credit goes to @thlaylisden ( the og creator / mastermind of Knight! Remmick )
giving birth to his son in secret..
Three years of marriage and yet there had been no heir had been born. Not a boy. Not a girl. Not even a hint of pregnancy. It weighed on your shoulders, sinking its claws into your skin. Everyone whispered of it in court, staring at your belly and wondering the same question, âWhat was wrong with you? Why could you not do your wifely duties and provide your husband with an heir?â
At first, you had assumed that your lack of visiting your husbandâs bedchamber had been the cause. So you visited every other day, hoping that the frequent bedding would one day land you swollen with his heir. But, it didnât. Then came the tonics and teas and old wives tales of âcuresâ that would âfix youâ and your âlittle problemâ. Brewing catnip with wine until it is reduced to a third of its original volume, and give it to your husband to drink on an empty stomach for three days. Taking pig's testicles and grinding them down, and drinking them with wine for three days.Â
It eventually devolved into you realizing that it must have been your husbandâs fault for no heir, in secret of course. He could fuck his way through brothels, from Scotland to France, and not get a single whore with child. His first marriage with some Lady of French nobility, was able to birth heirs, once it had been annulledâŻwith another man, of course. Your mother and sisters had been able to birth many children for their husbands, at least six. The midwives and healers had told you the same thing, that you were healthy, capable of carrying a child to full term. There was just something âpreventingâ it. They didnât say it aloud, but it shifted from it being your fault to your husbands. But, he was too prideful to admit it. How could he? A lord, of all, be at fault for the lack of an heir? No, no, it had to be you, the woman who was at fault.
You needed an heir. You needed one, desperately, if not to silence the gossip of Court then to finally rid yourself from your husband. Remmick, of course, was kind throughout it all. More than a Knight probably should have. He offered comfort and prayer, despite not believing in the same God as you. He held your hand and pulled back your hair when the tonics made you ill. It was only natural that you found yourself able to speak of your desire for an heir, by any means needed. Tonics. Teas. Old wives tales. Laying with another man. Remmick shared similar enough features with your husbandâŻdark hair and bright alluring eyes. No one would notice if Remmick were the one to sire a child with you. No one but the two of you.Â
âIâm not supposed to be here.â Remmick clenches his jaw, avoiding eye contact with you.
âI know that.â You nod, sweat trickling down your brow. âBut, you can always say that you are listening to my orders for the healers.âÂ
â( Y/n )..â He warns, immediately turning to you.
âMy labors have begun, the child bed is now my battlefield.â You force out, trying to keep your voice steady as another wave of contractions hit you. âShould..Should I fail in this battle, promise me that you will watch over this child.â
âDonât speak of that.â
âRemmick, I carry your child in my womb, not my husbandâs.â You argue, âThe handmaids, the healers, the midwives, cannot be trusted fully. They work for my husbandâs coin, not mine.â
Grabbing onto the railing of the bed tightly for support to stand upright, your body moves involuntarily, your back arching as the pressure in your low gut grows from the contractions. It felt like this baby intended on clawing its way out of you. Moaning lowly as the pain grows, you dig your nails into the railing as you start to push, tears of exhaustion and pain streaming down your flushed cheeks. God, how the hell did your mother and sisters give birth to six children? Feeling his calloused hands on your back, you lean back against his chest, desperate for some kind of comfort in his moment. Shutting your eyes tightly, your thighs tremble, struggling to hold your weight.
âI wonât let you die, I canât let you.â He whispers, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.
âIt is not like you can stop it, Remmick.â You grit your teeth in pain, âBut what you can do is watch over our child if I am unable to do so. You protect them, by any means possible.â
âDonât speak like that, like youâve already accepted death, like you're already dead.â He pleads, his grip tightening on your sweat soaked shift.
âRemmick, you do this for me.â You force in a breath, âPromise.âÂ
âYou fucking promise me, Remmick.â
