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Nínimdir was on the verge of passing out. His missing limbs still ached terribly and the newly opened hole he had been given felt like it was tearing apart from the constant stretching as one infant after the other slowly slipped out. He couldn't stop the contractions, no matter how hard he tried, his insides squeezing, his muscles flexing without him doing a single thing. He almost choked on the tears and snot as they seeped into his mouth and nose, coughing, wheezing.
“Someone please just kill me…”
Then as he was barely conscious anymore, he heard something. Footsteps. Light, extremely so. Elven footsteps.
No, no, no no no no no!!!
He couldn't even move, he was so weak and in so much pain. Even breathing was hard. His chest was tight, lungs erratic, hyperventilating.
"Oh, meleth nîn, sweet snowbird..." Said a broken, familiar voice.
Something within Nínimdir just melted as he heard it. He should have been terrified of knowing his own fiancée was seeing him in such a pathetic state, and yet all he could feel was relief, which was expanded tenfolds as he felt her gentle hand on his hair and her soft lips on his sweat-riddled forehead.
"My dear love. I'm here. It's okay. We'll get you through this." She murmured, and he hung onto her words like an anchor for sanity.
"Please, give me your coats!! We have to help him!!" Prestiel, the fiancée, screamed out at the other elves, who were just staring in horror at the scene. Quickly, they followed her words and helped cushion the floor to make it more comfortable for Nínimdir. Prestiel moved down between her fiance's legs, wrapping the first few orc infants in her own gowns. She looked at one for a moment and smiled as it made little oinking noises, before gently placing it to the side to focus on Nínimdir again.
Nínimdir sighed in relief as his battered body was taken off of the gravel and into soft fabric, leaning into his lover's soft hands as she caressed him.
"My love, breathe with me. Can you do that, meleth nîn?”
He nodded weakly, and did his best to follow along. He was so focused on that, he barely paid attention to what started happening around him just a minute later.
Tangadedir swallowed the immediate urge to vomit as he entered the room and saw his brother in the most disgusting state he had ever seen before. He grabbed his sword, and tried to pounce, trying to just end this horrible suffering. But the other elves grabbed him and stopped him.
"Let me go!! What are you doing?? We have to kill this monstrosity!!"
Prestiel frowned, still gently caressing her lover's chest and hair. "He's giving birth to his own children and needs help to breathe, and all you think to do is to murder him? For shame, boy. For shame!”
Tangadedir spat on the ground angrily, and shoved himself off of the two soldiers holding him. He stared at the woman, breathing furiously, and then left, sliding his sword back in its sheath.
Eventually all the infants were born, all healthy, and they were all given to the few elves that had been witnesses to the scene to carry back home in the carriage along with Nínimdir himself. He was laid down, wrapped in the clothes he'd been sitting on, and Prestiel sat near him, still clinging onto him the whole way through. She hummed soft songs the whole way, lips trailing across his cheeks, his forehead, his damp hair, as he simply slept, for once able to rest a bit. She took turns holding each baby as well, mumbling gentle lullabies to them to keep them calm.
“L-lady Prestiel, surely you're not really thinking of keeping all these… things, right?”
She ignored them for a moment, cooing at a rather fussy infant. Then she gave the soldier who had asked the question a stern yet polite look. “My beloved birthed them. They are of his flesh. I find it is my duty to take care of whatever he produces. I would have given him children, had we had more time together… but I suppose this is good as well, isn't it?”
The soldiers didn't answer, but they looked down to the ground shamefully. Prestiel smiled, happy with herself, and the journey continued mostly in silence, only sometimes interrupted by Prestiel singing, and the babies crying and cooing.
When Nínimdir woke up, it was to gentle, warm sunlight and soft bedsheets. And full quiet. Well, actually, there were little… noises, like… babies?
He couldn't quite place it, his mind still fuzzy. But he could feel warmth on his arm. A hand. A gentle hand.
Prestiel.
Immediately, he jolted upward, breath catching up.
“P-Prestiel- love- w-why-” he mumbled, vocal chords raw and chaffed.
“I'm here, meleth nîn.”
Suddenly, as he tried to move, he felt an ache in his legs - what was left of them - and it all came flashing back. Everything. The raid on his camp. The bandaged man. The orcs…
“P-Prestiel, don't- don't look at me, please-” he tried moving his arms to shield himself but found them limp, only managing to flex the upper section as his forearms pathetically flailed in front of him, lowering his head to try to hide himself.
“My love, it's alright. I'm not frightened. You're my husband, and nothing will change this. You have been through so much. I told you since the first day we were promised. I would always be there for you” Prestiel gently said, delicately caressing his arms until he lowered them and looked at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, but her smile was true, genuine, full of love. It was the same smile she would always give him whenever he came back from battle, worried about the wounds, maybe, but happy to see him alive.
“Y-you-”
“Don't care what you look like. I've cleaned and bandaged your wounds many times before. I've seen and smelled pus from infections, caressed your back as you vomited after an indigestion, and I've helped you through countless hours of training. I would kiss your sweaty feverish skin forever if it meant you would heal faster.” Prestiel said gently, but firmly, and gave his arm a squeeze, like to say “don't argue with me.”
A soft oink was heard along with shuffling, and the two turned to a large bassinet where six little orc piglets were, already crawling around and oinking softly.
“You- they're still-”
“We had to stop your brother from getting rid of them, but… yes. They're all alive, and healthy. I fed them a few minutes ago.” Prestiel said, and then leaned in. “Would you like to hold one of them?”
“I… I can't…” Nínimdir whined softly, looking at his arms resting, immobile on his chest.
“It's alright. I'll put them on your chest.” Prestiel hummed, and gently hopped to the bassinet, taking one of the piglets.
“This is Mallos.” She whispered, placing the infant onto Nínimdir’s chest. The little baby sniffed around a bit, oinking softly, her little wet snout moving as she crawled closer to Nínimdir's face, and then nuzzled against his neck. Nínimdir looked at it.
It was so… small. Innocent. In this form it looked nothing like the brutes that had assaulted him.
Nínimdir let out a soft hiccup. Soon enough, warm tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he lifted his head up, snuggling through the sobs, unable to wipe his face. The little infant gently licked his cheek, and he moved his head slightly to nuzzle her.
“Mallos…” he whispered, and then looked back up at Prestiel.
“Do they… do they all have names?”
“Yes!” Prestiel said, and she tugged the bassinet closer, before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking each baby one by one, placing them on the large mattress.
“This is Nimloth.”
“Nimloth…”
“Elanor.”
“Elanor…”
“Eiren.”
“E-Eiren…”
“Alfirin.”
“Alfirin…”
Then she took the last infant, a bit smaller than the others, whose skin and fur was of a whiter hue.
“And… Nínim. Named after his father.”
All the babies were now crawling towards Nínimdir, their tiny puffy eyes barely open, hiccuping and huffing with the effort, little snouts twitching as they sniffed around to try to get their bearings. Nínimdir couldn't stop crying, although it was more soft now, just happy sobs as he looked at the children. His children.
“They're… so pure. So beautiful…” he sobbed, leaning into the little chubby hands and wet snouts poking him, and Prestiel nodded, a few tears rolling down her face as well. “Just like their father. They will be loved. No matter what anyone else in the kingdom might say.”
She took Mallos and Elanor, who had started crawling towards her, in her arms, and they started tugging at her long platinum hair. She giggled and looked at them.
“I've ordered the blacksmiths and craftsmen to make you new legs with our finest mithril and star-gold. Alloys imbued with magic. And one craftsman has said he might look into making your forearms functional again.” she hummed. Nínimdir nodded, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He needed to rest.
“What… about mother and father?” he asked. Prestiel smiled tenderly. “They're happy you're alive. I… haven't talked to them much yet. I was so busy taking care of you. Do you want me to go see them while you rest?”
“No. Please… stay with me, my love.” Nínimdir mumbled.
“Understood. And the babies? Would you want me to put them back in the bassinet while you rest?”
Nínimdir shook his head sleepily. “Keep them there. For now.”
Prestiel made herself a space in the bed near her fiancé, and laid down next to him. She pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
“Rest well, meleth nîn. You're safe here.”