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Garret was a slight, unimposing man, with passable if not striking Cyrodillic features, with little to say for himself. The only thing unusual about him, such as it was, was his profession.

Midwifery was generally considered women's work, for very good reasons. But it had been his mother's profession, and the only thing he knew about his sire (he refused to think of that horker-blower as his father) was that he was a mercenary who had bedded his mother one night and never saw her again.

He had grown up assisting her, and though some found his calling strange, he had developed a reputation quickly once his mother retired. It was a good life, and he had a lot of respect for his patients.

He operated out of a roomy cottage on the outskirts on Whiterun; he liked being a bit away from the city proper. The peace and quiet was good for his patients, and the lack of neighbors meant that they could scream all they wanted to. It worked out well for all concerned.

Little did he know that the most unusual evening of his life was about to begin. It was perhaps an hour after sundown, and he was relaxing by the fire with a nice cup of tea.

The heavy stomp of a guest stepping up to the threshold interrupted him, and a knock that shook the house frame sounded at the door. Garret wasted no time greeting his unexpected guest - he was used to calls at odd hours - opening the door to see a dim figure illuminated by the lantern they carried.

The figure wore a heavy sabrecat pelt over her shoulders shoulders, the beast's head mounted on a helm to serve as an impressive visage. Fur lined the gaps in ornate steel and leather armor of a battered and jury-rigged quality. A pair of piercing, red eyes bored into the Imperial from under the cat head.

“Is this the midwife's house?"

The warrior had a rough, but feminine voice, and Garret instinctively looked down, his suspicions confirmed when he saw her ripe dome of her pregnancy, the only part not clad in fur and metal.

"Yes, it is, come on in," he said, straightening up and composing himself. "I've just put the kettle on if you-"

He paused. He looked the newcomer over once again. There was something about her features that made him take note. He had first assumed it was simply because of her race; there were not many Dunmer living in the area. But as he looked her over, he suddenly realized he knew her not by name, but by reputation. His tea mug clattered to the floor.

"By the Eight," he stammered, his heart skipping a beat. "You're the d.... the d..."

“Shut it," the dunmer snapped, removing the helm to reveal a cloth-wrapped head. Her face no longer obscured, Garret could see the red tattoos tracing from her eyes to down along her jaw and neck.

“I'm not here for a celebrity treatment. I've been laying low for the last nine months and I need to be certain there will be no word of this visit to anyone. Do you understand?"

Garret retrieved his mug, then nodded rapidly, his tongue numb in his mouth. Not sure what else to do, he went and poured himself a fresh cup of tea, as well as one for his... guest.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked. It was a sillly question, perhaps, but one he felt compelled to ask.

She let out a long breath as she accepted the mug, draining it in one gulp. “I need to deliver my... child," she said. "I've been feeling the pains begin in my back, and I don't know how much longer it will be."

The elf rubbed the sides of her swollen stomach, smoothing out the creases in the smock that covered it.

“I need your promise that no matter what happens, you will keep this a secret," she said. She reached into the folds of her garment and withdrew a bulging purse. "I'll pay you double, triple even. I need to get back to Hag Rock before any more dragons can smell me."

Garret held up a hand. "Your money is no good here," he said. "This city would be a smoldering crater right now if not for your aid. As far as anyone is concerned, you were never here."

She let out a little grunt and replaced the purse.

"Now then," he said, "come back to my delivery room and let me take a look at you."

The delivery room was a very well-furnished bedroom, with a large, plush bed in it. The floor was lined with thick, soft fur, and some misclanious accouterments were set about, such as a stool and a squat bar.

The Dragonborn looked longingly at the soft, warm bed. She shrugged off her pelt and began taking apart her armor. Garret spied a few deep, claw-like gouges in the metal in some places, eliciting a chill down his spine when he thought of possible enemies that would cause the damage.

Under her armor was a filthy, sweat-and-blood-stained smock of handspun linen. She dispatched it, hardly registering the stranger before her as she revealed her bare, ashen skin. Her stomach jutted out, a perfect, scar-free dome atop wide, muscular hips and thighs. Scars criss-crossed around her arms and chest, a couple marring her purplish nipples which had darkened from the pregnancy.

Garret felt himself blush. In his line of work, he saw a lot of nude women, and had grown somewhat accustomed to it, but there was something about the Dragonborn that was... oddly alluring. She had a sort of raw, rough-spun beauty to her. He cleared his throat, then moved over to a cubboard. He took out a bottle of sterilizing ointment and applied it liberally to his hands, then moved over to her bedside and laid his hands on her mountain of a middle.

"How long have you been having the pains?" he said, gently pressing down. It felt very firm, moreso than he would expect.

“Since yesterday night," she said. The dunmer did not flinch as he touched her, her eyes gazing thoughtfully at his hands as he felt her middle. “I'm used to pain, if you couldn't tell, so I didn't think much of it."

"I imagine so," he said, giving her a smile as he continued the examination. Something caught his eye immediately. "Your children seem to have an unusual shape to them," he said, giving another squeeze.

The Dovahkiin frowned, taking his wrists in her hands to remove him from her stomach.

“That is why I have not ventured into civilization for the entire pregnancy. You must understand that I am not a conventional woman, and thus these are not conventional children."

She guided his hands to feel her stomach again, pressing down around a large, oval shape within. The midwife's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he realized what he was feeling.

"You're having... an egg?" he said, disbelieving. "This is a new one, in my book."

“Do not ask me how this works," she said, shrugging. "I believe the less you dwell on it, the better."

The Dragonborn sat down on the bed, sighing in relief as she hit the soft bedding. Her hands roamed her stomach, creeping behind her to rub her sides and back.

"That seems wise," said Garret. For all she was a warrior capable of going toe-to-toe with a troll, she seemed ordinary enough. He was going to treat this like an ordinary birth until he had reason not to.

"Spread your legs, please?" he asked.

He heard a grunt of indignation behind the orb as she spread her meaty thighs. A trio of clawmarks raked close on the inside of her thigh, among other smaller scratches of varying severity and age. From a casual glance, her passage seemed to be dilating normally enough, and as Garret took mental notes of her condition, he saw the giant dome above twinge as a grunt of discomfort signaled a contraction.

Again, things seemed normal enough so far. He conjured a small magical light and carefully spread her nether lips to take a closer look.

"You seem to be almost fully dilated," he said. "Not surprising, if you've been laboring since yesterday. Have your waters broken yet?"

“No," the Dargonborn muttered, her brow knitted in concentration as she rode through the pain. Her legs flexed, a bit of moisture peeking through her folds to meet the his fingers. Garret saw her stomach shift, a vague shape pressing downwards towards the birth canal.

He observed the movement carefully, then scootered over to his cabinet and retrieved another jar of ointment, which he took a liberal dollop of onto his fingers. This one was a blend of herbs and oils, intended to help her stretch without tearing. Carefully, he began to rub it around the hero's lips and into her passage.

"I do not think it will be very long now," he said. "This should aid the passage of the... egg."

He still couldn't believe he was saying that.

“Hrmmf," she grunted The dunmer looked sourly at the ceiling, holding her expansive belly. Her thighs flexed again, knees shaking as she tried to hold them apart. Garret could see her sex pulsing, blood flushing through the dark purple lips.

"Is there anything I can get you for your comfort?" he asked, as he wiped his hands off with a cloth.

“Some steel to hammer. Mead. A bear to kill. I know I'm not getting any of those things for now, but –Rrrf –" The elf curled around her stomach, her muscles tensing. “I'd appreciate sitting up."

"That can be arranged," he said, offering her a hand. With some effort, he pulled her into a sitting position, and busied himself grabbing some pillows for her to lean on.

"Considering that you aren't here," said Garret, as he set her up, "might I indulge my curiosity and ask how you got to be in your present state?"

The elf sat with her legs spread on the edge of the bed, her expression still grim as she held up her middle.

“Let's just say that as a dragonborn, I'm a lot more compatible with the dov than I care to be." She allowed herself a crooked smile, her eyes downcast in reflection. “I was living in the reach with my… mate, but other dragons were moving in on our territory. I would be laboring at our redoubt home now otherwise, but the others didn't approve of seeing a half-breed come into this world."

Garret's head spun as he tried to take all of this in. Truly, the world was a much more complex place then he had ever imagined.

"Well," he said, "I'll make you the same promise I make every mother that crosses my threshold. I will do the best I can to see your child safely into the world."

He watched her as her middle contracted again; that was only a little over a minute after the prior one.

"Why don't you get up and walk around a bit?" he suggested. "It might help."

The Dovahkiin stood up uneasily, walking over to take a cup of tea. Garret saw a mess of criss-crossing scars trailing down her back, and it occured to him that not all of those may have been a result of combat. He tried not to think about it.

She still looked imposing, even while heavily pregnant and fully naked. She paced over to the stove, casually picked up the entire kettle, and drank deeply from it. Garret watched as she busied herself with picking through her belongings, tossing out stale rations and fussing with armor as she kept her mind off of her labor. A new contraction made her pause for a moment, a hand darting to hold her midsection and she grunted.

He darted to her side and began to rub her lower back, with well-practiced technique. Her muscles were extrordinarily tense.

"You're okay," he said reassuringly. "Just take a deep breath and ride it out..."

Considering that she could crush his skull one-handed, or level the cottage with a word, it struck him that it was strange that she was the one that was being reassured.

The Dunmer let out a cross between groan and growl as she stiffly rode out the pains. Garret saw her teeth clenching as she slowly took on an angrier look. A wet pop sounded out, followed by a gush of clear fluids and a muffled curse. Some of it splashed onto his bare foot. It was unusually warm, and made his skin tingle where it touched.

"I suppose this means things are moving," he said, smiling at her again. "Try and find a comfortable position to settle into. I have many things availible for your comfort, things you can lean on, and a chamber pot, should you need it."

The dragonborn was silent, her teeth clenched, probably more for Garret's safety than anything. She staggered towards the bed, and the imperial rushed to help her along. She collapsed onto the bed, propping herself up to properly bear down.

She eased herself into a sitting position, and Garret set himself between her legs. He couldsee her nethers bulging outward; he laid a hand on her groin, and he could feel what he suspected was an egg beginning to enter her birth canal.

"When you feel your next contraction," he said, "try and give a little push, alright? Not too hard, just to make things move a little."

“Hrrmf."

She spread her legs ever wider, trying to accommodate the unyielding object within her. A trickle of fluid was pushed out from the force barreling downwards. The Dovahkiin breathed deeply, her stomach rising and falling in the rhythm.

He pushed one thick, muscular thigh aside; with the other, he began to rhythmicly massage her straining middle. The dunmer arched her back, spreading her legs as wide as she could as Garret suddenly felt a foot on his shoulder. She stayed in that position for a moment, her winking entrance showing the slightest glimpse of white before she tired and settled back down on the bed, her legs still uncomfortably wide as her egg lodged itself in her pelvis.

Garret realized, as he saw a glimpse of the emerging egg and watched the shape of her stomach as it shifted and contracted, that it was big. Far larger than a baby would have been. And her progress in geting it free was quite slow. He thought about this for a moment.

"Let's try something different," he said, offering her a hand. "Can you get onto your hands and knees?"

With some difficulty, she lowered herself to the floor, crawling bowlegged into the indicated position. A grumbling groan emanated from her throat, getting louder until she quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Good, good," he said, but at the same time, he felt his heart leap into his throat a little. He knew all the stories. The Dragonborn could breathe fire, shatter boulders, rend men to pieces, with nothing more than a word. He didn't doubt that she had a great deal of control... but immense pain tends to make control problematic.

An idea struck him. He quickly ran over to another cabinet, and rifling through it a bit, he found some scraps of thick leather. He pulled one out and returned to his patient's side "Here," he said, offering it to her. "You can bite down on this."

He settled down behind her again, and he could already see that the change in position was helping; her lips were spread wider, and he could see, nestled between them, the tip of something white.

The Dovahkiin bit down on the leather, her back arching and her stomach touching the ground with another contraction. Her lips splayed out before Garret, a white egg tip slowly moving towards him. Her ass spread with the girth of the egg as it made a quicker descent down her passage, leaving her moaning into the rawhide.

He began to massage around her lips to help them stretch, and they certainly needed to stretch. The egg was, well, egg-shaped, and it was the narrowest part of it that was emerging first. Unlike with a child, the difficult part would be near the end. And as she continued to push, it only stretched her more and more.

Her lips were flushed and moist to the touch as they bulged out obscenely, the tip of the egg inching toward freedom. Her lips were flat against its surface, trailing fluids with a hint of pink as a mighty push eased it further into the world. Garret could hear muffled curses through her bit as she took out her frustration and pain by beating a fist on the floor.

The egg hadn't moved in several moments; every now and then, it would poke out a bit, then recede. This was troubling. He thought for a moment. ...well. There was always that technique. In his research, he had come across a rather unorthodox method of helping along troublesome births. It was worth a try, he supposed.

"I'm going to try something to help you loosen up," he said. "Please try to refrain from ripping anything off of me that won't grow back."

His right hand continued its massage of her back, while his left traced its way around her straining lips, until his fingers found her pearl.

He felt her stiffen from his touch at first, but as he began to work her nethers, she visibly relaxed. Garret massaged her straining lips and teased her delicate bud, quieting the dragonborn's pained groans.

It was helping her relax, at least, which was a step in the right direction. Satisfied that it was doing that, at least, he began to rub her button with a bit more vigor, gently rolling it between two fingers.

The Dovahkiin pushed, grinding herself into Garret's hand as her lips splayed around the egg once more, encouraging him to continue. Her hips were spread obscenely by the girth of the strange object. The egg was slowly reaching its widest point, which the groaning, tense dragonborn was hardly celebrating.

Garret rubbed a little faster, with both hands, and saw, bit by bit, that the huge egg was working its way out. It was easily large enough to contain a year-old child, if not a larger one.

"You're almost there," he said softly. "Push as hard as you can with the next contraction."

Muffled cursing and much banging on the floor told Garret that yes, she was pushing, along with a few embellished insults. Her back arched again as the egg stretched her lips further and further, a streak of blood appearing just as the dragonborn let out an open-mouthed scream that shook the foundations, rattled the windows, and knocked over some things on the shelves. With a final spasm, her sex disgorged the massive egg into Garret's waiting hands.

Garret looked at the massive object in his hands. It was warm to the touch, very heavy, and now that it was out, he could see that it was patterned with pale gray speckles.

"Congratulations," he said, holding it with as much care as he would a child. "It's an egg."

The dunmer rolled over onto her back, showing a much more deflated, if not slightly mushy stomach.

“Thank fucking Talos that's over," she murmured, catching her breath.

She slowly sat up, taking the egg in her hands to examine. Her expression was unreadable as she rubbed the shell in her lap gently, but something in her eyes gleamed. Garret smiled when he caught it.

He stood up shuffled off, and returned a moment later with a fresh towel and a steaming mug.

"I imagine you're exhausted," he said. "You're free to rest here for the evening. I'm not expecting any new patients."

“Thanks," she said, "but I won't stay long if I can help it."

The dragonborn had wrapped her egg in a towel and was slipping it comfortably into her knapsack.

“I've been out of commission for nine months," she added, "And I'll be damned if I'm going to spend any more time with my sword sheathed. It's time to go back to the reach and meet back up with the rest of the family."

She refitted her armor with expert efficiency, her egg in the knapsack full of cushioning for the long journey ahead. She walked with a bit of a bow-legged gait still, but despite Garret's warnings she shrugged it off as with any other war wound.

Her sabrecat hood struck an imposing silhouette in his doorway once again as she turned to the midwife.

“If I dare to have another clutch," she said, "I'll know who to see for it."

Garret tossed something at her. Her battle-honed reflexes caught it handily; it was a little glass phial filled with something green.

"Mix some of that into a bath," he said. "Your nethers will appreciate it. It's been an honor, dragonborn."

She gave him a little half-smile - the first and only of its kind he had seen - and without another word, dissapeared into the night.

Garret relaxed, pleased at a job well done, and settled down to finish his tea.