Loëndë
Early afternoon found Piosenniel tired and irritable. Contraction after intense contraction wracked her body, leaving no time to recover between them, and barely time to breathe. She was on the bed now, crouched against the pillows stacked in front of the headboard. Her face was pale and slick with sweat.
Mithadan! I cannot bear this much longer..
Further thought was cut off by another round of pain and pressure.
A grimace that might have passed for a smile flitted across her face when her thoughts cleared for a moment. She consciously relaxed her body and leaned against the pillows.
By the sea and stars, Mithadan, I would rather face the Orcs in Gondolin again. The pain of the blade is finite, and quickly gone. Something I understand. Something I can control in my own way. But this . . .
Peony said something to her, and Angelica repeated it. Their voices were kind . . .
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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