About Saelbeth

Chapter 7

The pigs were out on the meadow and dug with their noses through the cold mud. Marigold watched and fed them everyday. At nightfall she drove them back to their sty. The keeper of the tavern was a friendly man and gave her food and shelter for her work. When she was back at her filthy little cottage she did alterations on his clothes. From time to time he gave her some wool so that she can sew clothes for her child. The people of the village had grown very fond of the nice and friendly young woman and were waiting with her for her husband to come.

The day was bright and cool like all fall mornings had been. Marigold sat down on a stump and gazed over the herd of pigs. She wondered how long she would have to wait here until Saelbador finally found her. She lifted her eyes to the sky and saw flock of jackdaws gather in the air. Circling over the meadows, they gained on high and their shrill and sad cries filled the quiet morning.

The young woman touched her chest and lowered her eyes to the ground. From childhood on she had been told, that crying jackdaws were a sign for the grief of the Valar. And in that moment a tearing pain ran through her heart. She gasped for air and held on to the stump so she did not fall to the ground. The child in her womb jumped and did not stop for many moments.

With her eyes wide open she stared into the forest, still trying to gain her breath again. The pain in her chest became worse as she saw a shadow between the trees. She forced herself to stand and thought she might have seen someone. It was a light haired elf, waving sadly to her. As Marigold started to run across the field to get to him, a dark clad person took the hand of the elf she had seen. Straining to see who it was, Marigold suddenly recognized Saelbador. She screamed his name, begging him to wait for her.

Her hands clutched her swollen belly, she tried to get there faster. As she was only some feet away, she realized that they had turned. A soft wind blew around them and they faded into the shadows. The last breeze brushed the last image of them away. Falling on to her knees Marigold cried out, they had vanished before her eyes. Her fingers dug deep into the soil of the forest ground, tearing the moss and soil out. Bowing her head down to the ground until her forehead touched it, Marigold screamed in despair while her sobs echoed between the trees.

From that day on Marigold did not speak anymore. Her eyes were red and swollen. She neglected herself, did not comb her hair anymore and wore the same clothes, day and night; she ate only little. Her malnourished body barely fed the unborn child, but at night when she was alone, she sang to her child. She remembered the songs her beloved had taught her, while she cried herself to sleep every night.
Soon the people of the village gossiped about her insanity. The old woman who had often taken care of her, was the only one left that visited Marigold. From time to time she combed the young woman's hair. She saw that the light in Marigold's eyes had faded. Softly she stroke the young woman's hallowed cheeks and she knew she could not help Marigold in her grief.

The last leaves had fallen from the trees and snow had started to fall. Marigold's strawberry blonde hair had turned to grey. She forced herself everyday to walk to the pigsty to feed the animals. She did not go to the kitchen anymore to eat there. She just sat down beside the hogs and took a handful of left over victuals from the kitchen and slowly she pushed piece after piece into her mouth and gulped it down, making her stomach revolt.

She pulled herself up on the wood planks. Walking on bare feet, she returned through the knee deep snow to her cottage. Her clothes were in rags. Marigold's once so rosy skin was ash grey and dirty. She stepped through the little door and sank down on the bed. Since months had passed, she had not changed the straw anymore and it was filthy like everything around her.

"Marigold, your belly has narrowed. The child will soon be born." The old woman tried to comb Marigold's hair. She constantly talked to the young woman, when she took care of her. That day she had already forced the young woman to eat some spoons of broth. Marigold nodded and started to teeter with her upper body again. Her fingernails scratched forth and back over the wood of the chair.
"Hush, my dear. Your grief is endless but you have to move on for your child's sake." The old woman held Marigold's shoulders firm. She turned the young woman around and forced her to look into her eyes.

"Marigold, you will know when your time comes. Come to me, I will help you."
Marigold closed her eyes at the soothing words.
Everyday she dragged herself to the pigs and back to her cottage. Her legs showed frostbite, her fingernails were broken deep into the flesh of her fingers. She brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and stared into the sky. Her lips trembled and she cried tearless for there were no more tears to shed.

Marigold stood still and felt how a warm liquid suddenly traveled down her thighs. She looked to the ground. She first wondered if she had lost control over her bladder, but the snow did not change it's color. And with every step she felt more water leaving her womb.

Slowly a wave of pain built up in her lower body. Instinctively she touched her big belly, it was hard like a stone. As the pain ended as slow as it had come, her body became soft again. Marigold sighed and made her way to the house of the old lady.
When the woman opened the door to see who had knocked on the frame, Marigold stared at her and turned to go back to her own cottage. Quickly the older woman grabbed a pot, clean rags and threw her cloak over her shoulders. She hurried through the snow to catch up with Marigold.

Many hours passed. The old woman had boiled water. She undressed Marigold and washed her body to soothe the pain. She changed the straw on the bed. The young woman breathed heavily as the pain came stronger and more regular.

Moaning, Marigold cowered on the straw covered floor. The old woman stood behind her and reached around to support her, while her body started to push the babe down. With every effort she got weaker. Finally the head of the child emerged. The older woman caught it and pulled the child out while Marigold pushed for the last time.
As the little body had left her womb she fell down on the straw. The older woman held the infant upside down and removed the cord that was tight around his neck.
"It is a boy. It is a beautiful little boy!" The older woman exclaimed as she slapped him on his little buttock to make him breathe. Instantly the child started to scream madly.

She laid him on Marigold's belly and he tried to crawl and climb to his mother's breast. His blue eyes stared curiously, but determined at the dark nipples on his mother's swollen breasts. The older woman supported him a little to make him reach his goal easier.
Smacking his little mouth, he found his mother's breast. Marigold's face grimaced as she felt the stinging pain as he sucked the first breast milk hungrily. She stroke his bold little head very gently and tears flowed down her cheeks.

Suddenly the old woman started to cry, in fear she pointed at the infant. "His ears! He has pointy ears! Oh, no!" In panic she fled the house.
But Marigold did not care. She carefully held her son and crawled to the bed. She pulled them up onto the bed, weakly. As she laid down she saw the puddle of blood in front of the bed.

Exhausted she curled herself up, holding her child tight. Tired she kissed his head and rubbed her nose gently on his little button nose. The infant smacked loudly and yawned heavily. He only opened one eye to look at his mother. He held his little fists tight to his chest.
Marigold's eyelids were heavy. She wanted to turn on her back, but she could not. With every heartbeat she felt blood gushing down her legs, soaking the straw beneath her, forming a big puddle below the bed.
In the early morning hours Marigold exhaled for the last time.
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The child desperately tried to suck milk. It was the fourth day already that his mother did not move. She still laid on the side, her arm wrapped around him. He did not understand why there was no food for him. He had stopped crying the day before.
Suddenly he tried to lift his head a little. Even with enough milk he would have not been able to lift his head on his own yet. A faint noise escaped his mouth. Someone drew near and he sensed its presence. The infant's soul cried out in despair.
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A woman was heard screaming as she saw a black haired elf, step inside the house where Marigold resided.
"Maybe he is the one," A man whispered.
"The pointy eared beast shall take his whore and his brat away from us," Another one spat aloud.

The elf appeared in the door frame again. In his hands he held the child. The villagers stepped back as they could feel the ferocity, the hate that was building like a halo around him up. Nobody dared to step forward to speak out loud what they thought. They knew he would not show mercy to any of those that crossed his path.
He tucked the child under his cloak, keeping it safe and warm. Turning away, the elf left the town.