The tray was a wedding gift from Anna - a light, sturdy wood native to Ashenvale, lacquered and painted with twisting vines. When Threnn had turned it over and seen the artist's mark, she'd passed it straight to Bricu, afraid of breaking it if she held it too long. He handled fine things as part of his trade - jewels and filigrees, thin golden chains; Threnn didn't have to be so delicate with swords and shields. Threnn knew very little of Kaldorei art, but this was a name she'd heard before. His work didn't come cheap. Anna'd laughed and suggested there'd been a discount involved whose percentage was based on the quality of a kiss.
Six months later, the tray sat before her, laden with the remnants of breakfast. Bricu had been awake at least an hour, commandeering part of the Rose's kitchen before he went out on a job for the Scryers. There was nothing unusual about its contents: two plates and two sets of silverware, a bowl of sugar, a creamer with the inn's golden rose carved on its side, the paint chipped away here and there. The flower-seller must have been by while Bricu was setting up - a sprig of wild steelbloom peeked out over the rim of a glass.
And of course, the tea. Two pots, three cups, just like every day. The bigger pot held their regular Hillsbrad black, the smaller, Threnn's dose of earthroot. She'd poured three cups, just like she always did, and dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into the steaming greenish liquid.
Nothing was different from any other morning.
Only...
The cup of earthroot tea sat to the side on the tray, untouched, barely acknowledged. Most days, Threnn waited until it was just cool enough that it wouldn't burn her mouth, then she'd drink it down in one long swallow. No matter what she put in it - sugar, cream, honey, even once a healthy dose of whiskey - it always tasted foul, like she'd mixed dirt into brackish water. Today she'd poured it and stirred it until the sugar dissolved, then set it aside.
Bricu's eyes had flicked to it once, but they might have been playing five-card draw, for all his expression gave away.
It will probably taste even worse if I wait until it's cold.
All they'd done last night was to reaffirm what they both already knew: someday, they wanted children. But the rest had been an intricate dance of if and do you, its steps filled with more dodging than they'd done since the days when they pretended they weren't falling in love. Neither could say yes, or now, and maybe that was all the answer she needed.
"Tonight, we go home and start tryin'. An' if the mornin' comes an' yeh don't want t'drink the tea, love, then don't."
Her dreams were filled with children and snow. In one, she'd sat before the fireplace, and he'd looked up from rocking a cradle and smiled, and she'd been content. In another, she'd sat before a cold, ash-filled grate in the dusky gloom of a winter day, one hand on her rounded belly. The window blew open, driving snowflakes and cold across his workbench, scattering papers and uncovering his wedding band on a length of black velvet - the eternium cracked and caked with old blood.
She'd woken up shaking from that one.
"War's always comin'."
It was true, and it was a poor excuse. But Northrend... If they tried now, if it even worked, would she be pregnant when the scouting began? Or if she wasn't, and they survived whatever waited up there, what would be her next excuse?
"We don't have t'decide right now."
But there was a cup sitting in front of her, between them. Decision dug from the earth, ground up, boiled and steeped; a choice she made anew every morning. Maybe tomorrow, she'd let the cup go back down to the kitchens, cold and untouched. And maybe the day after, or a week from now, she'd tell Bricu to stop brewing it altogether. Maybe in a month, she'd shake her head when she went into the apothecary's shop, before Morgan Pestle could reach for his jars, and he would smile as she patted her belly and laughed at what might be. But today...
I'm a bloody coward, she thought, and drank it down, turning away so she couldn't see whether relief or disappointment crept into his eyes, or whether he kept his poker face.
She'd been right; earthroot tea tasted worse when it was cold.
Earthroot
Moderator: Guild Officer
Re: Earthroot
originally posted by Bricu
Together
Bricu took point in Deadwind Pass, as the Riders escorted one of their own to Nethergarde Keep. For most of the ride Bricu ignored the small talk going on behind him. Fells' shout caught his attention.
“Don' do that! We's tryin' ta git pregnan'.”
Bricu wheeled his horse around, hoping he had misheard her, confident that he had not.
“Yer what?”
From the back of his destrier, he looked over the caravan. Ilarra had already moved on to another topic. Shael “Father Flower” O’Connaugh hadn’t said a word in hours. He looked to Threnn before seeing Fells. For a moment their eyes met. Threnn's blush meant she was as taken aback as he was, but she quickly moved on to readjusting her reins. Bricu found himself remembering his time with Threnn instead of yelling at Fells.
Together, Bricu and Threnn faced down every terror from Stratholme to Hellfire, from deaders to demons. He had told her parts of his past he tried to drown in a bottle, she had been disowned by her overbearing mother. Those memories quickly drifted to a conversation they had a few days before. Bricu frowned as it overtook his thoughts.
It started as a joke. Threnn quipped about Bricu quitting smoking. He thought she was hinting at not smoking around their future children. Later that night, Bricu muttered that they could start when she was ready. Threnn mumbled her own views on what the future might hold and how difficult having children would be. They both agreed that now, with the war and rumblings from both the Highlands and Northrend, that it wouldn't be practical to raise a family. They ended the conversation with a promise to make a decision in the morning.
That morning, Bricu said nothing as he watched Threnn struggle with her thoughts. She waited until the Earthroot tea was cold, but she still drank it. Without looking at each other, they both agreed it was the sensible thing to do.
Bricu had balked at the foolishness of Fells’ words. Didn’t she know wthat it was impractical to bring a new life in the world when others wanted to end hers? There were deaders, trolls and slick-ears hunting her at this very moment, and she was talking about having a baby? That wasn’t just impractical, it was bloody wonky.
One glance at Threnn interrupted Bricu's lecture. Every cross word he had for Fells was as hollow as the half-muttered sentences he and Threnn had shared a few nights prior. Instead of yelling he found himself watching Threnn adjusting her horse’s reigns, wishing that she had said what Fells had yelled. A smirk replaced his frown when he realized Fells’ shout was the first thing she had said, since the bullshit bounty began, that made sense.
It took a moment for Bricu to figure out what to say. Selfish words were the first ones that came back, so he said what came next instead--
“Oi yeh lot, let’s keep movin.”
---
originally posted by Bricu
Skipping Rocks
Threnn picked up a hand full of pebbles from her spot on the canal and threw one into the water. Bricu counted as her rock skipped twice.
"Maybe if yeh think that way, yeh really should go back on the tea in the mornin'."
Threnn's next rock plunked into the water, her aim thrown off by Bricu's remark.
They sat close to each other but the distance between them was growing. The silence was broken only by Threnn's pebbles. She threw the smallest in her hand. It skipped three times before sinking below the water. Bricu watched the floating candles of the Midsummer Festival rock back and forth from the ripples of the pebbles.
"Do you honestly believe" she said, "that you could stay at home, with me and a crying baby, while your friends and family were led into battle by the 'flashy git' Renidus Funil? You were the one scrambling North at the first rumor to make sure this was done right. Do you think that you'll be able to just give it all up when I'm pregnant?"
Threnn picked another pebble, this one larger and without a flattened bottom. It sank despite her side-arm pitch. The candle Bricu watched sputtered but didn't extinguish.
Bricu looked for his own rocks to throw, but the handful of pebbles he could pick up were not worn for skipping. They were small chunks of cobble stone, only useful for making a splash or waking up a light sleeper. He held onto them anyway. He folded his hands, pebbles in tow, into his lap.
Threnn skipped two more stones--one skip each--while Bricu tried to give her an answer. Threnn took a third pebble from her hand and whipped it down the canal.
"Just don't do it." He counted four skips as he blurted out his thoughts.
"Don't?"
"Strewth love, I don't want yeh ta get back on the bloody tea...but yer the one that has ta make the call." He cut his thoughts short. Threnn held back her pebble.
"Then what do we do? Keep our hands to ourselves?"
"Neither o'us want that Threnny."
"Neither of us want to want to leave an orphan either."
"We don't want ta stand by an' let our family rush north, we don't want ta leave an' orphan behind, we don't wanna let someone else deal with Uthas, we don't want ta live in the Rose for the rest o'our life. Everythin' we don't want will take a bloody miracle ta work--an' we both know that there will be blood before we go north. What do we want?"
Threnn skipped a stone in response. It skipped four times before sinking into the canal.
"Bloody hell, I want yeh ta stay off the ruddy earthroot...Threnny. What do yeh want?"
Bricu turned and watched as she turned her last pebble over in her hand. She didn't look up to meet his gaze--he didn't focus on her very long.
Moments passed before he broke the silence. "Five skips?"
His joke sank like a rock.
Threnn turned the pebble over in her hand. She sat with her back ramrod straight, her jaw clenched. He threw away the thought with his handful of pebbles. The floating candle sputtered but stayed alight.
"I told yeh what I wanted--both the last time an' this time--no tea. I just want ta hear what yeh want."
He sat next to her, not speaking, while she played with the pebble. Bricu could see Pomeroy and his lantern circle the canals twice more before Threnn finally spoke up.
"Time. I wanted more time."
At first, he thought she sighed. When he felt her shake from the sob, his own tears started to run down his face. Just as he had a year before, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. That first embrace was full of promise--now they wept as their future was swept away.
"Time. This was our time. We were going to have to go North and deal with both of those bastards--but I thought we had more time. I wanted time to have our family. He's not just taking a part of you away. He's taking our family away. All of it."
Threnn cried into his shirt, Bricu wept in her hair. "I know love, I know."
"You can't--we can't--keep either one of them from taking away one more thing we care about." Threnn stopped crying while Bricu was still trying to rein his in. She nuzzled into his shirt. "I'm crying for our family, even when..."
"We don't have one--or may ever have one."
"Its stupid and its selfish, but I wanted our time."
Bricu held her well after they were done crying. When Pomeroy made his third tour, Bricu stood up then helped Threnn to her feet.
Bricu leaned close to her ear and whispered. "Our time ends when we stop drawin' breath, love. We'll be as selfish as we want. We'll share the joys an' losses with everyone else. We get through this, with or without the tea." He kissed her on the cheek.
"That's enough North for the night. We'll either buy the tea in the mornin' or have Kara cook us breakfast. Sound like a plan?"
Threnn nodded, and the two paladins walked, arm in arm, to their home.
Together
Bricu took point in Deadwind Pass, as the Riders escorted one of their own to Nethergarde Keep. For most of the ride Bricu ignored the small talk going on behind him. Fells' shout caught his attention.
“Don' do that! We's tryin' ta git pregnan'.”
Bricu wheeled his horse around, hoping he had misheard her, confident that he had not.
“Yer what?”
From the back of his destrier, he looked over the caravan. Ilarra had already moved on to another topic. Shael “Father Flower” O’Connaugh hadn’t said a word in hours. He looked to Threnn before seeing Fells. For a moment their eyes met. Threnn's blush meant she was as taken aback as he was, but she quickly moved on to readjusting her reins. Bricu found himself remembering his time with Threnn instead of yelling at Fells.
Together, Bricu and Threnn faced down every terror from Stratholme to Hellfire, from deaders to demons. He had told her parts of his past he tried to drown in a bottle, she had been disowned by her overbearing mother. Those memories quickly drifted to a conversation they had a few days before. Bricu frowned as it overtook his thoughts.
It started as a joke. Threnn quipped about Bricu quitting smoking. He thought she was hinting at not smoking around their future children. Later that night, Bricu muttered that they could start when she was ready. Threnn mumbled her own views on what the future might hold and how difficult having children would be. They both agreed that now, with the war and rumblings from both the Highlands and Northrend, that it wouldn't be practical to raise a family. They ended the conversation with a promise to make a decision in the morning.
That morning, Bricu said nothing as he watched Threnn struggle with her thoughts. She waited until the Earthroot tea was cold, but she still drank it. Without looking at each other, they both agreed it was the sensible thing to do.
Bricu had balked at the foolishness of Fells’ words. Didn’t she know wthat it was impractical to bring a new life in the world when others wanted to end hers? There were deaders, trolls and slick-ears hunting her at this very moment, and she was talking about having a baby? That wasn’t just impractical, it was bloody wonky.
One glance at Threnn interrupted Bricu's lecture. Every cross word he had for Fells was as hollow as the half-muttered sentences he and Threnn had shared a few nights prior. Instead of yelling he found himself watching Threnn adjusting her horse’s reigns, wishing that she had said what Fells had yelled. A smirk replaced his frown when he realized Fells’ shout was the first thing she had said, since the bullshit bounty began, that made sense.
It took a moment for Bricu to figure out what to say. Selfish words were the first ones that came back, so he said what came next instead--
“Oi yeh lot, let’s keep movin.”
---
originally posted by Bricu
Skipping Rocks
Threnn picked up a hand full of pebbles from her spot on the canal and threw one into the water. Bricu counted as her rock skipped twice.
"Maybe if yeh think that way, yeh really should go back on the tea in the mornin'."
Threnn's next rock plunked into the water, her aim thrown off by Bricu's remark.
They sat close to each other but the distance between them was growing. The silence was broken only by Threnn's pebbles. She threw the smallest in her hand. It skipped three times before sinking below the water. Bricu watched the floating candles of the Midsummer Festival rock back and forth from the ripples of the pebbles.
"Do you honestly believe" she said, "that you could stay at home, with me and a crying baby, while your friends and family were led into battle by the 'flashy git' Renidus Funil? You were the one scrambling North at the first rumor to make sure this was done right. Do you think that you'll be able to just give it all up when I'm pregnant?"
Threnn picked another pebble, this one larger and without a flattened bottom. It sank despite her side-arm pitch. The candle Bricu watched sputtered but didn't extinguish.
Bricu looked for his own rocks to throw, but the handful of pebbles he could pick up were not worn for skipping. They were small chunks of cobble stone, only useful for making a splash or waking up a light sleeper. He held onto them anyway. He folded his hands, pebbles in tow, into his lap.
Threnn skipped two more stones--one skip each--while Bricu tried to give her an answer. Threnn took a third pebble from her hand and whipped it down the canal.
"Just don't do it." He counted four skips as he blurted out his thoughts.
"Don't?"
"Strewth love, I don't want yeh ta get back on the bloody tea...but yer the one that has ta make the call." He cut his thoughts short. Threnn held back her pebble.
"Then what do we do? Keep our hands to ourselves?"
"Neither o'us want that Threnny."
"Neither of us want to want to leave an orphan either."
"We don't want ta stand by an' let our family rush north, we don't want ta leave an' orphan behind, we don't wanna let someone else deal with Uthas, we don't want ta live in the Rose for the rest o'our life. Everythin' we don't want will take a bloody miracle ta work--an' we both know that there will be blood before we go north. What do we want?"
Threnn skipped a stone in response. It skipped four times before sinking into the canal.
"Bloody hell, I want yeh ta stay off the ruddy earthroot...Threnny. What do yeh want?"
Bricu turned and watched as she turned her last pebble over in her hand. She didn't look up to meet his gaze--he didn't focus on her very long.
Moments passed before he broke the silence. "Five skips?"
His joke sank like a rock.
Threnn turned the pebble over in her hand. She sat with her back ramrod straight, her jaw clenched. He threw away the thought with his handful of pebbles. The floating candle sputtered but stayed alight.
"I told yeh what I wanted--both the last time an' this time--no tea. I just want ta hear what yeh want."
He sat next to her, not speaking, while she played with the pebble. Bricu could see Pomeroy and his lantern circle the canals twice more before Threnn finally spoke up.
"Time. I wanted more time."
At first, he thought she sighed. When he felt her shake from the sob, his own tears started to run down his face. Just as he had a year before, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. That first embrace was full of promise--now they wept as their future was swept away.
"Time. This was our time. We were going to have to go North and deal with both of those bastards--but I thought we had more time. I wanted time to have our family. He's not just taking a part of you away. He's taking our family away. All of it."
Threnn cried into his shirt, Bricu wept in her hair. "I know love, I know."
"You can't--we can't--keep either one of them from taking away one more thing we care about." Threnn stopped crying while Bricu was still trying to rein his in. She nuzzled into his shirt. "I'm crying for our family, even when..."
"We don't have one--or may ever have one."
"Its stupid and its selfish, but I wanted our time."
Bricu held her well after they were done crying. When Pomeroy made his third tour, Bricu stood up then helped Threnn to her feet.
Bricu leaned close to her ear and whispered. "Our time ends when we stop drawin' breath, love. We'll be as selfish as we want. We'll share the joys an' losses with everyone else. We get through this, with or without the tea." He kissed her on the cheek.
"That's enough North for the night. We'll either buy the tea in the mornin' or have Kara cook us breakfast. Sound like a plan?"
Threnn nodded, and the two paladins walked, arm in arm, to their home.
Re: Earthroot
Kara's cooking had certainly improved in the last year or so. Her bacon didn't come out quite as crisp as it did when Bricu made it, and the scrambled eggs were a bit more runny than his, but all in all, their breakfast was quite good.
There was only one pot the table, the last remnants of the lavender tea her mother had brought along a month ago steeping inside the delicate porcelain. Threnn wondered if Bricu was trying to make a point with it or if he'd simply wanted her to have something she liked with her morning meal. It didn't matter, really. By staying in, she'd made her choice.
"We'll either buy the tea in the mornin' or have Kara cook us breakfast. Sound like a plan?"
It was a plan, but was it the right plan? Would she regret the choice if, by some cruel joke of the Light, her womb quickened and a month or two later the boats began sailing North?
"As long as he's... no, as long as they're up there in the North - Uthas and Arthas - you'll have one foot out the door. I knew that when I married you." He admitted it, at least. Bricu wasn't one for pulling punches or dodging the truth, not with her. But whatever comes, we face it together. He said that, too, and I believe him.
"Threnny? Where did yeh go?" Bricu closed his fingers over hers, dragging her back to the present.
"Not far. I'm still here." She gave his hand a squeeze and surveyed the empty plates. "Going to help me clean these up before your very important game of tag?"
"No."
"No?"
Bricu stood, still holding her hand, wickedness in his pale green eyes. When he started walking, Threnn was forced to follow. "I figure," he said, and drew her close, "if we let Kara clear 'em up, we can take a bit more time for ourselves before we part ways for the day."
"Best tip her well," she said, grinning.
"Och, later."
He led her up the stairs.
---
Once Bricu had headed off for his shift at the orphanage, Threnn found herself wandering aimlessly around the Trade District. She wasn't scheduled to be at the forge for another hour. The Pig's booze order was done for the week. It was far too early for lunch. She let her steps carry her without any direction in mind. As she passed shop windows, she paused to glance into them but didn't really look at the merchandise displayed.
Until she came to the Apothecary. Morgan Pestle had the usual herbs drying in the window and a small table set up with a pyramid of ointments in glass jars. They caught the sun, light reflecting through liquids of varying color and viscosity. Large canisters lined the bottom of the window, summer flowers winding around their bases: Silverleaf, Dreamfoil, Wild Steelbloom, Earthroot.
Threnn stared at the last one. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. I've made my choice. I have.
So intent was she on the display, she didn't hear the bell tinkle as the door opened, or the thud of boots on the old wooden stairs as a patron left the shop. It wasn't until the other woman waved a hand in front of her eyes that Threnn realized it was her sister standing beside her.
"Oi. Threnny." Anna peered up at her from beneath the brim of a floppy hat. The summer sun made her fair skin prone to freckles, and (as she said) bards shouldn't have sunburned, peeling noses when they took the stage. She was carrying a large sack full of supplies - dried herbs, vials in several shapes and sizes, what looked to be a packet of seedlings for her garden behind the chandler's shop. Protruding from the very top of the bag were several of Pestle's red and white peppermint sticks. One already hung from Anna's lips like a sugary parody of Bricu's cigarettes. "If you need anything from Pestle's," she said around the stick, "I probably already have it in here."
Threnn glanced into the sack. Sure enough, beside a jar marked "catnip," she could see one of the wooden boxes Morgan Pestle always used for his teas. "No. I-- I'm fine. Just woolgathering."
"Uh-huh," said Anna. "Walk with me." She started towards Old Town and didn't turn around to be sure her sister followed. Threnn hurried after her; begging off would only make Annalea more determined to find out what was going on.
When they got to the chandler's shop, Anna led them through the alley beside the building rather than going upstairs to the apartment she and Cylinn shared. Behind the shop was a small patch of ground that, when Threnn had lived there, had been filled with grass and nothing more. Annalea, however, had begged her landlady's permission and turned it into her own herb garden. Plants grew in neat rows, the names of their inhabitants written on stakes in Anna's strong hand. Vines hung from trellises - the scents of their blooming flowers mingled on the breeze without being overpowering.
A short bench sat dead center, where anyone seated upon it would have a lovely view of Annalea's handiwork. Threnn lowered herself onto one end of it and watched the dappled sunlight play over her sister's hands as she unpacked her goods from Pestle's. Everything got sorted into neat piles: herbs and seeds for planting, alchemical supplies...
The box of tea.
Anna set the box down close to Threnn, but she didn't speak. Instead she returned to her other piles and organized them further, only sparing a glance at her elder sister every minute or so. She pulled a new pair of gardening gloves out of the sack and slipped them on, flexing her fingers to stretch the cotton. Then she got down on her hands and knees in the dirt and began making room for the new plants. She kept her back to Threnn.
The silence stretched.
Some time later - Threnn didn't know how long - the clock upstairs began to chime. Anna straightened up and took off her gloves. Her peppermint stick was nearly finished; she sucked the last half inch into her mouth and dropped onto the bench with the box of tea separating her from Threnn. The only noise in the garden was the crunching of the candy.
"You," said Annalea at last, "are a bloody godsdamned idiot."
Threnn blinked at her. "What the hell did I do this time?"
"It's what you're thinking of doing. You think I didn't hear about all the going-North talk last night? Fin said you and Bricu looked like you were fighting, and then you both went for a walk." She reached over to one of the piles and selected another peppermint stick. "But you weren't fighting, were you? You were second-guessing, and Bricu called you on it."
"Anna..."
"And this morning I find you standing outside of Pestle's looking as guilty as the day you spilled ink all over Mama's Sunday dress. I know what's going through your head."
Threnn stood. "I don't need this." She got no more than three steps, however, before Anna was in front of her, blocking her path to the gate.
"Oh no, you bloody don't. You're going to sit your arse back down and listen to me." Lacking any truly menacing weapon, Anna brandished the peppermint stick. "Sit, Threnny."
Threnn snorted - She can't be serious - and put a hand on Anna's shoulder to move her gently out of the way. She'd always had the height and weight advantage on her younger sister, though she very rarely used it. Now, though, she wasn't about to sit through a lecture.
Anna swatted Threnn's arm away with her left hand and, with her right, jabbed the end of the peppermint stick at the taller woman's belly.
"Ow! What the hell--?"
Anna jabbed again, higher, catching her just below the breast. And again, as Threnn turned to protect the soft parts of her front. Three quick pokes to the upper arm, and the paladin began to retreat, driven backwards by a madwoman wielding a piece of hard candy. The backs of her knees hit the bench, and she sat down so suddenly her teeth clicked together.
The priestess crowed a triumphant "Ha!" and adjusted her hat before placing the peppermint in her mouth. "You so much as fidget while I'm talking," she said, "and I'll stick the wet end in your hair."
Threnn sighed, defeated. "What are we, twelve years old again?"
"You tell me. You're the one acting like it." Anna began to pace, working herself into a good fury.
"Me? You just chased me with a--"
Anna whirled and cut her off. "Yes, you, Threnny. You're going to go back on the fecking tea and you're not planning on telling Bricu, are you?"
Her eyes went wide. "I..."
"Right. Let me guess. There was all kinds of doom and gloom about the North last night in the Pig, then you two talked after everyone dispersed. He wants you to stay off of it, and you don't want to let him down. So you - being a colossal git - think you can keep it from him."
Threnn hung her head. "'s about right. Especially the part where I'm a git." She laughed hollowly. "I just... I don't know what's right anymore."
There was a soft rustle of skirts as her sister knelt before her. "Threnny. You're clever, yeah, but Bricu is, too. Likely more so, and twice over when it comes to you. He's going to know." She looked up, waiting for Threnn to meet her eyes. "You haven't lied to him yet. It's not the time to start. And you know leaving something like that out would be lying all the same." For just a moment, Anna glanced away. "Worse, even."
She's thinking about the one she lost, and Fin. Threnn opened her mouth to reassure her, to tell her it was different - that their budding relationship was too new for so big a truth - but Anna turned her storm-grey eyes back and shook her head. Two years, and she still won't let me touch upon it.
"If you're going back on the tea, Threnny, that's fine; it's your choice. But you brew that pot in his presence, and you look him in the eye when you drink it down."
"I know. I will. I think I'd've told him before the night was out, anyway." She rubbed at her temples. "And here Tarquin was, telling us how bloody brave we were for trying. Turns out I'm not so brave after all. But they said... They said Uthas sent assassins last time, after everyone except Bricu. What if he sends them again?"
Annalea frowned. "If he really has eyes-and-ears here, Threnny, do you think he knows you two are married?"
"'s what I'm afraid of. I don't know if it buys me immunity or makes me more of a target. Did he order them away from Bricu out of old loyalty, or was he aiming to hurt him by taking away everyone he cared about?"
"Blessed Elune," breathed Anna. She stood up again and paced a bit more, working at the problem while she nibbled at the peppermint stick.
Threnn watched her for a while, until the clock upstairs chimed the half-hour. "I'm, uh, supposed to be at the forge in a few minutes. Am I allowed to get up now, or are you going to come at me again if I do?"
Anna stopped mid-stride and pulled Threnn to her feet. "It's all right, you can go. Just don't keep this from him, Threnny, yeah?"
"I promise." They walked to the gate, arms around one another's waists.
"Wait," said Anna, letting go and dashing back to the bench. She returned with the box of tea. "Here. I have enough for a few more days." She pressed it into her elder sister's hands. "If he talks you out of it, though, no dumping it in the canals. Bring it back to me, okay?"
The box contained nothing more than crushed, dried leaves, but it still felt heavy as she held it in the crook of her arm. "Will," she said, and hugged Anna goodbye. "Am I still a git?"
"Always," said Anna, laughing. "Now get the hell out."
Once she was out on the street again, Threnn didn't feel like going to the forge. The orphanage's morning shift would be over soon; if she went home now, she could catch Bricu when he went back to the Rose to change his clothes. I wish I could be braver for you, she thought, and turned her steps towards the inn.
Their room was as they'd left it - the bed in disarray, a stack of papers from the spice business on the desk, waiting to be read. Threnn moved them to the side, careful not to disturb them too much, and set the box down in the middle. She sank into Bricu's chair, breathing in the familiar, faded scent of his tobacco, and waited.
---
Threnn counted the days. Two weeks gone by since she should have bled; her courses had always come reliably. Always.
This can't be right. I must have just forgotten. Or counted wrong. Or I've been more worried about Anna and Bricu than I realized, or...
But Bricu's illness had been cured over a month ago, in the healing pools in the Temple of Elune. She'd stood beside him, helping the druid Abaris' magic draw the Nightmare out of her husband. His improvement had been so rapid, he'd insisted on making an appearance at the Rose Ball after only a few hours' sleep.
And Anna was all right -- like Bricu said, Fin was arse over teeth for her. He wouldn't let her come to harm.
So it wasn't stress.
She counted again, pulling out the ledger she used for ordering the Pig's booze and staring at the calendar clipped to the cover. No matter how long she glared at it, the neat blocks of days didn't rearrange themselves. I've been sick, though, this last week. Stomach bug...
Bullshit.
Cursing, she shoved herself away from the desk and strode over to the open window. The Rose was quiet at this hour, the lunch rush done, the dinner crowd two hours away. Laughter drifted up to her, the sound of Kara and Diana downstairs sweeping and discussing their plans for the Harvest Festival. It was a fine afternoon - the inn's doors were open wide to let in the breeze with its late summer warmth. Though, every now and then, there was the slightest hint of fall on the air.
Fall... or winter?
I'm on the tea. It has to be something else. I can't be pregnant. Not with winter bearing down on us. Not with everyone preparing to ship North soon. It's why I'm back on the bloody tea in the first place.
"Sometimes the tea don't work, sugar. Ya think you're makin' your own plans, but sometimes life has other ideas." Seylon had drawled that to her long ago, and though Threnn had never forgotten it, neither had she given it much thought.
Now, she had to.
"Get it over with, you godsdamned coward," she muttered.
Reluctantly, she left the window and lay down on the bed. Threnn closed her eyes and listened to her own breathing. The Light came to her hands quickly, a gentle warmth waiting for her to guide it. She drew it inside herself, looking at her own body the way she might an injured soldier who'd come into the healing tents, searching for any signs of sickness that had gone overlooked.
Nothing, and nothing, and nothing.
But if she were pregnant... of course she wouldn't find anything, looking only for sickness. She laid her palms against her belly, feeling her own life, the health of the blood flowing through her veins. Everything, working as it should, everything perfectly fine...
There.
The tiniest spark, fleeting beneath her fingertips. A flutter of something new, different, there and gone.
She started again, slower this time, truly looking now. Her heart slammed.
There.
So small that if she hadn't been looking for it, she'd have passed it by. Had, in fact, passed it by when her first bouts of nausea had hit and she'd thought it a flu. But now that she'd felt it, she couldn't deny its existence.
I'm pregnant.
No. Aloud.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered to the empty room. She let the Light go, turned on her side, and stared out the window, wondering how she was going to tell Bricu.
---
"Ow. Gods damn it."
"That's why you need a thimble."
"Feck your thimbles. I have callouses from the forge. They should be more than en -- OW."
"Uh huh. Threnny, take a gods damned thimble." Anna shook her sewing basket at her sister. "You asked me to teach you how to do this. At least try being agreeable."
They sat on a blanket in the Park, beneath one of the trees that still bore some of its summer leaves. Erich Lohan trundled by with a wheelbarrow full of pumpkins and haybales, preparing for the Recluse's Hallow's End celebrations. He let go of one of the handles to wave at the sisters and nearly lost control, bringing the cumbersome thing to heel just before it veered into a wall. Anna giggled and tipped her sunhat to him, then returned her stern gaze to Threnn. "Thimble."
"Fine." Threnn sighed and fished a thimble out of the basket. "Seems I'm remembering why I gave it up in the first place, though. I'm bloody hopeless." She looked down at the length of fabric resting in her lap. Today's lesson was, according to Anna, a simple one: learning to sew a straight stitch. Lines of black thread criscrossed the yellow cotton, not a one of them straight or even. Splotches of red dotted the fabric, too, evidence of the many times Threnn had pricked her finger. "This kid's going to his Name-Day looking like he's been through a battle. Or she."
"If you keep whining about it rather than practicing, yeah." Annalea winced as, even armed with a thimble, Threnn managed to stab herself again.
"Gods damn it." She shook the thimble off to suck on the injured finger. Tears stung at her eyes. She tried convincing herself that they were from the pain rather than the frustration, but it was a shabby lie at best. I've done worse to myself at the forge and I don't end up a weepy mess. "Lunch break?" she asked hopefully around her wound. They'd been at this for an hour, and she wasn't learning anything new.
"You going to be able to hold it down?"
"I hope so." As if to confirm, her stomach yowled. Breakfast had been a disaster; just the smell of the sausages had made her flee the Rose's common room. Kara'd brought her dry toast and weak tea out of pity, but she'd only nibbled, not quite trusting her belly. Anna had arrived in time to catch her tipping the plate into the rubbish. The priestess insisted their lesson take place outdoors to get Threnn away from the lingering greasy smells from the kitchen and rebuild her appetite; so far, it seemed to have worked.
She rummaged through the other basket she'd brought along, producing a loaf of crusty bread and a plate of --
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah. I stopped in at the shop to pick up the scraps for you to practice on and found out Mama baked a ham last night. Dad sliced some of the leftovers up for us."
"Don't think I've ever been so glad to be back on speaking terms with them." Threnn tore off a chunk of what her sister offered her and chewed slowly, silently begging her stomach not to rebel. When it didn't, she grinned. "Think maybe I can even handle a proper sandwich."
Anna set about putting them together. She waited until Threnn took her first bite before she pulled several neatly labeled packets out of the picnic basket. "Now. You keep eating and listen to me. I want you to start taking all of these. This one," she said, holding up the first packet, "you can steep like a tea. Tastes a hell of a lot better than earthroot, too. And this one," she held up another, "take every night before you go to sleep. This one here..." She trailed off at Threnn's expression. "It's a lot to remember, I know. I wrote it all down, though."
Threnn swallowed. "'s not that. I'm more wondering when you became my nurse."
"Your midwife, you mean." Her voice was soft, but she didn't look away.
"Anna..."
"Threnny. You don't have one. There aren't going to be many up North, are there? And I don't suppose either of you have abandoned the foolish bloody plan to sail with the rest of the Riders, have you?"
"No." She lifted her chin, but Anna held up her hands, palms out.
"I'm not arguing that today, Threnny. Today. But if you're set on going, then by blessed fucking Elune, you're not having this kid without some sort of midwife."
"We performed our own wedding." She shrugged. "Guessed we'd figure out midwifery, too."
"Those are two completely different things, sister-mine, and you know it."
Threnn shrugged again.
"I have six months to learn. Or you have six months to find someone better. Until then, you're stuck with me. All right?" Anna folded her arms, confident she'd won.
"You're not just following me up there, are you?"
"If you think I'm leaving my niece or nephew's birth up to field medics, you're an idiot." But her eyes were focused somewhere over Threnn's shoulder.
"You're a shit liar, little sister. You're going up there to keep Fin safe, too."
Anna hmmphed. When Threnn didn't follow it up with a comment, she began shuffling the herb packets. Her hands drifted to the sewing basket, smoothing out some of the scraps. Every now and then, she'd glance at Threnn, who watched her calmly, her blue eyes full of knowing. At last, she couldn't stand it any longer. Folding her hands in her lap, she met Threnn's gaze. "I love him, Threnny."
Threnn grinned. "Does he know that?"
"Yeah." She ducked her head. "And he loves me, too."
"Told you."
"It was so much easier when you were all I had to worry about." Fear flickered through her eyes. "Now I have to worry about him, too. The other night, I dreamt he died up there. They left him in the snow." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Woke myself up and he was right there, warm and solid, but I thought my heart was going to break anyway. I can't... I can't stay behind."
"Now you understand why I can't, either."
"Yeah."
Threnn reached out and took the younger woman's hand. They sat quietly for a while, watching the lunch crowd at the Blue Recluse dining outside, taking advantage of the warm day. It might be the last before autumn's chill drove them inside for the next few months of meals.
Anna pulled away from Threnn's with a resigned sigh. "Listen. Fin doesn't think it's safe for me in Stormwind right now. He's insisting we go to Stromgarde for a few days, maybe a week or two. We're staying with his sister. Will you be all right?"
"'course I will. You going to leave enough herbs to carry me through 'til you get back?"
"I will. I'll get them ready today. Threnny..." She fidgeted.
"What?"
"What if... what if his sister hates me?"
Threnn blinked at her. "Why would she...?"
"I don't know!" Anna wailed. "But what if she does? He was engaged before. What if I'm not as good for him as she was? Or what if I say the wrong thing, or if she just hates me for no reason at all? This isn't funny!"
Wiping the grin off her face took an effort, but at last, Threnn got her expression under control. "Anna. She'll like you just fine. And if she doesn't, that's for Fin to handle, not you. Same as if you're meeting with the Merchant's Guild - smile, compliment her, ask her about herself. You've been doing this for years and never fucked it up yet."
She nodded, some of the flush that had crept into her cheeks fading away.
"Fin's a good man, Anna. And I think his sister'll think the same of you. All she or I can ask is that you make each other happy, yeah?"
Another nod, then, "I, um. I know we can butt heads sometimes, and it probably gives you fits, but Bricu's... He's a good man, too. Things'll be all right for you both."
"'s not fair. You're going to make the pregnant girl cry." Threnn's eyes shone as she blinked back the tears that threatened.
"Right," said Anna, pretending to adjust her sunhat so Threnn could compose herself. "Finish your sandwich and then pick up that cloth. And the thimble. Lesson's not over yet, and you're going to sew a straight line before I leave town, damn it."
There was only one pot the table, the last remnants of the lavender tea her mother had brought along a month ago steeping inside the delicate porcelain. Threnn wondered if Bricu was trying to make a point with it or if he'd simply wanted her to have something she liked with her morning meal. It didn't matter, really. By staying in, she'd made her choice.
"We'll either buy the tea in the mornin' or have Kara cook us breakfast. Sound like a plan?"
It was a plan, but was it the right plan? Would she regret the choice if, by some cruel joke of the Light, her womb quickened and a month or two later the boats began sailing North?
"As long as he's... no, as long as they're up there in the North - Uthas and Arthas - you'll have one foot out the door. I knew that when I married you." He admitted it, at least. Bricu wasn't one for pulling punches or dodging the truth, not with her. But whatever comes, we face it together. He said that, too, and I believe him.
"Threnny? Where did yeh go?" Bricu closed his fingers over hers, dragging her back to the present.
"Not far. I'm still here." She gave his hand a squeeze and surveyed the empty plates. "Going to help me clean these up before your very important game of tag?"
"No."
"No?"
Bricu stood, still holding her hand, wickedness in his pale green eyes. When he started walking, Threnn was forced to follow. "I figure," he said, and drew her close, "if we let Kara clear 'em up, we can take a bit more time for ourselves before we part ways for the day."
"Best tip her well," she said, grinning.
"Och, later."
He led her up the stairs.
---
Once Bricu had headed off for his shift at the orphanage, Threnn found herself wandering aimlessly around the Trade District. She wasn't scheduled to be at the forge for another hour. The Pig's booze order was done for the week. It was far too early for lunch. She let her steps carry her without any direction in mind. As she passed shop windows, she paused to glance into them but didn't really look at the merchandise displayed.
Until she came to the Apothecary. Morgan Pestle had the usual herbs drying in the window and a small table set up with a pyramid of ointments in glass jars. They caught the sun, light reflecting through liquids of varying color and viscosity. Large canisters lined the bottom of the window, summer flowers winding around their bases: Silverleaf, Dreamfoil, Wild Steelbloom, Earthroot.
Threnn stared at the last one. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. I've made my choice. I have.
So intent was she on the display, she didn't hear the bell tinkle as the door opened, or the thud of boots on the old wooden stairs as a patron left the shop. It wasn't until the other woman waved a hand in front of her eyes that Threnn realized it was her sister standing beside her.
"Oi. Threnny." Anna peered up at her from beneath the brim of a floppy hat. The summer sun made her fair skin prone to freckles, and (as she said) bards shouldn't have sunburned, peeling noses when they took the stage. She was carrying a large sack full of supplies - dried herbs, vials in several shapes and sizes, what looked to be a packet of seedlings for her garden behind the chandler's shop. Protruding from the very top of the bag were several of Pestle's red and white peppermint sticks. One already hung from Anna's lips like a sugary parody of Bricu's cigarettes. "If you need anything from Pestle's," she said around the stick, "I probably already have it in here."
Threnn glanced into the sack. Sure enough, beside a jar marked "catnip," she could see one of the wooden boxes Morgan Pestle always used for his teas. "No. I-- I'm fine. Just woolgathering."
"Uh-huh," said Anna. "Walk with me." She started towards Old Town and didn't turn around to be sure her sister followed. Threnn hurried after her; begging off would only make Annalea more determined to find out what was going on.
When they got to the chandler's shop, Anna led them through the alley beside the building rather than going upstairs to the apartment she and Cylinn shared. Behind the shop was a small patch of ground that, when Threnn had lived there, had been filled with grass and nothing more. Annalea, however, had begged her landlady's permission and turned it into her own herb garden. Plants grew in neat rows, the names of their inhabitants written on stakes in Anna's strong hand. Vines hung from trellises - the scents of their blooming flowers mingled on the breeze without being overpowering.
A short bench sat dead center, where anyone seated upon it would have a lovely view of Annalea's handiwork. Threnn lowered herself onto one end of it and watched the dappled sunlight play over her sister's hands as she unpacked her goods from Pestle's. Everything got sorted into neat piles: herbs and seeds for planting, alchemical supplies...
The box of tea.
Anna set the box down close to Threnn, but she didn't speak. Instead she returned to her other piles and organized them further, only sparing a glance at her elder sister every minute or so. She pulled a new pair of gardening gloves out of the sack and slipped them on, flexing her fingers to stretch the cotton. Then she got down on her hands and knees in the dirt and began making room for the new plants. She kept her back to Threnn.
The silence stretched.
Some time later - Threnn didn't know how long - the clock upstairs began to chime. Anna straightened up and took off her gloves. Her peppermint stick was nearly finished; she sucked the last half inch into her mouth and dropped onto the bench with the box of tea separating her from Threnn. The only noise in the garden was the crunching of the candy.
"You," said Annalea at last, "are a bloody godsdamned idiot."
Threnn blinked at her. "What the hell did I do this time?"
"It's what you're thinking of doing. You think I didn't hear about all the going-North talk last night? Fin said you and Bricu looked like you were fighting, and then you both went for a walk." She reached over to one of the piles and selected another peppermint stick. "But you weren't fighting, were you? You were second-guessing, and Bricu called you on it."
"Anna..."
"And this morning I find you standing outside of Pestle's looking as guilty as the day you spilled ink all over Mama's Sunday dress. I know what's going through your head."
Threnn stood. "I don't need this." She got no more than three steps, however, before Anna was in front of her, blocking her path to the gate.
"Oh no, you bloody don't. You're going to sit your arse back down and listen to me." Lacking any truly menacing weapon, Anna brandished the peppermint stick. "Sit, Threnny."
Threnn snorted - She can't be serious - and put a hand on Anna's shoulder to move her gently out of the way. She'd always had the height and weight advantage on her younger sister, though she very rarely used it. Now, though, she wasn't about to sit through a lecture.
Anna swatted Threnn's arm away with her left hand and, with her right, jabbed the end of the peppermint stick at the taller woman's belly.
"Ow! What the hell--?"
Anna jabbed again, higher, catching her just below the breast. And again, as Threnn turned to protect the soft parts of her front. Three quick pokes to the upper arm, and the paladin began to retreat, driven backwards by a madwoman wielding a piece of hard candy. The backs of her knees hit the bench, and she sat down so suddenly her teeth clicked together.
The priestess crowed a triumphant "Ha!" and adjusted her hat before placing the peppermint in her mouth. "You so much as fidget while I'm talking," she said, "and I'll stick the wet end in your hair."
Threnn sighed, defeated. "What are we, twelve years old again?"
"You tell me. You're the one acting like it." Anna began to pace, working herself into a good fury.
"Me? You just chased me with a--"
Anna whirled and cut her off. "Yes, you, Threnny. You're going to go back on the fecking tea and you're not planning on telling Bricu, are you?"
Her eyes went wide. "I..."
"Right. Let me guess. There was all kinds of doom and gloom about the North last night in the Pig, then you two talked after everyone dispersed. He wants you to stay off of it, and you don't want to let him down. So you - being a colossal git - think you can keep it from him."
Threnn hung her head. "'s about right. Especially the part where I'm a git." She laughed hollowly. "I just... I don't know what's right anymore."
There was a soft rustle of skirts as her sister knelt before her. "Threnny. You're clever, yeah, but Bricu is, too. Likely more so, and twice over when it comes to you. He's going to know." She looked up, waiting for Threnn to meet her eyes. "You haven't lied to him yet. It's not the time to start. And you know leaving something like that out would be lying all the same." For just a moment, Anna glanced away. "Worse, even."
She's thinking about the one she lost, and Fin. Threnn opened her mouth to reassure her, to tell her it was different - that their budding relationship was too new for so big a truth - but Anna turned her storm-grey eyes back and shook her head. Two years, and she still won't let me touch upon it.
"If you're going back on the tea, Threnny, that's fine; it's your choice. But you brew that pot in his presence, and you look him in the eye when you drink it down."
"I know. I will. I think I'd've told him before the night was out, anyway." She rubbed at her temples. "And here Tarquin was, telling us how bloody brave we were for trying. Turns out I'm not so brave after all. But they said... They said Uthas sent assassins last time, after everyone except Bricu. What if he sends them again?"
Annalea frowned. "If he really has eyes-and-ears here, Threnny, do you think he knows you two are married?"
"'s what I'm afraid of. I don't know if it buys me immunity or makes me more of a target. Did he order them away from Bricu out of old loyalty, or was he aiming to hurt him by taking away everyone he cared about?"
"Blessed Elune," breathed Anna. She stood up again and paced a bit more, working at the problem while she nibbled at the peppermint stick.
Threnn watched her for a while, until the clock upstairs chimed the half-hour. "I'm, uh, supposed to be at the forge in a few minutes. Am I allowed to get up now, or are you going to come at me again if I do?"
Anna stopped mid-stride and pulled Threnn to her feet. "It's all right, you can go. Just don't keep this from him, Threnny, yeah?"
"I promise." They walked to the gate, arms around one another's waists.
"Wait," said Anna, letting go and dashing back to the bench. She returned with the box of tea. "Here. I have enough for a few more days." She pressed it into her elder sister's hands. "If he talks you out of it, though, no dumping it in the canals. Bring it back to me, okay?"
The box contained nothing more than crushed, dried leaves, but it still felt heavy as she held it in the crook of her arm. "Will," she said, and hugged Anna goodbye. "Am I still a git?"
"Always," said Anna, laughing. "Now get the hell out."
Once she was out on the street again, Threnn didn't feel like going to the forge. The orphanage's morning shift would be over soon; if she went home now, she could catch Bricu when he went back to the Rose to change his clothes. I wish I could be braver for you, she thought, and turned her steps towards the inn.
Their room was as they'd left it - the bed in disarray, a stack of papers from the spice business on the desk, waiting to be read. Threnn moved them to the side, careful not to disturb them too much, and set the box down in the middle. She sank into Bricu's chair, breathing in the familiar, faded scent of his tobacco, and waited.
---
Threnn counted the days. Two weeks gone by since she should have bled; her courses had always come reliably. Always.
This can't be right. I must have just forgotten. Or counted wrong. Or I've been more worried about Anna and Bricu than I realized, or...
But Bricu's illness had been cured over a month ago, in the healing pools in the Temple of Elune. She'd stood beside him, helping the druid Abaris' magic draw the Nightmare out of her husband. His improvement had been so rapid, he'd insisted on making an appearance at the Rose Ball after only a few hours' sleep.
And Anna was all right -- like Bricu said, Fin was arse over teeth for her. He wouldn't let her come to harm.
So it wasn't stress.
She counted again, pulling out the ledger she used for ordering the Pig's booze and staring at the calendar clipped to the cover. No matter how long she glared at it, the neat blocks of days didn't rearrange themselves. I've been sick, though, this last week. Stomach bug...
Bullshit.
Cursing, she shoved herself away from the desk and strode over to the open window. The Rose was quiet at this hour, the lunch rush done, the dinner crowd two hours away. Laughter drifted up to her, the sound of Kara and Diana downstairs sweeping and discussing their plans for the Harvest Festival. It was a fine afternoon - the inn's doors were open wide to let in the breeze with its late summer warmth. Though, every now and then, there was the slightest hint of fall on the air.
Fall... or winter?
I'm on the tea. It has to be something else. I can't be pregnant. Not with winter bearing down on us. Not with everyone preparing to ship North soon. It's why I'm back on the bloody tea in the first place.
"Sometimes the tea don't work, sugar. Ya think you're makin' your own plans, but sometimes life has other ideas." Seylon had drawled that to her long ago, and though Threnn had never forgotten it, neither had she given it much thought.
Now, she had to.
"Get it over with, you godsdamned coward," she muttered.
Reluctantly, she left the window and lay down on the bed. Threnn closed her eyes and listened to her own breathing. The Light came to her hands quickly, a gentle warmth waiting for her to guide it. She drew it inside herself, looking at her own body the way she might an injured soldier who'd come into the healing tents, searching for any signs of sickness that had gone overlooked.
Nothing, and nothing, and nothing.
But if she were pregnant... of course she wouldn't find anything, looking only for sickness. She laid her palms against her belly, feeling her own life, the health of the blood flowing through her veins. Everything, working as it should, everything perfectly fine...
There.
The tiniest spark, fleeting beneath her fingertips. A flutter of something new, different, there and gone.
She started again, slower this time, truly looking now. Her heart slammed.
There.
So small that if she hadn't been looking for it, she'd have passed it by. Had, in fact, passed it by when her first bouts of nausea had hit and she'd thought it a flu. But now that she'd felt it, she couldn't deny its existence.
I'm pregnant.
No. Aloud.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered to the empty room. She let the Light go, turned on her side, and stared out the window, wondering how she was going to tell Bricu.
---
"Ow. Gods damn it."
"That's why you need a thimble."
"Feck your thimbles. I have callouses from the forge. They should be more than en -- OW."
"Uh huh. Threnny, take a gods damned thimble." Anna shook her sewing basket at her sister. "You asked me to teach you how to do this. At least try being agreeable."
They sat on a blanket in the Park, beneath one of the trees that still bore some of its summer leaves. Erich Lohan trundled by with a wheelbarrow full of pumpkins and haybales, preparing for the Recluse's Hallow's End celebrations. He let go of one of the handles to wave at the sisters and nearly lost control, bringing the cumbersome thing to heel just before it veered into a wall. Anna giggled and tipped her sunhat to him, then returned her stern gaze to Threnn. "Thimble."
"Fine." Threnn sighed and fished a thimble out of the basket. "Seems I'm remembering why I gave it up in the first place, though. I'm bloody hopeless." She looked down at the length of fabric resting in her lap. Today's lesson was, according to Anna, a simple one: learning to sew a straight stitch. Lines of black thread criscrossed the yellow cotton, not a one of them straight or even. Splotches of red dotted the fabric, too, evidence of the many times Threnn had pricked her finger. "This kid's going to his Name-Day looking like he's been through a battle. Or she."
"If you keep whining about it rather than practicing, yeah." Annalea winced as, even armed with a thimble, Threnn managed to stab herself again.
"Gods damn it." She shook the thimble off to suck on the injured finger. Tears stung at her eyes. She tried convincing herself that they were from the pain rather than the frustration, but it was a shabby lie at best. I've done worse to myself at the forge and I don't end up a weepy mess. "Lunch break?" she asked hopefully around her wound. They'd been at this for an hour, and she wasn't learning anything new.
"You going to be able to hold it down?"
"I hope so." As if to confirm, her stomach yowled. Breakfast had been a disaster; just the smell of the sausages had made her flee the Rose's common room. Kara'd brought her dry toast and weak tea out of pity, but she'd only nibbled, not quite trusting her belly. Anna had arrived in time to catch her tipping the plate into the rubbish. The priestess insisted their lesson take place outdoors to get Threnn away from the lingering greasy smells from the kitchen and rebuild her appetite; so far, it seemed to have worked.
She rummaged through the other basket she'd brought along, producing a loaf of crusty bread and a plate of --
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah. I stopped in at the shop to pick up the scraps for you to practice on and found out Mama baked a ham last night. Dad sliced some of the leftovers up for us."
"Don't think I've ever been so glad to be back on speaking terms with them." Threnn tore off a chunk of what her sister offered her and chewed slowly, silently begging her stomach not to rebel. When it didn't, she grinned. "Think maybe I can even handle a proper sandwich."
Anna set about putting them together. She waited until Threnn took her first bite before she pulled several neatly labeled packets out of the picnic basket. "Now. You keep eating and listen to me. I want you to start taking all of these. This one," she said, holding up the first packet, "you can steep like a tea. Tastes a hell of a lot better than earthroot, too. And this one," she held up another, "take every night before you go to sleep. This one here..." She trailed off at Threnn's expression. "It's a lot to remember, I know. I wrote it all down, though."
Threnn swallowed. "'s not that. I'm more wondering when you became my nurse."
"Your midwife, you mean." Her voice was soft, but she didn't look away.
"Anna..."
"Threnny. You don't have one. There aren't going to be many up North, are there? And I don't suppose either of you have abandoned the foolish bloody plan to sail with the rest of the Riders, have you?"
"No." She lifted her chin, but Anna held up her hands, palms out.
"I'm not arguing that today, Threnny. Today. But if you're set on going, then by blessed fucking Elune, you're not having this kid without some sort of midwife."
"We performed our own wedding." She shrugged. "Guessed we'd figure out midwifery, too."
"Those are two completely different things, sister-mine, and you know it."
Threnn shrugged again.
"I have six months to learn. Or you have six months to find someone better. Until then, you're stuck with me. All right?" Anna folded her arms, confident she'd won.
"You're not just following me up there, are you?"
"If you think I'm leaving my niece or nephew's birth up to field medics, you're an idiot." But her eyes were focused somewhere over Threnn's shoulder.
"You're a shit liar, little sister. You're going up there to keep Fin safe, too."
Anna hmmphed. When Threnn didn't follow it up with a comment, she began shuffling the herb packets. Her hands drifted to the sewing basket, smoothing out some of the scraps. Every now and then, she'd glance at Threnn, who watched her calmly, her blue eyes full of knowing. At last, she couldn't stand it any longer. Folding her hands in her lap, she met Threnn's gaze. "I love him, Threnny."
Threnn grinned. "Does he know that?"
"Yeah." She ducked her head. "And he loves me, too."
"Told you."
"It was so much easier when you were all I had to worry about." Fear flickered through her eyes. "Now I have to worry about him, too. The other night, I dreamt he died up there. They left him in the snow." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Woke myself up and he was right there, warm and solid, but I thought my heart was going to break anyway. I can't... I can't stay behind."
"Now you understand why I can't, either."
"Yeah."
Threnn reached out and took the younger woman's hand. They sat quietly for a while, watching the lunch crowd at the Blue Recluse dining outside, taking advantage of the warm day. It might be the last before autumn's chill drove them inside for the next few months of meals.
Anna pulled away from Threnn's with a resigned sigh. "Listen. Fin doesn't think it's safe for me in Stormwind right now. He's insisting we go to Stromgarde for a few days, maybe a week or two. We're staying with his sister. Will you be all right?"
"'course I will. You going to leave enough herbs to carry me through 'til you get back?"
"I will. I'll get them ready today. Threnny..." She fidgeted.
"What?"
"What if... what if his sister hates me?"
Threnn blinked at her. "Why would she...?"
"I don't know!" Anna wailed. "But what if she does? He was engaged before. What if I'm not as good for him as she was? Or what if I say the wrong thing, or if she just hates me for no reason at all? This isn't funny!"
Wiping the grin off her face took an effort, but at last, Threnn got her expression under control. "Anna. She'll like you just fine. And if she doesn't, that's for Fin to handle, not you. Same as if you're meeting with the Merchant's Guild - smile, compliment her, ask her about herself. You've been doing this for years and never fucked it up yet."
She nodded, some of the flush that had crept into her cheeks fading away.
"Fin's a good man, Anna. And I think his sister'll think the same of you. All she or I can ask is that you make each other happy, yeah?"
Another nod, then, "I, um. I know we can butt heads sometimes, and it probably gives you fits, but Bricu's... He's a good man, too. Things'll be all right for you both."
"'s not fair. You're going to make the pregnant girl cry." Threnn's eyes shone as she blinked back the tears that threatened.
"Right," said Anna, pretending to adjust her sunhat so Threnn could compose herself. "Finish your sandwich and then pick up that cloth. And the thimble. Lesson's not over yet, and you're going to sew a straight line before I leave town, damn it."
Re: Earthroot
He found her at the the harbor, watching the dockhands load cargo onto the ships. She sat in her favorite position for brooding: knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. There was still another month or two before she wouldn't be able to sit like that anymore.
"It's cold out here, Threnny," he said, easing himself down beside her. The stone bench only made that all the clearer, its chill seeping through the heavy fabric of his clothes. Above them, the sky was the grey of a gathering storm, though whether the clouds were natural or yet another ill-tempered gift from Arthas was anyone's guess.
"I know."
"Yer not wearin' a cloak."
"I was at the forge." Still, she didn't object when he took off his own and settled it around her shoulders. "I went by the shop, too" she said after a moment. "My dad said they've had a hell of a run on wool. Soon as it comes in, it's right back out the door again."
"Aye. People are preparin'. It'll be cold on the sea. An' even colder up north." Bricu pulled out his tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette, noting how his wife tilted her head and sniffed the air as the match caught, the little smile that turned up the corners of her lips. "I hear the tanners are makin' money hand o'er fist, too. Anythin' with a pelt within ten miles o'here's feelin' nervous."
"You blame 'em?"
"Not a bit."
Threnn unfolded herself and edged closer to Bricu, nudging at his arm until he put it around her. They sat like that for a while, watching the gulls wheel around ships' masts. The sounds of the dock workers carried up to them, their voices made thin by the wind.
Bricu finished his cigarette, grinding out the butt with the toe of his boot. For a moment, he thought Threnn might have drifted off. She'd taken to napping in the afternoons, though in the last week or so some of the exhaustion had started to wane. But when he began playing with her hair, catching a tendril and winding it around his fingers, she stirred. "What are yeh thinkin' 'bout, love?"
"Hoping I've packed everything we'll need. Light only knows how often the supply ships'll come once we're up there."
"Bah. We'll be fine. Whatever we don't have, I can bribe or charm off o'someone who does."
She snorted. "Somehow I think baby clothes'll be hard to find."
"Ballacks. Any war, yeh have a second army o'camp followers behind the main force. Soldiers' whole families stayin' nearby, cookin' an' mendin'. Yeh know that. There'll be other women with wee ones growin' out o'their clothes. Not that I think it'd get ta that. Annie's goin' ta spoil this kid rotten." Just yesterday, the first chest had arrived, filled with clothes , toys, and books. Threnn had noted the marks of several Stormwind and Stromgarde crafters, but some of the things were of Kaldorei design, too. She'd punched his arm when he declared them poncy.
"'s true. I have a whole separate trunk packed for... for when the time comes."
"Threnn."
She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. Calling her "Threnn" rather than "Threnny" meant he was being serious. "What's the matter?"
"Yer sure about this? Once the ships sail, it'll be too late ta change our minds."
"I'm sure," she said. "I'd go crazy if I spent the next five and a half months being useless around here. They'll need as many hands as they can get in the healing tents. Off of the battlefield but... close to you. It'll have to do." She slipped a hand out of the folds of his cloak, reaching up to run her fingers through his newly short hair. "We'll be fine. I know we will." Shifting a bit, she pulled him closer for a kiss.
A high-pitched giggle broke them apart. "Bricu an' Miss Threnn, sittin' in a tree..." A mop of sandy brown curls appeared over the back side of the bench, followed by a pair of wide brown eyes. Gil had apparently taken the day off from tormenting Donna and wandered to the harbor.
Another voice joined his. "They're not in a tree, you stupidhead. They're on a bench."
Bricu twisted around to see James crouched down, picking something shiny up off the ground; a soldier had probably lost a button in the previous night's attacks. "Oi. Does Matron Nightingale know yeh two are out here?"
"We're on our way back from the Cathedral..."
"Don't give me that line o'ballacks. Yeh can see the orphanage doors from the Cathedral steps."
Gil looked appropriately sheepish. "We wanted to see the ships, though."
"Well, yeh've seen 'em. Now yeh'd best start runnin' back home for dinner."
"But..."
"Tomorrow I'll take yeh down meself. We'll even tour one o'the ships. There's a captain that owes me a favor. But if I have ta get up an' chase yeh two, yer not settin' foot outside o'Cathedral Square for a month, yeh understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Gil.
"Yes, sir," echoed James.
But they didn't move, eyeing Threnn sidelong, hopefully.
"Oh, sweet Light," she said, trying to fight a grin and losing. She reached into her pocket and held out her hand. "Here. My last two butterscotches. Don't you dare spoil your dinners."
The boys took them eagerly and darted back off to the orphanage, yelling thank-yous as they went. The breeze gusted and Threnn clutched the cloak more tightly around her. Her fingers played along the edges, tracing the trim. After a moment, she peered at him. "Can I have this?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Your cloak. When we go North. Can I have it?"
"I... suppose yeh can. But what'll I wear? I'll freeze me stones off. "
"Depending on how the spring goes, I might be okay with that."
"Strewth!" He bent and lifted the hem so she could see it. Even sitting down, the garment was obviously way too big. "It'll be long on yeh."
"I'll have Anna hem it. Besides. I wouldn't take yours without replacing it." Threnn pointed to the ground on the other side of the bench, where she'd piled her blacksmithing things. "Go look in the box under my tools."
He eyed her curiously for a moment, but aside from her smile reaching them, her blue eyes weren't giving anything away. The box was stamped with the al'Cair name, but as Bricu picked it up and set it down on the other side of his wife, he noticed that it didn't look particularly new. The light wood had darkened with age; its surface bore scratches and scuffs. The metal clasps had tarnished long ago. Yet, when he unlatched them, they were silent, as though someone had oiled them even if they hadn't bothered to polish. The scent that wafted out of the box wasn't the musty smell he'd expected from something this old. No, whoever had packed what was inside had first lined the bottom of the box with thin planks of cedar. Bricu pushed the layers of paper aside and pulled out what lay within.
"Och," he said, shaking the folds out of it and holding it at arm's length. It was a cloak, the outside made of black oilskin, the inside lined with grey wolf fur.
"Try it on."
He swung the cloak around and let it settle on his shoulders. Threnn stood and adjusted it, smoothed it out. She stepped back and grinned. "It fits!"
"Aye, it does. Threnny, where did yeh get this?" It was warm. The chill from the wind that had been slicing through his shirt was gone, now. He brushed fingers that had started going numb down the soft fur.
"It was my grandfather's. My father's father. Dad said he used to go to Dun Morogh to trade with the dwarves. You want their respect, you'd better be able to bear the cold." She grinned. "Anna and I used to use it when we played dress-up."
"Really? What were yeh?"
She grimaced. "Uh. Barbarian queens of the frozen lands."
"Barbarian... Queens o'the..." He threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. When he finally got his breath back, he said, "That sounds like the title o'one o'those books that sends Tarq inta fits." He braced himself for the punch, but Threnn was giggling, too.
Their composures finally returned. Bricu marveled over the cloak a little more. "Yer sure yer da wants me ta wear it?"
"'Course he does. 'S nothing better if you have to walk through the snow." She stepped forward, slipping her arms around his waist. He pulled the cloak around them both as she continued. "My mother's knitting about a thousand pairs of socks for us, too. Not nearly as colorful as your Forsaken friend's but warm enough, at least. Only, don't wear through them too fast. I can't darn a sock to save my life."
"We'll have ta thank 'em."
"Yeah. We'll stop by before we sail."
The wind gusted again, and with it came the first fat, cold drops of rain. "Come on," said Bricu, disentangling himself gently and hefting her sack of tools. "Let's go make sure Gil an' James did as they were told an' get home before it starts pourin'."
The paladins set off towards the orphanage, hand in hand. Behind them the dockhands loaded the ships that would soon carry them all to the North.
"It's cold out here, Threnny," he said, easing himself down beside her. The stone bench only made that all the clearer, its chill seeping through the heavy fabric of his clothes. Above them, the sky was the grey of a gathering storm, though whether the clouds were natural or yet another ill-tempered gift from Arthas was anyone's guess.
"I know."
"Yer not wearin' a cloak."
"I was at the forge." Still, she didn't object when he took off his own and settled it around her shoulders. "I went by the shop, too" she said after a moment. "My dad said they've had a hell of a run on wool. Soon as it comes in, it's right back out the door again."
"Aye. People are preparin'. It'll be cold on the sea. An' even colder up north." Bricu pulled out his tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette, noting how his wife tilted her head and sniffed the air as the match caught, the little smile that turned up the corners of her lips. "I hear the tanners are makin' money hand o'er fist, too. Anythin' with a pelt within ten miles o'here's feelin' nervous."
"You blame 'em?"
"Not a bit."
Threnn unfolded herself and edged closer to Bricu, nudging at his arm until he put it around her. They sat like that for a while, watching the gulls wheel around ships' masts. The sounds of the dock workers carried up to them, their voices made thin by the wind.
Bricu finished his cigarette, grinding out the butt with the toe of his boot. For a moment, he thought Threnn might have drifted off. She'd taken to napping in the afternoons, though in the last week or so some of the exhaustion had started to wane. But when he began playing with her hair, catching a tendril and winding it around his fingers, she stirred. "What are yeh thinkin' 'bout, love?"
"Hoping I've packed everything we'll need. Light only knows how often the supply ships'll come once we're up there."
"Bah. We'll be fine. Whatever we don't have, I can bribe or charm off o'someone who does."
She snorted. "Somehow I think baby clothes'll be hard to find."
"Ballacks. Any war, yeh have a second army o'camp followers behind the main force. Soldiers' whole families stayin' nearby, cookin' an' mendin'. Yeh know that. There'll be other women with wee ones growin' out o'their clothes. Not that I think it'd get ta that. Annie's goin' ta spoil this kid rotten." Just yesterday, the first chest had arrived, filled with clothes , toys, and books. Threnn had noted the marks of several Stormwind and Stromgarde crafters, but some of the things were of Kaldorei design, too. She'd punched his arm when he declared them poncy.
"'s true. I have a whole separate trunk packed for... for when the time comes."
"Threnn."
She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. Calling her "Threnn" rather than "Threnny" meant he was being serious. "What's the matter?"
"Yer sure about this? Once the ships sail, it'll be too late ta change our minds."
"I'm sure," she said. "I'd go crazy if I spent the next five and a half months being useless around here. They'll need as many hands as they can get in the healing tents. Off of the battlefield but... close to you. It'll have to do." She slipped a hand out of the folds of his cloak, reaching up to run her fingers through his newly short hair. "We'll be fine. I know we will." Shifting a bit, she pulled him closer for a kiss.
A high-pitched giggle broke them apart. "Bricu an' Miss Threnn, sittin' in a tree..." A mop of sandy brown curls appeared over the back side of the bench, followed by a pair of wide brown eyes. Gil had apparently taken the day off from tormenting Donna and wandered to the harbor.
Another voice joined his. "They're not in a tree, you stupidhead. They're on a bench."
Bricu twisted around to see James crouched down, picking something shiny up off the ground; a soldier had probably lost a button in the previous night's attacks. "Oi. Does Matron Nightingale know yeh two are out here?"
"We're on our way back from the Cathedral..."
"Don't give me that line o'ballacks. Yeh can see the orphanage doors from the Cathedral steps."
Gil looked appropriately sheepish. "We wanted to see the ships, though."
"Well, yeh've seen 'em. Now yeh'd best start runnin' back home for dinner."
"But..."
"Tomorrow I'll take yeh down meself. We'll even tour one o'the ships. There's a captain that owes me a favor. But if I have ta get up an' chase yeh two, yer not settin' foot outside o'Cathedral Square for a month, yeh understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Gil.
"Yes, sir," echoed James.
But they didn't move, eyeing Threnn sidelong, hopefully.
"Oh, sweet Light," she said, trying to fight a grin and losing. She reached into her pocket and held out her hand. "Here. My last two butterscotches. Don't you dare spoil your dinners."
The boys took them eagerly and darted back off to the orphanage, yelling thank-yous as they went. The breeze gusted and Threnn clutched the cloak more tightly around her. Her fingers played along the edges, tracing the trim. After a moment, she peered at him. "Can I have this?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Your cloak. When we go North. Can I have it?"
"I... suppose yeh can. But what'll I wear? I'll freeze me stones off. "
"Depending on how the spring goes, I might be okay with that."
"Strewth!" He bent and lifted the hem so she could see it. Even sitting down, the garment was obviously way too big. "It'll be long on yeh."
"I'll have Anna hem it. Besides. I wouldn't take yours without replacing it." Threnn pointed to the ground on the other side of the bench, where she'd piled her blacksmithing things. "Go look in the box under my tools."
He eyed her curiously for a moment, but aside from her smile reaching them, her blue eyes weren't giving anything away. The box was stamped with the al'Cair name, but as Bricu picked it up and set it down on the other side of his wife, he noticed that it didn't look particularly new. The light wood had darkened with age; its surface bore scratches and scuffs. The metal clasps had tarnished long ago. Yet, when he unlatched them, they were silent, as though someone had oiled them even if they hadn't bothered to polish. The scent that wafted out of the box wasn't the musty smell he'd expected from something this old. No, whoever had packed what was inside had first lined the bottom of the box with thin planks of cedar. Bricu pushed the layers of paper aside and pulled out what lay within.
"Och," he said, shaking the folds out of it and holding it at arm's length. It was a cloak, the outside made of black oilskin, the inside lined with grey wolf fur.
"Try it on."
He swung the cloak around and let it settle on his shoulders. Threnn stood and adjusted it, smoothed it out. She stepped back and grinned. "It fits!"
"Aye, it does. Threnny, where did yeh get this?" It was warm. The chill from the wind that had been slicing through his shirt was gone, now. He brushed fingers that had started going numb down the soft fur.
"It was my grandfather's. My father's father. Dad said he used to go to Dun Morogh to trade with the dwarves. You want their respect, you'd better be able to bear the cold." She grinned. "Anna and I used to use it when we played dress-up."
"Really? What were yeh?"
She grimaced. "Uh. Barbarian queens of the frozen lands."
"Barbarian... Queens o'the..." He threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. When he finally got his breath back, he said, "That sounds like the title o'one o'those books that sends Tarq inta fits." He braced himself for the punch, but Threnn was giggling, too.
Their composures finally returned. Bricu marveled over the cloak a little more. "Yer sure yer da wants me ta wear it?"
"'Course he does. 'S nothing better if you have to walk through the snow." She stepped forward, slipping her arms around his waist. He pulled the cloak around them both as she continued. "My mother's knitting about a thousand pairs of socks for us, too. Not nearly as colorful as your Forsaken friend's but warm enough, at least. Only, don't wear through them too fast. I can't darn a sock to save my life."
"We'll have ta thank 'em."
"Yeah. We'll stop by before we sail."
The wind gusted again, and with it came the first fat, cold drops of rain. "Come on," said Bricu, disentangling himself gently and hefting her sack of tools. "Let's go make sure Gil an' James did as they were told an' get home before it starts pourin'."
The paladins set off towards the orphanage, hand in hand. Behind them the dockhands loaded the ships that would soon carry them all to the North.
Re: Earthroot
The Legerdemain Lounge was packed this evening, every table filled with men and women in tabards of the Kirin Tor. A few heads turned as Davien Stonemantle strode through the room, setting off an uncomfortable buzz amongst those gathered. There were those present who still remembered the tall, green-eyed acolyte who'd studied with them in Ambermill, the promise she'd shown before the sickness had taken her life, her uncanny talent with the Arcane.
Dainty Celia Meadows turned her face away, praying to every deity that might be listening that Stonemantle wouldn't see her. The sun-haired woman had clawed her way through the ranks and now held a position of some dignity and power in the Kirin Tor, but years ago she'd been no more than a village witch, jealous of her peers. No more than a spiteful bumpkin, rifling through a box of Stormwind-bound possessions and stealing a dead girl's ring. And now that dead girl was passing through the same room, a storm gathering in her glowing eyes, and Celia felt the awkward country girl once more. She has no way of knowing. None. And I lost the ring years ago! She hid her hands under the table all the same.
But Stonemantle barely spared a glance for the gathered mages, heading straight for the stairs and ascending to the guest rooms above. A collective sigh of relief and nervous titters from the revelers followed in her wake.
"Heaven help whatever poor sod she's gunnin' for," someone muttered. The others raised their drinks in silent acknowledgement and took polite sips of their Dalaran Red.
All but Celia Meadows, who drained her glass and poured another with shaking hands.
---
Davien hammered at the door, her patience waning. Light spilled across the threshhold, gleaming on the polished Highlands Oak lining the hallway. Shadows flickered within, cutting off the light as someone came closer to the door.
"Bittertongue! Y'owe me more than a wee chat. Y'd best open up, 'fore I--"
The door jerked open, but instead of being eye-to-eye with the red-haired Northman, Davien found herself looking down into his wife's upturned face. As though she'd just woken from a nap, the girl's hair was sleep-mussed, her gaze foggy.
It didn't stay that way for long.
It was interesting, watching Threnn's soldier-instincts kick in. Eyes sharpening, shoulders straightening, her whole body went from half-asleep to hyper aware in the space of a heartbeat. Her stance shifted the slightest bit, planting herself more solidy. Her left hand disappeared back inside the door frame.
"Ah, now, sweetling," said Davien, uncurling her upraised fist, "y'don't want t'do that. I promise 'ee, I can call my fire 'fore y've a chance t'lift that blade." She glanced down at the paladin's middle and sucked in a breath. "An' y're with child. I'd not harm 'ee, anyway, love."
The paladin didn't move, weighing her options.
"Listen. I've business with y'r husband, whom I'll assume isn't home, else I'd've had a hammer t'the face by now for startlin' 'ee. I mean him no harm, either."
"The last time you paid him a surprise visit, you turned him into a sheep."
"That was Pill, not me. Besides, I'm turnin' people into cats, these days." She tried on a grin, but it wasn't returned. "An' that was a misunderstandin'. We worked it out. But in workin' it out, he an' I struck a bargain. I've made good on my end. I'm makin' sure he upholds his."
At last, Threnn's hand returned to her side. Davien lowered her own, relieved. If the girl had decided to strike after all, she would have blinked away, not set her aflame. But it still would have made future conversations with Bittertongue awkward.
"Come in," said Threnn. "He'll be home in an hour or so. I'll put on some tea."
Inside, the room was about as cozy as two people could make a rented suite be. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth. Nestled before it was a tangle of fur and feathers that, after a bit of squinting, resolved into a cat and a pengu. There was an air of haphazard organization about the workbenches and armor stands, where several projects sat in various states of progress - rough-cut jewels sat beside nearly finished daggers. Shoved beneath the bench, she could see a sewing basket, brightly colored yarn all a-tangle.
Threnn took Davien's cloak and cleared off a spot on the desk. "Pardon all the paperwork," she said. "Some bastards impersonated Jolly and got access to our vault this morning. You caught me taking a break from sorting out the inventory lists."
"Records like that are bound t'set y'r head spinnin'."
"Most days, it'd be my sister poring over it, but she's hip-deep in other research." She bustled around the room, hanging the kettle on the hook over the fire, arranging the tea set on the desk. They made small talk, sharing tidbits of Dalaran gossip, comparing the menus from A Hero's Welcome against that of the Filthy Animal, both deciding that the fare at Cantrips and Crows was by far the most appetizing.
As the water came to a boil, Davien stood. "Sweetling, sit. I'll do the pourin'."
"No, 's fine. You're my guest."
"An' y're more than a wee bit pregnant. Y'll sit, an' let me serve 'ee." She put her hands on Threnn's shoulders and guided the girl into her chair. The paladin gave her a grateful smile as she turned to the fire and lifted the kettle from its hook.
"Thank you, I -- oh, sweet Light, your hands!" She was out of her chair in a flash, the Light already filling her palms, before Davien even finished her turn.
"My what? Oh." Davien looked down and realized what had caused her hostess such alarm. Hot metal. No mitts. "I'm fine, sweetling. It seems my profession makes me a bit... impervious t'the heat, aye?" She took one hand off of the iron handle and waggled her fingers. Not even the slightest mark marred her skin.
A blush crept over Threnn's cheeks. "I, uh. Should've realized that."
"Hardly. Now, sit back down an' try relaxin'." Davien poured the hot water into the tea pot, breathing in the deep scent of the leaves within. "Lavender?"
"'s my favorite. The baby's, too, I think." She lowered herself into her chair once more and patted her belly. "Seems to be jumping for joy in there every time I have a cup."
"My brother said my nephew did the same whenever his ma made barley stew. I was in Ambermill at the time, though. Missed her whole pregnancy, an' even his birth. Couldn't tell 'ee if it was true or not."
"Well, this is definitely a fact." Threnn winced a particularly good kick, then peered at her companion, suddenly shy. "Do you... Do you want to feel it moving?"
For once, the unflappable Davien Stonemantle found herself at a loss for words.
She could only nod, and came silently around the desk to where Threnn sat. The girl took her hand, pressing it against her rounded stomach. "Ah, now," said Davien, grinning up at Threnn as the little one shifted beneath her touch. She'd never seen Alliara in the bloom of her pregnancy, hadn't even met her nephew until he was three months old. And death had taken away her chance to ever bear sons of her own. She didn't mourn it the way Yva had, but feeling the fluttering at her fingers was a bittersweet reminder all the same.
Davien chose to focus on the sweet. "Ah n--"
The shadows gathered at the corners of her eyes, sweeping across her vision.
The world went black. Threnn was calling her name, but louder still was the child's laughter, right behind her. She turned to look, her head swivelling slowly, as if she were floating in molasses. The fog cleared; the Legerdemain was gone, replaced by a field of wildflowers. A little hand held a messy bouquet out to her, and Davien found herself peering up into a pair of pale green eyes. The mage reached out to accept the flowers, or perhaps to touch a lock of dark red hair.
Then the shadows were back and Threnn's arms were around her, hauling her up into a chair. "Miss Stonemantle! Miss Stonemantle, can you hear me?"
Her vision cleared, the shadows sliding away. Threnn leaned over her, the first words of a prayer on her lips, her hands starting to catch the Light. Davien took them gently in her own. "Easy, now, love, I'm fine." That didn't stop the paladin from giving her a once-over. The warmth of the healing magic flowed over her skin, a different kind of fire than what she was used to conjuring herself. She schooled herself to stillness, waiting for the other woman to satisfy herself that the mage was, indeed, healthy.
"Your eyes went dark. Like they were the first time we met."
"Aye. Bit of a spell. It comes upon me, now an' then."
"Happened while you were feeling the baby kick. Did that...?" The girl was making a valiant effort to keep the fear out of her voice, but it was written in every line of her body, in the way her Light-filled hand drifted to her stomach, the glow strengthening as her fingers spread over it.
"It triggered it, aye, but it's not a bad thing, I promise 'ee." She shifted forward and reached for Threnn's free hand. "I see things, now an' then. Mostly things as they are, never anythin' world-shatterin'. But sometimes, I see 'em as they will be." She glanced around the room, seeking out baby things. There wasn't much, only the spill of yellow yarn from the basket beneath the workbench. "Do y'know if y're havin' a boy or a girl?"
Threnn shook her head. "Yva said something a few days ago, about some Northern way of divining it. A crown woven of, uh..." She bit her lip, searching for the name, but ended with a shrug. "I have it written down somewhere."
"Oh, aye, she's right. Y'd be surprised how often that method's accurate." She smiled. "But I can tell 'ee right now, if y'd like t'know."
"You..." The girl swallowed. "You saw it? Healthy? And safe?"
"Aye. Just a flash, mind 'ee. But enough t'tell 'ee whether y'should be lookin' at boys' names or girls'."
She leaned against the desk and stared into the fire for a long moment. A log popped and shifted, sending sparks scurrying up the chimney. At last, she turned back to Davien and nodded. "Tell me. Please."
"A girl, sweetling. With his eyes an' y'r smile. Red hair, too. Darker 'n his, lighter 'n y'r own."
The paladin sniffed and turned away, swiping at her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"No need for thankin'. It's rare the sight makes itself quite so useful." She busied herself with pouring a cup of the forgotten tea while Threnn struggled for composure. "Here, now. Drink this an' make the bairn happy. She's probably wonderin' why her ma's cryin'."
Threnn took the cup and drank gratefully. It seemed to go a long way towards returning her to her normal calm demeanor. "Aren't you going to have some?"
"Not anymore, love. I'm thinkin' it's not right t'stay after givin' 'ee that news. 'Tisn't right t'discuss dark things with y'r husband on the heels o'somethin' good." She stood and retrieved her cloak. "Tell him I'd like t'hear from him within the week, aye?"
"Will. And thank you, again." She half-rose before settling back down at Davien's gesture.
"I can see myself out. It's only a few steps. Be well, sweetling, all of 'ee."
"Light bless."
Threnn was staring at the fire, lips moving silently as she tried out names, when Davien closed the door behind herself.
---
Outside the Legerdemain, Celia Meadows was too busy noisily emptying the contents of her stomach onto the snow beside the mailbox to hear the footsteps pausing behind her.
"Y'never could hold y'r liquor."
Squeaking, she whirled around and cringed up at the dead woman. "I... Davien! Hello!" Celia summoned up every inch of dignity she could muster, forcing an air of superiority into her tone despite her roiling guts. I am an archmage of the Kirin Tor. She's a rotter witch who could have amounted to something but died before that could come to pass. "The council is quite disappointed that you've thus far ignored our requests for a meeting."
"Mmph. I'll get around to it. Mayhaps."
The bitch should have been falling all over herself to impress someone of Celia's standing. "Sooner rather than later would be better. The archmagi don't like being made to wait."
Did those golden eyes roll? It was so hard to tell with deaders. "Y'r definition o' who deserves t'be called an archmage an' mine might differ, sweetling." She grinned. "Y've got some spittle on y'r cheek. Unbecomin', for one o'y'r position." With that, Davien Stonemantle turned and walked away, boots crunching in the snow, leaving Celia to gape after her.
Dainty Celia Meadows turned her face away, praying to every deity that might be listening that Stonemantle wouldn't see her. The sun-haired woman had clawed her way through the ranks and now held a position of some dignity and power in the Kirin Tor, but years ago she'd been no more than a village witch, jealous of her peers. No more than a spiteful bumpkin, rifling through a box of Stormwind-bound possessions and stealing a dead girl's ring. And now that dead girl was passing through the same room, a storm gathering in her glowing eyes, and Celia felt the awkward country girl once more. She has no way of knowing. None. And I lost the ring years ago! She hid her hands under the table all the same.
But Stonemantle barely spared a glance for the gathered mages, heading straight for the stairs and ascending to the guest rooms above. A collective sigh of relief and nervous titters from the revelers followed in her wake.
"Heaven help whatever poor sod she's gunnin' for," someone muttered. The others raised their drinks in silent acknowledgement and took polite sips of their Dalaran Red.
All but Celia Meadows, who drained her glass and poured another with shaking hands.
---
Davien hammered at the door, her patience waning. Light spilled across the threshhold, gleaming on the polished Highlands Oak lining the hallway. Shadows flickered within, cutting off the light as someone came closer to the door.
"Bittertongue! Y'owe me more than a wee chat. Y'd best open up, 'fore I--"
The door jerked open, but instead of being eye-to-eye with the red-haired Northman, Davien found herself looking down into his wife's upturned face. As though she'd just woken from a nap, the girl's hair was sleep-mussed, her gaze foggy.
It didn't stay that way for long.
It was interesting, watching Threnn's soldier-instincts kick in. Eyes sharpening, shoulders straightening, her whole body went from half-asleep to hyper aware in the space of a heartbeat. Her stance shifted the slightest bit, planting herself more solidy. Her left hand disappeared back inside the door frame.
"Ah, now, sweetling," said Davien, uncurling her upraised fist, "y'don't want t'do that. I promise 'ee, I can call my fire 'fore y've a chance t'lift that blade." She glanced down at the paladin's middle and sucked in a breath. "An' y're with child. I'd not harm 'ee, anyway, love."
The paladin didn't move, weighing her options.
"Listen. I've business with y'r husband, whom I'll assume isn't home, else I'd've had a hammer t'the face by now for startlin' 'ee. I mean him no harm, either."
"The last time you paid him a surprise visit, you turned him into a sheep."
"That was Pill, not me. Besides, I'm turnin' people into cats, these days." She tried on a grin, but it wasn't returned. "An' that was a misunderstandin'. We worked it out. But in workin' it out, he an' I struck a bargain. I've made good on my end. I'm makin' sure he upholds his."
At last, Threnn's hand returned to her side. Davien lowered her own, relieved. If the girl had decided to strike after all, she would have blinked away, not set her aflame. But it still would have made future conversations with Bittertongue awkward.
"Come in," said Threnn. "He'll be home in an hour or so. I'll put on some tea."
Inside, the room was about as cozy as two people could make a rented suite be. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth. Nestled before it was a tangle of fur and feathers that, after a bit of squinting, resolved into a cat and a pengu. There was an air of haphazard organization about the workbenches and armor stands, where several projects sat in various states of progress - rough-cut jewels sat beside nearly finished daggers. Shoved beneath the bench, she could see a sewing basket, brightly colored yarn all a-tangle.
Threnn took Davien's cloak and cleared off a spot on the desk. "Pardon all the paperwork," she said. "Some bastards impersonated Jolly and got access to our vault this morning. You caught me taking a break from sorting out the inventory lists."
"Records like that are bound t'set y'r head spinnin'."
"Most days, it'd be my sister poring over it, but she's hip-deep in other research." She bustled around the room, hanging the kettle on the hook over the fire, arranging the tea set on the desk. They made small talk, sharing tidbits of Dalaran gossip, comparing the menus from A Hero's Welcome against that of the Filthy Animal, both deciding that the fare at Cantrips and Crows was by far the most appetizing.
As the water came to a boil, Davien stood. "Sweetling, sit. I'll do the pourin'."
"No, 's fine. You're my guest."
"An' y're more than a wee bit pregnant. Y'll sit, an' let me serve 'ee." She put her hands on Threnn's shoulders and guided the girl into her chair. The paladin gave her a grateful smile as she turned to the fire and lifted the kettle from its hook.
"Thank you, I -- oh, sweet Light, your hands!" She was out of her chair in a flash, the Light already filling her palms, before Davien even finished her turn.
"My what? Oh." Davien looked down and realized what had caused her hostess such alarm. Hot metal. No mitts. "I'm fine, sweetling. It seems my profession makes me a bit... impervious t'the heat, aye?" She took one hand off of the iron handle and waggled her fingers. Not even the slightest mark marred her skin.
A blush crept over Threnn's cheeks. "I, uh. Should've realized that."
"Hardly. Now, sit back down an' try relaxin'." Davien poured the hot water into the tea pot, breathing in the deep scent of the leaves within. "Lavender?"
"'s my favorite. The baby's, too, I think." She lowered herself into her chair once more and patted her belly. "Seems to be jumping for joy in there every time I have a cup."
"My brother said my nephew did the same whenever his ma made barley stew. I was in Ambermill at the time, though. Missed her whole pregnancy, an' even his birth. Couldn't tell 'ee if it was true or not."
"Well, this is definitely a fact." Threnn winced a particularly good kick, then peered at her companion, suddenly shy. "Do you... Do you want to feel it moving?"
For once, the unflappable Davien Stonemantle found herself at a loss for words.
She could only nod, and came silently around the desk to where Threnn sat. The girl took her hand, pressing it against her rounded stomach. "Ah, now," said Davien, grinning up at Threnn as the little one shifted beneath her touch. She'd never seen Alliara in the bloom of her pregnancy, hadn't even met her nephew until he was three months old. And death had taken away her chance to ever bear sons of her own. She didn't mourn it the way Yva had, but feeling the fluttering at her fingers was a bittersweet reminder all the same.
Davien chose to focus on the sweet. "Ah n--"
The shadows gathered at the corners of her eyes, sweeping across her vision.
The world went black. Threnn was calling her name, but louder still was the child's laughter, right behind her. She turned to look, her head swivelling slowly, as if she were floating in molasses. The fog cleared; the Legerdemain was gone, replaced by a field of wildflowers. A little hand held a messy bouquet out to her, and Davien found herself peering up into a pair of pale green eyes. The mage reached out to accept the flowers, or perhaps to touch a lock of dark red hair.
Then the shadows were back and Threnn's arms were around her, hauling her up into a chair. "Miss Stonemantle! Miss Stonemantle, can you hear me?"
Her vision cleared, the shadows sliding away. Threnn leaned over her, the first words of a prayer on her lips, her hands starting to catch the Light. Davien took them gently in her own. "Easy, now, love, I'm fine." That didn't stop the paladin from giving her a once-over. The warmth of the healing magic flowed over her skin, a different kind of fire than what she was used to conjuring herself. She schooled herself to stillness, waiting for the other woman to satisfy herself that the mage was, indeed, healthy.
"Your eyes went dark. Like they were the first time we met."
"Aye. Bit of a spell. It comes upon me, now an' then."
"Happened while you were feeling the baby kick. Did that...?" The girl was making a valiant effort to keep the fear out of her voice, but it was written in every line of her body, in the way her Light-filled hand drifted to her stomach, the glow strengthening as her fingers spread over it.
"It triggered it, aye, but it's not a bad thing, I promise 'ee." She shifted forward and reached for Threnn's free hand. "I see things, now an' then. Mostly things as they are, never anythin' world-shatterin'. But sometimes, I see 'em as they will be." She glanced around the room, seeking out baby things. There wasn't much, only the spill of yellow yarn from the basket beneath the workbench. "Do y'know if y're havin' a boy or a girl?"
Threnn shook her head. "Yva said something a few days ago, about some Northern way of divining it. A crown woven of, uh..." She bit her lip, searching for the name, but ended with a shrug. "I have it written down somewhere."
"Oh, aye, she's right. Y'd be surprised how often that method's accurate." She smiled. "But I can tell 'ee right now, if y'd like t'know."
"You..." The girl swallowed. "You saw it? Healthy? And safe?"
"Aye. Just a flash, mind 'ee. But enough t'tell 'ee whether y'should be lookin' at boys' names or girls'."
She leaned against the desk and stared into the fire for a long moment. A log popped and shifted, sending sparks scurrying up the chimney. At last, she turned back to Davien and nodded. "Tell me. Please."
"A girl, sweetling. With his eyes an' y'r smile. Red hair, too. Darker 'n his, lighter 'n y'r own."
The paladin sniffed and turned away, swiping at her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"No need for thankin'. It's rare the sight makes itself quite so useful." She busied herself with pouring a cup of the forgotten tea while Threnn struggled for composure. "Here, now. Drink this an' make the bairn happy. She's probably wonderin' why her ma's cryin'."
Threnn took the cup and drank gratefully. It seemed to go a long way towards returning her to her normal calm demeanor. "Aren't you going to have some?"
"Not anymore, love. I'm thinkin' it's not right t'stay after givin' 'ee that news. 'Tisn't right t'discuss dark things with y'r husband on the heels o'somethin' good." She stood and retrieved her cloak. "Tell him I'd like t'hear from him within the week, aye?"
"Will. And thank you, again." She half-rose before settling back down at Davien's gesture.
"I can see myself out. It's only a few steps. Be well, sweetling, all of 'ee."
"Light bless."
Threnn was staring at the fire, lips moving silently as she tried out names, when Davien closed the door behind herself.
---
Outside the Legerdemain, Celia Meadows was too busy noisily emptying the contents of her stomach onto the snow beside the mailbox to hear the footsteps pausing behind her.
"Y'never could hold y'r liquor."
Squeaking, she whirled around and cringed up at the dead woman. "I... Davien! Hello!" Celia summoned up every inch of dignity she could muster, forcing an air of superiority into her tone despite her roiling guts. I am an archmage of the Kirin Tor. She's a rotter witch who could have amounted to something but died before that could come to pass. "The council is quite disappointed that you've thus far ignored our requests for a meeting."
"Mmph. I'll get around to it. Mayhaps."
The bitch should have been falling all over herself to impress someone of Celia's standing. "Sooner rather than later would be better. The archmagi don't like being made to wait."
Did those golden eyes roll? It was so hard to tell with deaders. "Y'r definition o' who deserves t'be called an archmage an' mine might differ, sweetling." She grinned. "Y've got some spittle on y'r cheek. Unbecomin', for one o'y'r position." With that, Davien Stonemantle turned and walked away, boots crunching in the snow, leaving Celia to gape after her.
Re: Earthroot
It had been a good day. Annalea had spent the morning in her parents' shop, sorting colored silks while her mother charmed the patrons and her father hauled in boxes of woolen bolts that had arrived from Southshore. Mama was pretending not to fret about the baby coming soon, but every third customer asked after Threnny, or congratulated Thenia on becoming a grandmother, and the ones that didn't spoke on how the expeditions were going far to the North. Most of their reports were dire. Anna chivvied them out of the shop as fast as she could, but it didn't curb the tongues of the next customer, or the next, or the next after that.
Thenia had kept up her pleasant chatter through it all, but Anna saw her eyes getting tighter and tighter as the morning wore on. By the time she ceded the floor to Maggie at lunchtime, her smile was more of a rictus. As Anna kissed her mother goodbye in the back room, she saw Padraig slip a healthy shot of whiskey into Thenia's noontime cup of coffee.
She'd trekked across Stormwind to the Rose, then, to meet Threnny for lunch and yet another futile sewing lesson. At the very least, her sister wasn't jabbing the needle into her fingers with every other stitch anymore. But she was nervous and fidgety, feeling the last few weeks of pregnancy weighing on her. It didn't help that the baby was kicking up a storm, picking up on her mother's mood.
After half an hour, they'd given up on sewing altogether. Anna brewed her some chamomile tea and insisted she lay down for the rest of the afternoon. She sang old ballads until Threnn finally drifted off to sleep, then slipped out the door and went in search of Bricu.
---
She found him at the orphanage, out in the back, washing diapers. Or, contemplating washing them. There was a tub of steaming hot, sudsy water, a clothesline with a plethora of pins strung across the courtyard, a basket of soiled cloth diapers, and a Northman with a look of horror on his normally-smirking face.
A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. Bricu whirled.
"Yeh think it's so funny, yeh can have diaper duty when yer niece is born."
"Oh no," she said, still tittering. "You're not getting out of it that easy. Threnny'd see through it in a heartbeat."
"Shite." He abandoned the assembly line of yuck to come stand beside her and roll a cigarette. "Gotta let that water stop boilin' anyway," he said, striking his match and taking a deep drag as the tip of the cigarette caught. "Everythin' all right?"
"Yeah. Threnny's napping now. Just wanted to stop in and suggest you bring her flowers or something tonight. She's got herself fretting."
"Och. I will." He glanced at her sidelong. "Don't suppose yeh want ta take over for me so I can go home early, then?"
"Nope. You're on your own, brother-mine. Fin's got the night off. I'm on the way to Dalaran."
His grin said I told you so, but he didn't say it aloud. "Then what the hell are yeh still doin' here?"
"Leaving," she said, and gave him a sympathetic pat as he turned back to the diapers and sighed.
---
The evening went well, too -- dinner on the balcony of the Legerdemain and a bottle of fine wine. Fin read aloud a letter he'd received from Celine in Stromgarde; he talked about his assignments in Icecrown. They brought a bottle of Dalaran red back to the room they'd rented, and Anna worked the knots out of his shoulders while they sat on the rug by the fire, catching up.
Then the wine was gone, and their conversation trailed off into companionable silence. Anna pulled Fin to his feet, placed his hands on her hips, and led him back towards the bed. Grinning, he followed.
Her dreamless sleep potions lay unused in the bottoms of her packs.
---
There was a woman who looked familiar, though Anna couldn't place the face. She was thin as a rail, streaks of grey in her dark hair despite her otherwise youthful face. The summer sun had darkened her skin so much, she could have passed for a Gilnean fishwife.
She lay on a pile of tangled silks, the air smelling of sawdust and paint and fresh cut wood. Dusky sunlight poured in through the windows and pooled on the floor in a pattern that struck Annalea with odd familiarity.
This was the shop, then, and the woman on the floor -- the woman bleeding on the floor -- was Mama.
And she was screaming.
Footsteps pounded along the street. Anna turned as a young John Bell burst through the door, an auburn-haired woman right behind. She was already shouting orders before she dropped to her knees beside Thenia. Four small faces peered in through the doorway, two girls and two boys. Threnny and the Bells and me...
"Robert, Will," said John, his voice filled with forced calm, "go fetch Padraig. He's at the Guild House. Interrupt the meeting and get him back here. Threnody, take your sister upstairs and play. Your mother will be just fine."
Four small voices chorused "Yes, sir." The boys took off down the street at a run. Threnn pulled Anna through the front room of the shop, both girls' eyes wide with fear, gazes locked on their mother.
Thenia raised her head from the silks, the beautiful patterns now stained with blood and ruined. "I'm all right, girls," she said. "Don't you wo--" Her teeth clenched as she bit back another scream. The girls froze. Mrs. Bell reached down and squeezed her hand, giving her husband a look. John didn't need any more prompting; he scooped the al'Cair girls up and carried them to the stairs at the back.
Annalea's vision blurred. Suddenly she was seeing her mother through her own two-year old eyes. Dream faded into memory as she bobbed along on John Bell's shoulder, Threnn's hand reaching for her own. They stared at their mother, lying on the floor in a pool of dying sunlight, while Mrs. Bell cleaned up the blood with the ruined fabrics.
Then it was a dream once more -- her mother's hair darkened, her form filled out, her skin lightened. She threw her head back as another wave of pain ripped through her.
By the time it passed, she was panting from the exhaustion. She looked up towards the stairs, and Anna realized the only thing that hadn't changed were the woman's eyes.
For a moment, for the briefest, most fleeting glimpse, she wasn't looking at Thenia lying there, losing the baby that would have been Anna and Threnn's little brother.
In her dream, now, it was Threnny lying there on the floor in pain. Her sister's shrieks drove her towards waking.
---
Anna sat bolt upright, sheened in sweat, heart pounding in her ears. Beside her, Fin slept on. She slipped out from between the covers and lit the lamp, turning the wick low so she wouldn't wake him. Quietly as she could, she stole the quilt from where it had been kicked to the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders against the chill that had crept into the room once the fire had burnt down.
In her bags were books on midwifery that were long overdue from the Stormwind library. She pulled them out, spread them across the room's small writing desk, and sat, flipping pages and muttering to herself. Her shivering might have been from a draft in the room or the remnants of the dream, she wasn't sure which.
When she forgot her self-imposed silence and slammed a hand down on the table in frustration, Fingold stirred. "Anna?" He sat up, hair corkscrewed with sleep, and blinked at her in the dim light. "What's going on?"
She winced, but didn't look up at him. "I'm not ready. Less than two months and I don't know nearly all the things I should."
"About...?"
"About helping Threnny deliver the baby."
"It's... it has to be three in the morning. Come back to bed, Anna."
"No."
Fin rubbed at his face, trying to wake himself up. He waited to see if she'd offer any further explanation, but she'd turned her full attention to the tomes in front of her. "I don't understand," he said at last.
Her eyes were wide and frightened when she finally lifted her gaze, the dream still echoing in them. "Threnny's built like Mama."
His brow furrowed. "That's a good thing, isn't it? She had both of you just fine."
"But she didn't. Fin, we almost killed her. Both of us." She pushed her books away and got up, crossing the room to perch beside him. "She lost two babies before Threnn and one after me. I... I thought I was too young when it happened to remember the last one, but I dreamed about it tonight."
"But that was your mother, not Threnn. I'm sure she'll be fine." He reached for her hand, but she'd already stood up again. The quilt fell away, the lamp behind her showing her form in silhouette. "Anna, what..."
"Look at me, Fin." She ran her hands along the swell of her hips. "Now think how Threnny's shaped."
"It's... awfully hard to think of your sister when... Not that I think about Threnn when you're not standing in front of me... uh... undressed... But I... er." Despite the low light, she could see the blush creeping up in his cheeks. Ever the gentleman, he averted his eyes and spoke to her through gritted teeth. "I don't know what it is you want me to see."
Sighing, she retrieved the quilt and wrapped herself in it once more. When she'd attained sufficient modesty, she sat on the edge of the bed. "Her hips are narrower. If they're as narrow as our mother's, she'll have the same trouble."
Fin shifted closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. "Does she know that, do you think?"
"She said it to me once. 'I'm built like Mama.' I didn't know what she meant by it, figured she was saying she was likely to miscarry. But that's not what she meant at all."
"So what do we do?"
Anna twisted in his embrace and kissed him on the forehead. "You go the hell back to sleep. It's your night off. I'm going to keep reading." She was halfway back to the desk before she realized the rustling sounds behind her weren't him settling back down to sleep. She turned to see him getting out of bed. "Where do you think you're going?"
He retrieved his breeches and tugged them on. "First, I'm going to build the fire back up. Then, I'm going downstairs to see about getting a pot of coffee brewed for us."
"Us?"
"Us." Fin came over to where she stood, caught between trying to bully him back into bed and her hurry to get back to her books. He tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear. "You're sister's not the only healer you know, pretty girl. And she'll be a bit preoccupied that day, no doubt. I can write down a few things you might want to look for, if I can't get home in time when the day comes."
Sense won out over stubbornness. He could help her. She grinned at him, conceding this argument. "All right, all right. I'll take all the help I can get. You sure you wouldn't rather catch up on your sleep?"
"Aye," he said, then gave her a devil's grin. "Though, I don't suppose I can convince you to find your nightgown when I go downstairs? If the fire gets it warm enough in here for you to shuck that quilt, I'm going to be distracted. Not that I'd be complaining, mind you, but..."
"I'll think about it." She pulled him close for a kiss. When they parted, the laughter was gone from her eyes.
He turned serious, too, squeezing her shoulders. "Threnn will be all right, Anna. She's in good hands with you, aye. With all of us." He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, then bent to tend to the fireplace.
"I hope so," she said, and tried not to think of Threnny in the dream, wracked with pain.
Thenia had kept up her pleasant chatter through it all, but Anna saw her eyes getting tighter and tighter as the morning wore on. By the time she ceded the floor to Maggie at lunchtime, her smile was more of a rictus. As Anna kissed her mother goodbye in the back room, she saw Padraig slip a healthy shot of whiskey into Thenia's noontime cup of coffee.
She'd trekked across Stormwind to the Rose, then, to meet Threnny for lunch and yet another futile sewing lesson. At the very least, her sister wasn't jabbing the needle into her fingers with every other stitch anymore. But she was nervous and fidgety, feeling the last few weeks of pregnancy weighing on her. It didn't help that the baby was kicking up a storm, picking up on her mother's mood.
After half an hour, they'd given up on sewing altogether. Anna brewed her some chamomile tea and insisted she lay down for the rest of the afternoon. She sang old ballads until Threnn finally drifted off to sleep, then slipped out the door and went in search of Bricu.
---
She found him at the orphanage, out in the back, washing diapers. Or, contemplating washing them. There was a tub of steaming hot, sudsy water, a clothesline with a plethora of pins strung across the courtyard, a basket of soiled cloth diapers, and a Northman with a look of horror on his normally-smirking face.
A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. Bricu whirled.
"Yeh think it's so funny, yeh can have diaper duty when yer niece is born."
"Oh no," she said, still tittering. "You're not getting out of it that easy. Threnny'd see through it in a heartbeat."
"Shite." He abandoned the assembly line of yuck to come stand beside her and roll a cigarette. "Gotta let that water stop boilin' anyway," he said, striking his match and taking a deep drag as the tip of the cigarette caught. "Everythin' all right?"
"Yeah. Threnny's napping now. Just wanted to stop in and suggest you bring her flowers or something tonight. She's got herself fretting."
"Och. I will." He glanced at her sidelong. "Don't suppose yeh want ta take over for me so I can go home early, then?"
"Nope. You're on your own, brother-mine. Fin's got the night off. I'm on the way to Dalaran."
His grin said I told you so, but he didn't say it aloud. "Then what the hell are yeh still doin' here?"
"Leaving," she said, and gave him a sympathetic pat as he turned back to the diapers and sighed.
---
The evening went well, too -- dinner on the balcony of the Legerdemain and a bottle of fine wine. Fin read aloud a letter he'd received from Celine in Stromgarde; he talked about his assignments in Icecrown. They brought a bottle of Dalaran red back to the room they'd rented, and Anna worked the knots out of his shoulders while they sat on the rug by the fire, catching up.
Then the wine was gone, and their conversation trailed off into companionable silence. Anna pulled Fin to his feet, placed his hands on her hips, and led him back towards the bed. Grinning, he followed.
Her dreamless sleep potions lay unused in the bottoms of her packs.
---
There was a woman who looked familiar, though Anna couldn't place the face. She was thin as a rail, streaks of grey in her dark hair despite her otherwise youthful face. The summer sun had darkened her skin so much, she could have passed for a Gilnean fishwife.
She lay on a pile of tangled silks, the air smelling of sawdust and paint and fresh cut wood. Dusky sunlight poured in through the windows and pooled on the floor in a pattern that struck Annalea with odd familiarity.
This was the shop, then, and the woman on the floor -- the woman bleeding on the floor -- was Mama.
And she was screaming.
Footsteps pounded along the street. Anna turned as a young John Bell burst through the door, an auburn-haired woman right behind. She was already shouting orders before she dropped to her knees beside Thenia. Four small faces peered in through the doorway, two girls and two boys. Threnny and the Bells and me...
"Robert, Will," said John, his voice filled with forced calm, "go fetch Padraig. He's at the Guild House. Interrupt the meeting and get him back here. Threnody, take your sister upstairs and play. Your mother will be just fine."
Four small voices chorused "Yes, sir." The boys took off down the street at a run. Threnn pulled Anna through the front room of the shop, both girls' eyes wide with fear, gazes locked on their mother.
Thenia raised her head from the silks, the beautiful patterns now stained with blood and ruined. "I'm all right, girls," she said. "Don't you wo--" Her teeth clenched as she bit back another scream. The girls froze. Mrs. Bell reached down and squeezed her hand, giving her husband a look. John didn't need any more prompting; he scooped the al'Cair girls up and carried them to the stairs at the back.
Annalea's vision blurred. Suddenly she was seeing her mother through her own two-year old eyes. Dream faded into memory as she bobbed along on John Bell's shoulder, Threnn's hand reaching for her own. They stared at their mother, lying on the floor in a pool of dying sunlight, while Mrs. Bell cleaned up the blood with the ruined fabrics.
Then it was a dream once more -- her mother's hair darkened, her form filled out, her skin lightened. She threw her head back as another wave of pain ripped through her.
By the time it passed, she was panting from the exhaustion. She looked up towards the stairs, and Anna realized the only thing that hadn't changed were the woman's eyes.
For a moment, for the briefest, most fleeting glimpse, she wasn't looking at Thenia lying there, losing the baby that would have been Anna and Threnn's little brother.
In her dream, now, it was Threnny lying there on the floor in pain. Her sister's shrieks drove her towards waking.
---
Anna sat bolt upright, sheened in sweat, heart pounding in her ears. Beside her, Fin slept on. She slipped out from between the covers and lit the lamp, turning the wick low so she wouldn't wake him. Quietly as she could, she stole the quilt from where it had been kicked to the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders against the chill that had crept into the room once the fire had burnt down.
In her bags were books on midwifery that were long overdue from the Stormwind library. She pulled them out, spread them across the room's small writing desk, and sat, flipping pages and muttering to herself. Her shivering might have been from a draft in the room or the remnants of the dream, she wasn't sure which.
When she forgot her self-imposed silence and slammed a hand down on the table in frustration, Fingold stirred. "Anna?" He sat up, hair corkscrewed with sleep, and blinked at her in the dim light. "What's going on?"
She winced, but didn't look up at him. "I'm not ready. Less than two months and I don't know nearly all the things I should."
"About...?"
"About helping Threnny deliver the baby."
"It's... it has to be three in the morning. Come back to bed, Anna."
"No."
Fin rubbed at his face, trying to wake himself up. He waited to see if she'd offer any further explanation, but she'd turned her full attention to the tomes in front of her. "I don't understand," he said at last.
Her eyes were wide and frightened when she finally lifted her gaze, the dream still echoing in them. "Threnny's built like Mama."
His brow furrowed. "That's a good thing, isn't it? She had both of you just fine."
"But she didn't. Fin, we almost killed her. Both of us." She pushed her books away and got up, crossing the room to perch beside him. "She lost two babies before Threnn and one after me. I... I thought I was too young when it happened to remember the last one, but I dreamed about it tonight."
"But that was your mother, not Threnn. I'm sure she'll be fine." He reached for her hand, but she'd already stood up again. The quilt fell away, the lamp behind her showing her form in silhouette. "Anna, what..."
"Look at me, Fin." She ran her hands along the swell of her hips. "Now think how Threnny's shaped."
"It's... awfully hard to think of your sister when... Not that I think about Threnn when you're not standing in front of me... uh... undressed... But I... er." Despite the low light, she could see the blush creeping up in his cheeks. Ever the gentleman, he averted his eyes and spoke to her through gritted teeth. "I don't know what it is you want me to see."
Sighing, she retrieved the quilt and wrapped herself in it once more. When she'd attained sufficient modesty, she sat on the edge of the bed. "Her hips are narrower. If they're as narrow as our mother's, she'll have the same trouble."
Fin shifted closer to her, wrapped his arms around her. "Does she know that, do you think?"
"She said it to me once. 'I'm built like Mama.' I didn't know what she meant by it, figured she was saying she was likely to miscarry. But that's not what she meant at all."
"So what do we do?"
Anna twisted in his embrace and kissed him on the forehead. "You go the hell back to sleep. It's your night off. I'm going to keep reading." She was halfway back to the desk before she realized the rustling sounds behind her weren't him settling back down to sleep. She turned to see him getting out of bed. "Where do you think you're going?"
He retrieved his breeches and tugged them on. "First, I'm going to build the fire back up. Then, I'm going downstairs to see about getting a pot of coffee brewed for us."
"Us?"
"Us." Fin came over to where she stood, caught between trying to bully him back into bed and her hurry to get back to her books. He tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear. "You're sister's not the only healer you know, pretty girl. And she'll be a bit preoccupied that day, no doubt. I can write down a few things you might want to look for, if I can't get home in time when the day comes."
Sense won out over stubbornness. He could help her. She grinned at him, conceding this argument. "All right, all right. I'll take all the help I can get. You sure you wouldn't rather catch up on your sleep?"
"Aye," he said, then gave her a devil's grin. "Though, I don't suppose I can convince you to find your nightgown when I go downstairs? If the fire gets it warm enough in here for you to shuck that quilt, I'm going to be distracted. Not that I'd be complaining, mind you, but..."
"I'll think about it." She pulled him close for a kiss. When they parted, the laughter was gone from her eyes.
He turned serious, too, squeezing her shoulders. "Threnn will be all right, Anna. She's in good hands with you, aye. With all of us." He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, then bent to tend to the fireplace.
"I hope so," she said, and tried not to think of Threnny in the dream, wracked with pain.
Re: Earthroot
Annalea sat beneath the rowan tree, the full moon's light filtering down through its leaves, affording her just enough illumination to dig by. She sang as she worked, softly enough so she wouldn't wake Mrs. Stone and her apprentice. The chandler had planted this tree before Annalea was born, to ward off evil spirits; now Anna hoped it would lend its protection to her niece.
She pawed down through the soft earth until her fingers struck the jar she'd buried when the moon was new. The concoction inside bathed her hands in a soft glow as the moonwell water within caught its lady's light. Flecks of crushed herbs floated within -- sage and kingsblood for wisdom, dreaming glory for clear sight. She unscrewed the cap and set it aside.
From her herb pouch, she pulled a few more ingredients. First, a tiny sprig of foxglove -- they said the stalks leaned over when spirits were present. Then Khadgar's Whisker, to strengthen the spell. She rolled them both in her palms, to crush the leaves and release their oils. The only things left to add were contained in two crystal vials she'd wrapped in white silk. One was half-filled with a thick, dark liquid; the other contained only a few drops of something clear.
---
She handed her belt knife to him hilt-first. "Prick your finger for me."
Bricu didn't take it, instead looking at her as though she'd gone mad. He glanced around the Rose's kitchen and dropped his voice. "What the fuck are yeh playin' at, Annie?"
Anna dropped hers, too, even though none of the staff seemed to be listening. "I'm not playing at anything. I need it for the Naming. A father sheds his blood to protect his child."
That wiped the mockery out of his eyes; he wouldn't snub the Old Ways. He slid the knife closer and held its tip against the pad of his middle finger. "A father sheds his blood," he repeated as a fat bead of red welled up. "What does a mother shed, then?"
Anna took his hand and turned it over, catching the first couple of drops in the vial she held ready. She squeezed his finger, coaxing forth a few more before she stoppered it and replied. "Tears."
The Light flared as he closed the wound, bathing his glower in a flash gold. "Yer goin' ta make me Threnny cry?"
"These days, my sister cries at the drop of a hat." She showed him the twin container to his blood-filled one, the liquid within barely visible. "Or a stitch."
"Och."
"If it's any consolation, she was so confused when I came at her with the vial, it stopped the crying." She tucked her tools away and kissed him on the cheek as she stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
---
Anna swirled the contents of the smaller vials together, still crooning her song. A woman's tears, her husband's blood -- they were the elements of countless songs. Stark images, but true; it's what gave them power. She tilted the mixture into the jar, the glow of the enchanted water dimming as the darker liquid diffused throughout.
One last ingredient, and tonight's work would be done. She took a slip of paper and a pen from her pocket, and wrote a single name. Three times she folded it, until it was smaller than a fingernail, and tucked it into the jar.
In three days' time, the moon would be waning and she'd add the last things -- ashes and sweet oils for the anointing -- but for now, the jar went back into the ground, nestled in its earthen bed beneath the rowan tree. As Anna patted the dirt over it, she sang a lullaby that was older than the founding of Stromgarde.
Into its melody, so softly even the night-birds couldn't hear, she wove her niece's Name.
She pawed down through the soft earth until her fingers struck the jar she'd buried when the moon was new. The concoction inside bathed her hands in a soft glow as the moonwell water within caught its lady's light. Flecks of crushed herbs floated within -- sage and kingsblood for wisdom, dreaming glory for clear sight. She unscrewed the cap and set it aside.
From her herb pouch, she pulled a few more ingredients. First, a tiny sprig of foxglove -- they said the stalks leaned over when spirits were present. Then Khadgar's Whisker, to strengthen the spell. She rolled them both in her palms, to crush the leaves and release their oils. The only things left to add were contained in two crystal vials she'd wrapped in white silk. One was half-filled with a thick, dark liquid; the other contained only a few drops of something clear.
---
She handed her belt knife to him hilt-first. "Prick your finger for me."
Bricu didn't take it, instead looking at her as though she'd gone mad. He glanced around the Rose's kitchen and dropped his voice. "What the fuck are yeh playin' at, Annie?"
Anna dropped hers, too, even though none of the staff seemed to be listening. "I'm not playing at anything. I need it for the Naming. A father sheds his blood to protect his child."
That wiped the mockery out of his eyes; he wouldn't snub the Old Ways. He slid the knife closer and held its tip against the pad of his middle finger. "A father sheds his blood," he repeated as a fat bead of red welled up. "What does a mother shed, then?"
Anna took his hand and turned it over, catching the first couple of drops in the vial she held ready. She squeezed his finger, coaxing forth a few more before she stoppered it and replied. "Tears."
The Light flared as he closed the wound, bathing his glower in a flash gold. "Yer goin' ta make me Threnny cry?"
"These days, my sister cries at the drop of a hat." She showed him the twin container to his blood-filled one, the liquid within barely visible. "Or a stitch."
"Och."
"If it's any consolation, she was so confused when I came at her with the vial, it stopped the crying." She tucked her tools away and kissed him on the cheek as she stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
---
Anna swirled the contents of the smaller vials together, still crooning her song. A woman's tears, her husband's blood -- they were the elements of countless songs. Stark images, but true; it's what gave them power. She tilted the mixture into the jar, the glow of the enchanted water dimming as the darker liquid diffused throughout.
One last ingredient, and tonight's work would be done. She took a slip of paper and a pen from her pocket, and wrote a single name. Three times she folded it, until it was smaller than a fingernail, and tucked it into the jar.
In three days' time, the moon would be waning and she'd add the last things -- ashes and sweet oils for the anointing -- but for now, the jar went back into the ground, nestled in its earthen bed beneath the rowan tree. As Anna patted the dirt over it, she sang a lullaby that was older than the founding of Stromgarde.
Into its melody, so softly even the night-birds couldn't hear, she wove her niece's Name.