Lady of Love

by FireOfTheNorth


Birth

Chapter 1: Birth
Year 968 of the 4th Age

A great storm raged over the Equestry Valley, the tempest slamming against the White Mountains and drenching Cant’r Laht. The storm seemed the worst, however, over a minor noble’s estate at the base of the mountains to the north. That may, of course, have only been perceived because of the turmoil down below mirroring that of above. The Baroness mi Amore struggled in childbirth while the baron restlessly paced his chambers elsewhere in the estate.

Baron Ferdinand mi Amore was not a beloved lord. His fits of anger and outrageous demands had earned him the ire of the peasantry, and they dreaded what might be inflicted upon them if his wife bore him another daughter. The mi Amore title was passed down only through the male line. If the baron had no son to pass his title down to, then his line would end with him. He had three daughters, and his frustration and anger had been greater with each one. He never took it out on his children or his wife, but that meant that his subjects received a double portion of his wrath.

The thunder overhead blocked out the screams from the baroness’s chambers intermittently, and it came as a shock to those nearest enough to hear when the screams were silenced, replaced by a newborn foal’s cries. The servants in their chambers pretended not to be concerned, but they whispered among themselves about what this child would bring. The midwives looked at each other with terror, trying to decide what to do. Only one of them had been here at the birth of the baron’s last child, but they all dreaded the repercussions of what they’d witnessed.

Eventually, one of them worked up the courage to take action and snapped orders to the others before galloping out of the room, startling the guard standing outside the door. He was to report to the baron when the business was finished, but he had to know what to report. When he tried to open the door to the baroness’s chambers, however, he found it barred from the inside. Insistent, he banged on the door and called after the retreating midwife who had emerged. He would get in, it was only a matter of time, but the midwives would delay him as long as possible.

The mare who’d taken charge galloped through the hallways and out into the estate’s courtyard. She was tempted, as she passed the gates, to simply run through them and disappear into the storm, but she had a mission to fulfill. By the time she reached the steward’s residence, her blood-stained clothes were thoroughly soaked and mud-splattered. She banged upon the door until the stallion answered it, and she nearly fell in through the doorway when it suddenly opened.

“Yes, what is it?” the steward demanded, before seeing the state the midwife was in, “Come in out of the rain.”

“The baroness … she died in childbirth,” the midwife said breathlessly, and the steward’s face became ashen, “Only one o’ her foals survived.”

“And the foal …” the steward said with dread.

“A filly,” the midwife finished for him, “The other was a colt.”

“You were wise to come to me right away,” the steward said as he anxiously threw a cloak over his nightclothes, “I have to stop the baron before he makes a terrible mistake.”

The steward barreled out into the rain, splashing through the mud of the courtyard rather ungracefully. His domicile was connected to the rest of the estate, and he could have reached the baron’s dwelling without setting hoof in the rain. However, like the midwife who’d rushed to him, he realized that time was of the essence and the swiftest way was through the courtyard. He had served the Baron mi Amore faithfully for years, and knew his master better than anypony. His rage would be immeasurable, and somepony had to stop it before it brought down everything around their ears. He was risking his life here, but if he didn’t succeed, then it wasn’t likely he’d survive much longer anyway.

There were shouts and sounds of struggle when he reached the baroness’s chambers. The steward stepped through the open door to a sight of death and fear. Baroness Francesca mi Amore was lying dead on her bed, the small form of her son nearby, resting on one of her wings. The midwives were huddled in corner, protecting a crying babe from a guard that was trying to break them up.

“Prubecht!” the steward yelled, startling the guard as he heard his name, “What in the Seven Pits of the Abyss do you think you’re doing?”

“Th-th’ baron, ‘e ordered me t’-” the guard stammered.

“To kill a newborn foal?” the steward finished for him, and he looked ashamed, “Have you no decency? No fear of judgement? I don’t need to be able to read the Word of Faust to know that your soul would be forfeit, consigned to the deepest levels of the Abyss for such a heinous sin!”

Prubecht backed away, shocked at the thought of what he’d been about to do. He had quailed at the thought when the baron had demanded it, but there would be no arguing with his lord. If he’d tried to protest, he was sure that Ferdinand would have killed him then and there. Better, he’d thought, to finish the foal off quickly before anypony knew it’d been born than to face his master’s wrath, but he’d been wrong.

The danger momentarily abated, the midwives began to unclump, until their eyes suddenly grew wide and one inhaled abruptly. The steward turned to see the baron standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with fire as he stared at the blood-soaked bed. Slowly he turned and looked past his steward, at the quivering guard slumped against the wall and the group of midwives.

“Where is it?” he demanded, voice taut as a cord.

The newborn foal, no idea of the danger she was in, wailed and the baron’s eyes immediately fixed on her. He drew a knife from his belt and trotted forward with murderous intent. The steward tried to stand in his way, but he spread his wings and jumped into the air, using the high ceiling of the room to his advantage. The steward struggled to stop him, but managed to jump up and grab him, pulling him down and pinning him to the floor. Baron Ferdinand mi Amore struggled to throw his servant off, kicking him in the loins, but the steward endured the pain and fought to keep the baron pinned. The baron’s wings struck out, knocking over a stool, but he couldn’t build up enough force to throw the steward off. Spitefully, he spit out his knife, the sharpened blade leaving a cut in the steward’s foreleg and staining his nightclothes with blood.

“Stop, my lord, stop!” the steward yelled repeatedly between heavy breaths, and at last the baron heard what he was saying.

“Let me up!” the baron demanded, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth, “That thing killed my wife and heir! It deserves to die!”

“No, my lord, you mustn’t kill her! Think!” the steward yelled, not sure how much longer he could keep the baron down, “Word will get out, and once the peasants learn you’re an infanticide, they’ll storm the estate, burn it down, and impale or lynch you! Even if they don’t succeed, the word will reach Celestia somehow, and you have no defense against her!”

The baron was no longer struggling, but there was still anger in his eyes, and he was breathing heavily through gritted teeth. His steward had seen him enraged many times, but never as terribly as this. He was willing to kill a foal only minutes into this world, and it didn’t look like he was entirely convinced that the consequences weren’t worth it. As his temper began to come down, however, that raw rage transformed into a resigned resentment. The steward had gotten through to him. He wouldn’t kill the foal, but he would never forgive her for stealing his wife and son away from him in the same night. The steward wondered how the child’s life would be, and if he’d really done her a favor by saving it.