Author: Eralk Fang
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda
Rating: PG-13.
Story Summary: Nearly a century and half in the lives of Koume and Kotake, Gerudo witches.
Chapter Summary: The most inopportune time to give birth is always when babies want to be born.
Notes: I can usually trace ideas back to what inspired me, and Season of the Witch is inspired by the film Prince of Egypt and enough Gregory Maguire novels to choke a horse. This story is set four hundred years before the adult ending of Ocarina of Time, and goes for one hundred and twenty years. This is a multi-chapter work, and I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Season of the Witch
Chapter One: The King is Dead

-

A child is born and doesn't know what day it is.
"A Newborn Girl at Passover", Nan Cohen

-

Makebdorf was dead, and the funeral procession was just starting to leave the fortress' western gate. It was grand and beautiful- the four women bearing the litter that housed Makebdorf's corpse were dressed in black and white, their bracelets and forehead jewels standing out brightly against the mourning colors.

Most of the Gerudo were in the procession, some crying. An aged woman, Makebdorf's wife, was weeping and screaming. The youngest among them was Thariyah, who was barely ten. She would be the next Sage, and left in the Spirit Temple when the procession finished burying their king. If she survived, she was truly the Sage. She cried too, clinging to the cloth of her mother's pants, because all she could think about was if she did not survive.

Far above them was a black figure in the sky, the silhouette of Tonyahdora, the only Gerudo witch. She was navigating on broom. From the fortress to the Desert Colossus was a treacherous path.

The midwife's assistant sighed and frowned, staring out a window. She was a young girl, but not young enough that she would ever take part in a king's funeral ever again. But nature waits for no one. Rova, one of the best weapons instructor the Gerudo had, was giving birth.

"Stop dreaming, girl!" the midwife barked. She was disappointed as well about the funeral procession, but she had always thrown herself into her work when she was disappointed.

Rova lay in her own bed, a canopy of purples, golds, and whites. She was unconscious, knocked out by a powerful potion. The assistant had turned away while the midwife had delivered the children- Tonyahdora, who unofficially headed the midwives, had been saying Rova would bear twins ever since Rova returned pregnant from the Hylian keep.

The midwife handed one of the twins to the assistant. It was bloody, and squished, and looked more like a rock then a little baby. They set to work.

The midwife and her assistant cleaned off the twins quickly. If one (or both, Din forbid) of them was a Hylian boy, he'd have to be removed, of course, and there was no sense in torturing a good horse in this awful heat... the midwife had her old sword tied to her bag.

"Girl!" the assistant shrilled.

The midwife nodded. "This one's a girl, too."

The assistant was relieved- she was mildly squeamish, a trait odd among Gerudo.

The midwife coaxed a scream out of the one she was holding, and gestured for the assistant to do the same. The assistant nervously did so, and almost screamed herself when the infant let out a piercing wail.

Satisfied, the midwife laid out a linen blanket to place the infants. She examined them carefully, and then let out a mild curse. "They're completely identical."

"No birthmarks or anything?" the assistant peered at the babe closest to her, and then at the other twin.

"Not right now. Let's hope one of them develops something. Fetch me the blankets."

The assistant rummaged through the midwife's formidable bag, retrieving a blue and a red blanket. The twins were wrapped up in the blankets, to which they did not object. "Keep an eye on them," the midwife ordered. The assistant nodded, and turned her attention to the babies' squished little faces. They looked like old men now, cleaned up.

The midwife pulled out a small array of brightly colored potions and a scrap of linen from her bag. Crossing over to the bloodied bed, she pulled the stopper off a brilliant orange potion, and dabbed some on the scrap. This she held to the Rova's nose. After a moment, her eyes fluttered open, and she screamed in pain.

The midwife shushed her as comfortingly as she could, pulled the stopper off of a ruby red potion, and raised it to her lips. Rova drank deeply, and lay back against the pillow, eyes closed. After the potion kicked in, she opened them again.

"You with us, Rova?" the midwife asked. Sometimes, the potion was brewed too strong, and sent those in pain somewhere else before they returned to their senses.

"I'm here." she breathed. "Are they-"

"Female? Both of them are."

Rova sighed in relief. "Bring them to me."

The midwife nodded. She got up and took the red swaddled one, and gestured for her assistant to bring the one in blue. They stood on either side of the bed, and bent low for Rova to see her daughters.

Rova sat up a little, and placed a hand on both her daughters. "Beautiful," she muttered, as if she saw something in the squashed babies that the assistant didn't.

The assistant was not used to reverent silences, avoiding religious services as well as training. "What are you going to name them?"

Rova made a thoughtful noise. She cupped the chin of the girl child in red. "This one will be Koume." She cupped the chin of the girl child in blue. "And this one will be Kotake." She laughed a little, as if the names were amusing, lay her head back, and closed her eyes. After a moment, it was clear she was sleeping.

The midwife took Kotake from the assistant and placed both infants in the wooden cradle next to Rova's bed. It looked out of place in the severe bedroom.

"I'm going to see if I can catch up with the procession. You're staying here and cleaning Rova up." the midwife ordered. The assistant frowned, but knew better than to argue.

The midwife hefted her bag onto her shoulder and left. The assistant crossed the floor to Rova's bed, hesitantly taking in the damage.