Title: The Greatest of Earthly Miseries (Or, Perchance, Contentments?)

Summary: Annika Overland, like the average colonial woman, dreaded the end of her pregnancy, or as she called it, "that wretched hour," but she soon learned that the aftermath was not as frightful as she thought it would be. In fact, it was something of a wonder. Fem!Jack!AU. Pre!RotG.

Word Count: 1,453

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians.

Warning(s): Mildly graphic childbirth. (Nothing scarring, though.)

A/N: Betaed by Hatsu Yukiya. This oneshot (and hopeful series, depending on my muse) was inspired by Hatsu Yukiya's awesome fem!Jack fanfic Alone in the World. If you haven't done so already, I highly recommend you read it. :)

"Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world, a mother's love is not." – James Joyce

The Greatest of Earthly Miseries happened to Annika Overland, née Nielson on a wintery St. Valentine's. The sensation of the upcoming arrival was, at first, slight – barely there – but the gentle will-o-wisp swiftly became a tumultuous storm – a storm that Annika shall never forget.

In the Pennsylvanian town of Burgess, fresh snow coated the buildings and trees, crafting an illusionary image of a faraway kingdom born in frost. Ice molded fiercely to the street clock, signs, and windows. A pale blue mist waltzed with the snow. The silver painting seemed forever in harmonious dance.

The following heir was the nose. Aromas were a furnace for the chill: a trace of peppermint engulfed the nostrils; a whiff of pie eased the weary; the scent of pine augmented the season. Utmost was comfort. Though cold, Burgess was warmer than any tropical isle.

Streams of sunlight peeked through saffron curtains, giving a modest bedroom an early kiss of spring. The young couple, subconsciously content with the warmth, cuddled closer. The dark-haired man had his arm wrapped protectively around his wife's very pregnant stomach. Despite the gesture, though, the woman's face was troubled. A frown distorted her pretty face. Grey shaded her eyes.

There was a stir. The man woke up first. Her husband, Jackson, was a man of habit. Like always, he rose from their bed, washed, dressed, and kissed the brow of his sleeping wife before leaving to manage the family tavern. Like always, Annika frowned deeper and grasped the disheveled blanket tightly.

She was near. She could feel it. Her son may want to join them at any moment. She wished that that wretched hour would never come. That certain demise was far. She shifted some. Peace was futile. With a groan, the mother-to-be awoke. The bed was made unceremoniously, her dress – adorned hastily. Annika drew a brown curl deftly over her ear. Her eyes were ice.

There was work to begin.

As the day carried on, the feeling would not seize. Anxiety possessed her. She spun thread half-heartedly and drew a long breath. Her shoulders hunched. Will this torment ever end?

No.

Desperate, she asked her neighbor, Elizabeth, to gather their friends, and her child's two grandmothers to the Overland household. Not too soon after, there was a dull ache in her lower back. She winced and tried to will her body to relax, but the ache persisted. Annika was persistent as well, though. As she waited, she journeyed through the house, resting on any surface, leaning on every wall, trying to find relief. However, the pain only intensified and prolonged its progress.

A knock startled her.

Rubbing her darker eyes, Annika waddled to the door. Elizabeth was there along with the others she requested.

She allowed them entry.

They hurried in. Elizabeth was the exception. She gestured for attention. Annika nodded weakly.

"I have contacted Midwife Mary," she said.

"Mary Benson?"

"You have heard of her?"

"Her reputation is quite extraordinary," Annika explained, "though, I suppose the town's small size may have something to do with it, also."

She suddenly hissed. She could now feel the searing pain shift closer and closer to her lower abdomen. Elizabeth grabbed hold of her and moved her to the bedroom. She laid her down slowly on a wooden chair and fluffed a pillow for her.

It was almost time.

Midwife Mary arrived not a moment too late. An unassuming woman in her late 60s, she, nonetheless, exuded a quiet power. Upon arrival, she bid the grandmothers to bring fresh blankets, the young ladies, warm water. She provided the only painkiller: alcohol. She and her brigade approached the Overland master bedroom. She knocked politely.

"Come in!" Elizabeth called.

The brigade entered. It was a solemn affair. Not a sound was uttered. Even Gregarious Elizabeth submitted to the black veil hanging over them. The old woman settled her tool down the floor, and instructed for the others to do so as well. Once construction was finished, Annika's companions immediately went by her side. The old woman looked upon Annika's clenched jaw and hard eyes with placidity.

The placidity of a shawoman.

"There's no need to hide your pain, child," she said.

The expectant mother's appearance remained unchanged.

Midwife Mary sighed.

The old woman lifted Annika's dress up (all while ignoring the younger woman's reddened cheeks) and eased the brunette's bloomers off. She, then, took a teaspoon scoop of the clear alcohol. The midwife tenderly applied the painkiller to the dilating cervix. Annika hissed. The alcohol was icy.

"Arm yourself with patience, dear," Midwife Mary spoke without pause in her ministrations.

After the application was completed, they waited. It was only when the midwife made certain that her client's orifice was ten centimeters dilated, did she continue.

"The pivotal moment is now upon you, dear", she said, dabbing Annika's pale face with the warm water, "It is time to begin pushing."

Annika clenched her fists, eyes shut, and tried to get it out of the way as quickly as possible, but she could not start. She was stopped. The midwife held her shoulder firmly, and looked her square in the eye.

"Not so fast," she said sternly, "Child should not be forced. Take time."

Annika disagreed. Nevertheless, she did as told.

There was a longer wait. A more insufferable one as well. Her friends and relatives tried to offer words of comfort, but still she could not find peace.

The sun was beginning to set.

How long –

"Argh," Annika groaned.

There was movement. Painful movement.

Sweat was all she knew.

Sweat and quiet tears.

No screams. (She simply will not surrender.)

Must work dignified.

Light fading.

Is this what death feels like?

Could this be the end?

Annika gave one more grunt-filled push. She could feel her child leaving her at last. Her grimace gladdened faintly. Her eyes fluttered. Her newborn daughter's first cry fell dead upon her ears.

After what seemed an eternity, Annika stirred. Midwife Mary came back into the room. In her strong arms was a pure white blanket. Annika's eyes squinted up at the old woman. They widened when they took notice of the blanket.

"Is…that?" Annika asked hoarsely.

Midwife Mary smiled understandably. She placed the infant in her mother's arms gently and demonstrated how to properly hold her. Annika accepted the sleeping baby and held her deliberately, awkwardly, unsure. The white blanket was very soft.

"It is a girl," Midwife Mary said.

"A girl?"

"Aye," the old woman beamed.

"The healer said my child shall be male," Annika said, confused.

"Omniscience is still beyond our understanding," Midwife Mary said plainly. She nodded towards her.

"I'll leave the two of you alone now. Best of luck, milady."

With a knowing look, she left.

Annika diverted her eyes from the midwife's retreating back to the blanket.

"You lived," she whispered, awed.

Her slender fingers carefully pulled a part of the blanket away, revealing her daughter's face. The baby's face was small and tight and rosy. Little brown tufts crowned her fragile head. Her closed eyes rested above a small, elfin nose. She resembled Annika's long-forgotten, childhood doll. The new mother has never seen anything so precious.

Entranced, Annika's fingers, unknowingly, stroked the infant's soft cheek. They, then, skimmed the blanket until they reached a tiny fist. A finger circled it curiously. The fist grasped it.

Annika let out a light chuckle.

"For one so small, you seem so strong."

Her daughter gave a tiny yawn.

"I still need to name you," she said, frowning.

She turned silent.

"When I thought you to be a boy, I was planning to name you after your father."

The baby girl breathed lightly.

"You were hope," her voice cracked, "hopefully going to be my little Jack."

Her eyes watered. She shook slightly.

"But I do not mean that unkindly," she confessed to the calm infant, "for, in this new, strange world, wonders like you do not last."

Annika smiled tentatively.

"You will be something special, Jack," she said.

Jack's fist held on tighter, as if she agreed.

The brown-haired mother laughed heartily.

"My girl," she grinned, "my little Jacqueline."

It was now past twilight in Burgess. Every creature was retiring to their den. Jackson Overland usually delighted in seeing the stars play, but, today, tire was his master. The tall man rubbed his eyes as he opened the front door of his house. He changed shortly. As he groggily made his way to the bed, he heard a small gurgle. Curious, he walked over to the mysterious sound. His answer was a crib. He gazed down inside it.

Tire was bested.

Historical Reasonings: "Childbirth in colonial America was a difficult and sometimes dangerous experience for women…In addition to her anxieties about pregnancy, an expectant mother was filled with apprehensions about the death of her newborn child. The death of a child in infancy was far more common than it is today…Given the high risk of birth complications and infant death, it is not surprising to learn that pregnancy was surrounded by superstitions…At the same time, however, women were expected to continue to perform work until the onset of labor, since hard work supposedly made for an easier labor. Pregnant women regularly spun thread, wove clothing on looms, performed heavy lifting and carrying, milked cows, and slaughtered and salted down meat…During labor, midwives administered no painkillers, except for alcohol. Pain in childbirth was considered God's punishment for Eve's sin of eating the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Women were merely advised to "arm themselves with patience" and prayer and to try, during labor, to restrain "those dreadful groans and cries which do so much discourage their friends and relations that are near them." – DigitalHistory

Colonial men were not involved in the birthing process as it was considered to no place for them.