on her stomach. "You will be the Abhorsen, and a wife, and a queen, and the mother of our children, just as I will be a husband and a king and a father."

"And how will you do that?" Sabriel asked still staring at the ceiling.

"With you there to help me," he answered solemnly.

Turning her head, Sabriel met his eyes for the first time since he had laid down beside her.

Then she kissed his stubbly chin, because it was all she could reach without moving, and said, "You do realize that helping me means getting up at two in the morning to change dirty nappies and rock a crying baby to sleep, don't you?"

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound, and bent to kiss her mouth. "I'm looking forward to it, my dear."

"Then you won't mind helping me dress and coming out for a walk with me," she said, struggling into a sitting position. Mood swings were something she'd be glad to be rid of.

"You're supposed to stay in bed," Touchstone reminded her, but he helped her to sit up all the same.

"I've been in bed all day," Sabriel huffed, "and in this room for almost three!" she continued tartly. "I'm quite sick of staring at these walls! A little fresh air can't be bad, and a slow walk around the courtyard will help me escape the feeling of being so fat I won't ever fit into my bandolier again. How is it outside?"

"Perfect," Touchstone answered, rising from the bed and moving toward the single wardrobe situated in the far corner from the bed. He vanished behind the door, reappearing a few moments later with a blue dressing gown and a suitable pair of slippers.

Sabriel stretched as well as she could – which was not very well at all – and swung her legs around to plant her feet on the floor. She reached for the brush on her bedside table and began to work the tangles out of her hair, smiling sweetly at her husband, who was waiting patiently for her to be through. She took her time, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Touchstone's shifting feet.

"Are you nervous?" she asked suddenly. "About tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "And you should be too. I'm not the only one getting a crown tomorrow."

"I've had more pressing matters on my mind," Sabriel countered quietly, rubbing her belly absent-mindedly.

"We can postpone the ceremony, if you wish," Touchstone suggested as he placed the dressing gown on the bed and knelt to pull the slippers onto her feet. "Another week won't make a difference."

"What, and disappoint the whole city?" Sabriel said with a small laugh. "I think not, my Lord."

She pulled on the dressing gown, and buttoned and belted it while Touchstone tried again to talk her out of the ceremony with much the same reaction. By the time she climbed to her feet, she was wondering if he wasn't trying to talk himself out of it. When she said as much all he did was wrap an arm around her waist and lead her out of the room with a deep sigh.

The fading light of the sunset, the fresh air of the courtyard, and her husband's comforting touch were enough to ease Sabriel's tensions about the coming day. The ceremony would go smoothly, breakfast would be a breeze, and then she would come back and rest. All would go well, and everything would be fine. At least, she hoped so.

Sabriel slept well that night, and had awoken a few hours before sunrise with little of the weariness and fatigue that had plagued her on many pervious mornings. Touchstone had woken an hour earlier, and was probably down in the common room at that very moment, handing out last-minute orders. It still amazed Sabriel how well he had taken to all this business that came with being king.

Her newly designated handmaid – a sweet but terribly naïve young woman named Seranel - helped her dress and do up her hair. The empire-waisted gown of dark blue satin cascaded down her back and over her belly like a waterfall of fabric. Thick bands of black velvet traced the dress's hem and neckline, upon which silver keys had been embroidered. The full sleeves were heavier than Sabriel remembered, and the dress was a tad too confining, but it was more or less comfortable, and the reflection looking back at her in the mirror was a woman of cool serenity and queenly demeanor.

All the guards and servants they'd managed to acquire thus far had gathered in the large common room on the inn's first floor, busy double-checking their orders and making last minute preparations. Touchstone stood amidst the ordered chaos, resplendent in gold-plated chain mail and crimson velvet. He turned with the rest of the small crowd as Seranel announced Sabriel's entrance in her high, lilting voice. Sabriel, still unused to the attention, fought the urge to roll her eyes but was unable to quell the blush in her cheeks. The servants and guards parted, all with a bow or a curtsy, as Touchstone made his way to Sabriel's side and took her hand.

"Everything is in order," he said to her as he led her to the door. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she answered softly, taking a deep breath. Then she smiled up at him. "Are you?"

"Always."

Sixteen and a half hours later Sabriel was wishing she'd taken up Touchstone's offer to postpone the ceremony.

Her beautifully crafted dress, elaborate golden circlet, and newly acquired title were laying in an undignified heap on a chair in the corner of the room. Her hair had long since fallen out of its coif only to be hastily tied back with a leather cord. Three women bustled around her – not including the one at the business end of the bed – passing towels, linens, herbs, bowls of water, and all manner of things back and forth between them. Touchstone sat beside her on the bed, one of his hands clasping hers, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. His shirt and leather breeches were all that remained of the finery he had worn through the ceremony – the chain mail and crimson tabard were in the same chair as her dress. The crown had been carefully returned to its velvet-lined box.

The coronation was a blur of unfamiliar faces and muddled words now lost in the haze of ever-increasing pain. Breakfast had never happened, but it was just as well because she wasn't hungry anyways.

Another contraction came on, this one stronger than the last, just as the one before it had been stronger than its predecessor. She gave a strangled cry and gripped Touchstone's hand tighter. He squeezed her shoulder in response, but she hardly noticed.

"You need to breathe, dear," the midwife said gently, eyeing her over the rise of her knee.

You need to find a way to speed this up! Sabriel's tired mind raged at the calm woman.

"Breathe, darling," Touchstone intoned.

"Be quiet!" Sabriel snapped at her husband.

The midwife chuckled, and the sound was almost soothing.

Sabriel glowered at Touchstone and the midwife (how they could have the gall to give her orders while she was in this state, she would never know), but the look was lost in the throes of another contraction.

"Won't be long now, my Lord," the midwife said to Touchstone. "You'll have your babe within the hour, I think."

And now they were talking like she wasn't even in the room! Well, if he wants it that way, he can sleep in a different bed for the rest of our marriage!

Sabriel was seriously considering pushing Touchstone off the bed until a sudden, intense pressure spiraled outwards from her hips and his hand became her lifeline.

"Well, it seems as if your child has grown impatient!" said the midwife, gesturing to one of her helpers for a clean warm towel. "This is it, my Lady. When I give the word, I need you to push."

"What have I been doing the past nine hours?!" Sabriel bit out between clenched jaws.

"You're doing fine, Sabriel," Touchstone answered softly, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It's almost over."

"Like bloody hell it is!" Sabriel seethed through gritted teeth.

Then she screamed, and did as she was told: she pushed.

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push.

Her hips would certainly be ruined after this. Walking would be beyond her.

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push.

The ripping, tearing pain was most certainly ruining her muscles. What good was an Abhorsen who couldn't walk?

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push.

Everything below her waist was dying. She could feel her skin and muscle and sinew and bone peeling away into nothingness.

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push

Suddenly she missed her father with such strength and clarity that the pain in her chest was almost as great as the pain of bringing this child into the world.

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push

And despite everything that assailed her, she knew beyond anything else that Touchstone was going to be a wonderful father.

Breathe deep and push. Breathe deep and push…

The light-headed feeling that came with the sudden surcease of pain was a welcome change from the raw, red agony that had gobbled up her last conscious moments. Distantly, as if through a heavy shroud or from another room in an empty house, Sabriel heard a baby crying.

All the pieces fell into place as the midwife laid the tiny, squalling child in Sabriel's arms. In that one moment, everything was right with the world. The dead rested, the living walked, and no door was open between the two worlds. Everything stood still. The soft sunlight of the late evening danced across the bed.

"A healthy baby girl," the midwife was saying, when Sabriel was finally able to focus on anything but the tiny face beginning to relax into deep sleep. "What will her name be, then?"

Sabriel tore her eyes away from her daughter to look up at Touchstone. He was smiling brightly down at the babe, running one callused finger over her tiny nose. Either he had not heard the question or was choosing not to answer.

"Ellimere," Sabriel said softly, looking back down at the baby. Even those sad memories of the friend she had lost could not dampen the joy that filled her heart when she looked at this child. And what better way to honor her sacrifice?

"Ellimere," Touchstone repeated, still entranced by the infant. "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby."

The midwife clucked her tongue gently, and added, "A fine name for a princess."