She rises, her slippered feet planted on the earthen floor of their cottage. Her husband has already left to catch enough fish for dinner, and hopefully, a little extra to sell or trade. She places her hands upon her rounded belly. It's getting heavy now. Her babe will come soon.
Pacing in her cottage, she picks up here and there. When will the baby come? How soon? Her anxious steps carve the path around her cottage's interior perimeter. Stoking the fire, she begins preparation for their simple meal. The stew will work with or without the fish. She places her hand over her unborn child again. She knows only that the birthing will be soon. She doesn't know what will happen once the babe is born.
He heads home in good cheer, cheeks ruddy from the cold, a sack full of fish, and a smaller parcel of a few other things. A babe, he thinks to himself, soon, I'll be a Da! He stomps his snow-crusted boots on the mat in front of the cottage, and flings the door open wide. "Wife, I'm home!" He hears no reply, but for a small whimper of pain. "Wife?"
He finds her on the floor by the bed, a stew cooling by the fire, which is in danger of going out. He gently picks up his heavily pregnant wife, and notices that it seems her birthing is upon her. She stares up at him, her eyes wide with fear. He feels a stab of anxiety in his gut, but knows what to do. They've prepared for this, for all the years they've waited for a child. After setting her on the bed, he tends to the fire, then leaves to find the midwife. The crone has assured them both that there will be plenty of time to find her when the babe's time comes.
He returns with the midwife shortly thereafter. Thankfully their horse had been swift and sure, for the snow was coming down faster now. He prepares the hot water and the clean cloths for the midwife; otherwise it's in their hands now.
With a tremendous scream, he hears the cry of his new babe. He begins to get up, ready to greet his son or daughter. The midwife cuts his movement with a gesture, and stares intently at his wife. "Now what's this? Is aught the matter with our babe," he asks. The crone eyes him warily and turns her back to him. He falls to his chair, stunned. He can hear her saying something in hushed tones to his wife. I'll not be made to wait in MY house, he thinks to himself. He stands, and walks over to them, the crone speaking harshly now, his wife staring at her, seemingly unable to respond. The new babe suckles upon her breast.
"Is my child healthy, or not?" He demands an answer. "Do I have a son or a daughter?"
The crone looks up at him, her face heavily lined and inscrutable. "My work here is done," she says, gathering her things and preparing to leave. She pauses before the door and glances again at him. "Good luck," she rasps, before stepping out into the frozen black.
She stares down upon her breast, at the perfect, rosy skin of her daughter, her fine light hairs catching a glint upon the fire, her mouth moving to pull out nourishment. She knows it's too late now. She thought there'd be more time. She didn't want him to find out like this, not now.
She remembers back in the beginning, now six or seven winters ago. When she first met her husband, a shy and handsome young man. They'd always wanted children, him especially. But after so many years of trying and failing, his recrimination and reproach threatening their happy lives, she knew something had to be done. In the early summer, she'd done what she must, to save herself and her marriage. She knew about the fae, everyone did. It was risky, calling upon them, asking for favors, but she'd done what she could, and offered up her most precious possession: a gold hair comb that her mother had given her, worth more than what her husband could catch in a year's time. She knew they liked gold, everyone did. She followed the ritual, and they had answered.
He arrived, terrible and beautiful, fierce and strange. She offered herself to him, begging him for a child. He took her, coldly, and after a time, it was clear that his seed had taken, her husband none the wiser of the babe's true father. She prayed every day before her babe arrived that he would never know their child's true father. The fae had warned her however. Sometimes, there were signs. She must tell her husband. If she didn't, and harm befell the babe, there would be blood vengeance. And now, with a thunderous look rising upon her husband's face, she knew it was too late.
He stared at the babe. Perfectly formed, and fair of skin, like them both. Her rosebud of a mouth suckling at his wife's breast, tiny hand fisting at the air beside her, he had a girl. But no, this wasn't his child, not at all. For on the side of her head, where a gentle shell should have curved, he saw the telltale point of her ear, and knew what his wife must have done.
"She's a gift, husband! Don't do this!" His wife pleaded, crying, clutching the fae child to her breast. "I did it for you!" She screamed, as if her heart were being flayed apart. He loved his wife, he did. But this couldn't stand. Better no babe at all than one of another man, fae or no. "Wife, I can't let this stand. I won't. This babe isn't mine. I can forgive you, but I won't allow this abomination to live even a night in my house!"
She stared at him, in horror. "You can't mean...?"
He nodded grimly. "I'll slaughter this creature myself."
She began to cry afresh. "Please husband, I can see you mean what you say. I'll go along with this, but let me say goodbye to her in my own way. I know you don't see her as yours, and you're right, I'm sorry. But however she came about, I feel she is mine, and if she goes, I'll be the one to do it." Tears ran down her face, flowing toward the feeding babe, blissfully unaware of any goings on.
He nodded his agreement.
She hobbled up, gathering her gown and wrap around her, while holding her child. She kissed her daughter's perfect face. Wrapping the babe up in soft blankets, created especially for this child, once so wanted, and now so scorned, she stepped outside into the night. Moonlight reflected upon the fresh snow. She grasped her babe even closer to her, and stepped out purposefully. She'd prepared for this, however inadequately she'd done otherwise.
Stepping toward the copse, she released her stoic lover's name to the dead air. He was there at once, his eyes glittering out from the wooden cove. He nodded once, and she sighed in relief. Gathering her daughter to her one last time, she secured the babe's wrappings , and bestowed one last kiss upon her child's perfect brow. As she went to set her babe down in the snow at the edge of the woods, her lover swept in, snatched the babe from her arms, and disappeared in the darkness. She stood there, staring into the night until her toes began to go numb. She turned back toward the cottage and, with one last look at the dark woods, took those aching steps to her cold future.
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