***
When the realization dawned on Amelia that she was pregnant, she fell immediately into new, unimagined despair. Never before, in her years in the dungeons, had she ever been so close to madness. She wept and wailed constantly. As soon as she knew without a doubt, she attempted to rid herself of the abomination that grew within her. Her attempts were for naught, however, and the creature continued to thrive in her womb.
It became quickly apparent that Asgoroth was aware of her quickening. Her labors were lessened, though not ended. She was given more time to rest than was normal, and she imagined--though could not be sure--that her food and water rations were increased.
Despite her efforts and her sorrow, she came to term, and in the dankness of her cell, she gave birth to the thing that had come to fruition inside her.
The only light came from the torches outside the cell. Her cellmates had all backed away from her, with the exception of two older women. One cradled her head on her lap while the other knelt between her legs, muttering instructions now and then. Her screaming, agonizing labor lasted for what seemed an eternity. She wished for an end to the pain; for death. But death escaped her then as it had for so long. She prayed for a stillborn thing, terrified of the alternative: a living, evil half-breed; demon-spawn.
Finally, after a great surge of pain that rent a ragged, final scream from Amelia's lungs, the infant came.
Not daring to raise her head to look, Amelia closed her eyes tight, tears leaking down her cheeks onto the woman's naked lap behind her. When finally she opened them, she gazed at the woman who still knelt between her thighs, holding something that Amelia could not see. There was a look of stunned amazement on her face; not the horror that she had expected.
Curious, Amelia raised her head to peer at what had come out of her. Suddenly, her face transformed into a mask of rapt stupifacation. The thing cradled in the woman's arms was not the hideous creature she had expected to see. It was a child, human in every way; tiny and fragile and letting out a piercing wail. With numb fingers, Amelia accepted the proffered child and gazed down into his crinkled face. He was a sturdy boy, and she could feel the strength in his chubby limbs. The wisp of fair hair upon his head was slick with the blood and fluids of his birth.
Amelia pulled the child close to her, guiding his head to her naked breast. Immediately, he bagan to suckle hungrily. Looking down on her newborn's head, she had not noticed that the other prisoners in her cell were crowded now around her. She looked up, tears streaming freely down her face. Then each inmate in turn came up to her and gently stroked the child's cheek before kissing Amelia's own and receding. When the procession had ended, Amelia spoke, almost to herself:
"What shall I call him?"
In response, a gaunt older man stepped forward and said, "We have discussed and come up with a name for the child. He has given us light in this dark place, a blessed, merciful respite to the horror we see every day. Call him Mercius."
Amelia looked down again at the feeding boy. "Mercius," she repeated softly. "It is a good name. Mama is here, Mercius. You're safe now."
She knew deep in her heart that the infant was far from safe, but she didn't allow such thoughts to enter her head just then; she was too overwhelmed by the pure, unadulterated love she felt for the fragile child in her arms, unwilling to allow any thought of fear or grief mar this one sure time she would have with him.
Later, after Mercius had drank his fill, Amelia fell asleep with the boy on her chest, cradling him gently and lovingly.
Amelia awoke with a start to the tortured wailing of her newborn. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the soreness in her body and looking wildly for the source of the screams. A hideous demon clutched the flailing Mercius by one leg, holding upside down and none too gently. Immediately, Amelia flew at the assailant, wailing and beating upon his massive chest, trying in vain to rescue her baby.
The demon flicked her away scornfully. She landed in the corner of the vacant cell, thumping her head against the stone wall. For a moment she was disoriented, but her senses returned to her quickly. The demon was standing over her, still clutching Mercius and looking down on her with revulsion and hatred.
"This child belongs now to the Lord Asgoroth," he hissed. With that, he turned and left the cell, clanging the door shut behind him as Amelia beat in vain at the bars, falling eventually into a weeping, miserable mess on the floor.