Wildfire Riders

Aely hadn't taken much part in the bustling that surrounded the impending arrival of Threnn and Bricu's child. Phileas had let her know earlier that day that the birth was eminent - that day even - and everyone in the whole city seemed to know about it by the time she'd arrived in the bright afternoon sunlight of late spring.

Pfeh, ye'd jus' be in th' way, an' ye kens it. Birth's a squirrely thing, an' Haemon an' Annie's there, an' by th' whisperin' 'round town, likely half th' city's waitin' downstairs. Dinnae be a nuisance, lass, an' lend y'r hand later when th' new's worn off.

It was half true - there wasn't a shop in the canal district that didn't seem to already know about the impending baby. She'd stopped in at Morgan Pestle's, and even Mrs. Cross knew that something was up with the Riders. She'd bustled Aely in and out - apparently this week was Spring Cleaning at the Silver Shield - with her motherly voice scolding about bootprints on the stairs.

Fiffy! (who'd told her about THAT nickname, Aely wasn't sure, but was rather prepared to strangle them) I heard on the wind that Missus Bittertongue's babe's to be delivered - and she of her great weight as well. You ought to go, you know, you've seen births before, never know what you might help with. Don't touch the railing, lovey, it's oiled. Besides, that's the first babe in awhile for that ragtag bunch of ruffians you two tarry about with, yes? What an occasion, you don't want to miss it! Now get!!

She chased the much taller paladin up the stairs and outside, brandishing a dustmop furiously and shutting the door with a final "shoo" motion of her broom.

Aely made her way across town, decidedly not hurrying, towards the Gilded Rose.

The other half she wasn't quite willing to admit yet, at least not to herself. She /had/ helped births before - a handful or so, born to various women in the battlefield healing camps. Primitive births, dangerous and relatively rare, but not unheard of. The thought of Threnn in such a situation was slightly dizzying - the thought of her, or of the babe, not surviving was positively nauseating.

Dinna think pish, y' grea' ninny. 's nae like she's off in a battle tent wi' nae but y'rself as a new recruit's hand t' squeeze an' try t' keep frae screamin' y'rself.

Aely shook her head to clear her thoughts as she rounded the corner into the Mage District, trying not to internalize things too much and failing. She looked down at her hand, the ring sparkling on her first finger and sighed.

And stopped short.

She'd not come around the corner into view of the Rose yet, but she could hear the hushed bustling from inside - and a rather recognizable voice from somewhat nearer. Curiosity, nerves, and some sense of honor battled for a moment before curiosity won, and she waited, listening to the one sided conversation between Phileas and the lanky puppy that followed him everywhere lately.

A few moments later, she walked around the corner, torn between a handful of reactions.

"Mmrpht. 'lo love." She sat down on the ground near him. Seconds passed that felt like hours, until they both started talking at once.

"I s'pose ye heard..."
"Overheard ye talkin' wi' Sky, an'..."
"I can explain, if tha'll hear..."
"I dinnae wan' t' eavesdrop, jus'..."
"Dinna want t' worrit ye wi'..."
"Laigh' Philly, I..."

She looked at him, at a loss, and slumped against the side of the stairs.

Huh. Th' porch is shakin'. It took Phileas a moment to realize that in fact, it wasn't the porch that was shaking...it was him. He couldn't even really explain why, but there he was, shivering harder in the May sunshine of Stormwind harder than he ever had in the chill of Northrend. He looked over at Aely, trying to come up with something, anything to say that would brush away the words she wasn't ever supposed to have heard. He tried to laugh, but couldn't. Unable to look at the paladin any longer, he fixed his eyes on the cobbles. Disobediently, his eyes wandered up to focus on his hands, still vibrating with nerves.

"M'sorry...tha werenae...sorry." The expression on Aelflaed's face had stolen any other words. He gulped, and waited to see if his life was about to fall apart due to his talking to a dog. He wanted to run, to go back to Dalaran, back to Sholazar, back to somewhere that he could understand something and master it by sticking a dagger or two in it. But he knew if he ran now, there would be nowhere he could go that would be far enough.

Aely looked back up at him, noticing his hands shaking, half afraid that he would vanish.

"Dinnae be." she spoke softly, almost as though speaking to herself. She looked back at her hands, surprised at the total wash of emotion and nerves that hit her when she saw his face. "I'm nae sorry - well, owt than feelin' sommat dishonest 'bout it. Bu'... no - dinnae be sorry."

Her voice wavered. "Dinnae be sorry f'r owt than tha' ye dinnae say sommat sooner. Sweet Laigh' Phileas... dinnae ye think I'm terrified 'swell?" She reached a hand up to take one of his - her own fingers shaking as well.

The wide-eyed look he gave her made it evident that the idea of her being scared had never crossed his mind. “I...I thowt tha was nervy, maybe...but nae scairt. Nae like...like this.” He twined his fingers through hers, as though he were afraid that the arrival of the baby and the conversation they were having would sweep her away. “Feck's sake...'f we wan' this...why're we sittin' here shakin' like we're abou' tae gae face a dragon air summat? Does bein' scairt mean we're tellin' oursel's we shouldnae...shouldnae be doin' wha' we're doin'?”

"I... well, dinnae ken. I've nae been in th' situation afore, m'self. Bu' I dinnae think's th' wrong thing, t' be sure." She leaned her head back against the edge of the step.

"Wir taken on sommat ... fair important, like. 'S nae sommat easy t' do - an' ... an' means wir takin' on th' world as twa, 'staid ay jus' one. An' someday - wi' a family. An' tha's good things, fairly - an' yet positively takes th' wind frae my chest thinkin' 'bout it, an' wha' happens if sommat goes wrong an' one of us dinnae come back some evenin'. An' I s'pose we've time t' get used t' bein' husband an' wife 'fore we've got t' think on bein' muir an' tha', on family ay our own, bu' laight..."

Aely looked back up at him. "An' I'm ramblin'. Sorry, love."

One corner of Phileas' mouth quirked up as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of Aely's face. "I almos' thin' havin' a family woul' make thin's simpler. The Riders be righ' gran'...but I dinnae thin' owt a'them coul' keep me frae jus' lyin' down beside thee an' quittin' if I were tae lose thee. Nae like a bairn woul'. Bes' nae tae borra that sorrow till th' day of, though. So far's I'm concerned, thee an' me are feckin' immortal...till th' day comes as I'm proved eytherwise."

The paladin shivered. "Fair enow, jus'... dinnae le's talk this way t'day - nae wi' all's goin' upstairs... 's bad luck, on a day wha' can ne'er be sure ay th' outcome. I've seen births tha' dinnae go well, f'r mum air bairn, an' I dinnae wan' t' jinx anythin' f'r Threnny. I s'pose tha's part ay th' fear - 's nae surety wi' a bairn tha' eyther ay us'd survive th' process - an' my mum dinna have luck wi' carryin' eyther."

He squeezed her hand, but didn't say anything.

"How's allat goin' anyroad - y' heard anythin' frae upstairs?"

Phileas shook his head. "Nowt frae there...save Indarra comin' in an' goin' up all of a hurry. Guess that be importan'. An' they'll nae be jinxed - Mum, Da, an' bairn be all Bittertongues." Phileas chuckled softly as he ran his thumb over the back of Aely's hand, amazed at how steady their hands were together. Takin' on th' worl' as twa' 'stead ay one. Doesnae make it less frightenin' I guess...but so long's th' eyther one's her...we'll be awreet.

"They'll be awreet."

At just after midnight, the door started opening and closing with unsettling rapidity. The hooded elfwoman who'd arrived during the labor was first, slipping out the back steps with nary a glimpse. Then the "midwife," such as he was, with an unsettling sort of bundle in his arms, going straight to the washroom with a flickering gaze at the floor below. Finally, the other three guests of the Bittertongues exited together, huddling briefly on the landing. A cigarette was passed between hands, a flame was struck, and then they turned and descended half a flight to the common room.

All the tired, drawn, hopeful faces in the Gilded Rose turned towards them, studying them with a curiosity that bordered on avarice. The two women looked nothing alike, really, and neither of them remotely resembled the man. But in that moment, the smiles on their faces were all of a kind.

Tarquin glanced between the other two, puffing pensively, until Fells nudged him in the ribs as a necessary step of her dance of agonized impatience. The boss snorted and took a step forward. There were at least twenty people down in the common room, and they were all looking to him for an answer - and for once, the prospect didn't worry him in the least. After all, it was pretty simple.

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, spread his hands, and found Padraig and Thenia in the crowd. "Master Al'Cair, Missus Al'Cair - yeh've a lovely gran'daughter. Naiara Bittertongue, yeh lot!" The second half was shouted quite loudly, because at that point near on every soul in the room had burst into raucous cheers. Tarquin turned to Annalea, Fells being occupied shouting herself hoarse. "Job oughta be like this mair often," he murmured.

Annalea smirked at him. "What makes you think it can't?" Chortling, Naiara's godfather stepped down into a welcoming sea of strangers who were, tonight, his bosom companions. A drink was in order.

A woman of flint gray hair crept into the room, smiling quietly from the doorway. A scroll in one hand, a cane in the other, she placed her gift upon the bedside. Father, mother, and child slept soundly now, deservingly so after their ordeal, and she would not disturb their sleep. There would be other days for visits and well wishes.

And so it was a plaque, her own calligraphy upon it, with the blessing she'd written for the girl who was - much to her amazement - her niece.

Daughter of the northern gales,
lass of spring time sun.
Lights be there to see you home
When day's o'er and done.
Daughter of the eastern wood,
lass of summer's moon,
Dance with music in your ear,
for dancing's gone too soon.
Daughter of the southern fire,
lass of autumn's song,
Wool upon your shoulders fair
to keep you safe and strong.
Daughter of the western sea
lass of winter's call,
A hearth and home, a family's love
hardy, brave, and tall.
Daughter of Arathi stone,
lass of stalwart heart,
blessings be from olden kin,
ne'er shall we part.

She’d dug the vial up from beneath the rowan tree just after Threnn’s first call. In the morning light, the mixture’s glow was barely discernible, as much a product of the sun filtering through the crystal as it the magic swirling around inside. When she went upstairs to catch a few more hours of sleep, she laid a strip of white cloth in her windowbox and placed the vial on top of it, so it could gather the sun’s warmth. Blessed by day and night and in-between.

When the time came, the vial rode in her pocket all the way across the city, nestled close to her heart. It stayed there as they counted off the hours, as people came and went. When Threnn put an arm around her shoulder for yet another walk around the room, Anna twined her sister’s fingers with her own, and every step became a syllable of the Name she’d written with the goddess as her witness.

Then came the hours of blood and pain, where the body that had never been anything but hale and hearty betrayed Threnn at last. While they waited for Indarra to arrive, Anna exchanged worried looks with Haemon, and thought of the fading cries of kits in a cave.

But then, at last, there was a girl, a tiny baby in Fells’ careful hands, letting out her first shuddering cries as she was given into her father’s arms, and then her mother’s.

Anna still had Threnn’s blood on her hands as she edged closer to Bricu and reached for the vial, but that was all right; it would only strengthen the spell. A mother will bleed for her child just as much as a father does, after all. She bent over her sister and her niece as she unstoppered the vial and poured some of its contents on her fingertips. It was warm as it splashed out, whether from her own body, or whether it had retained the sun’s heat, she’d never know.

Bricu placed his hand on her back as she brushed sigils on the baby’s forehead, lips and heart with gentle fingers. Anna looked up, waiting for Threnn’s permission. Her sister brushed sweat-darkened hair from her eyes, and nodded.

Annalea smiled, and whispered a Name in the curve of one tiny ear:

Etaine.