For the record, Tarquin, Annalea and Lorelli made significant edits and they made this piece awesome. Furthermore, I am indebted to Tarquin as he gave Bricu the last “word.” That was not my initial intention, and I am grateful that he nailed Bricu down so very well.
–
The bloodiest war that Stormwind never cared about ended at a round table that sat eight.

Next to the gaunt man with straw-colored hair and a simple, but beautifully constructed wide brimmed hat, was a grim looking ginger bastard and a petite, wicked -eyed blonde. Next to her was a night elf woman with green hair who would not stop smirking. Around the other half of the table sat a gnomish woman with dead eyes, a human woman looking uncomfortable in a simple, homespun dress and Draenei man who was unremarkable aside from the series of tattoos across his face and tentacles. To his left, and the gnome’s right, was a vacant chair.

“I think we can all agree that today has been a long time coming, and I, for one, am exceedingly happy to move beyond this dark…” Said the draenei before the ginger bastard cut him off.

“Where the fuck is Angel?” he said.

“The Angel could not be here today, as he had pressing matters of business to attend to given our preliminary agreements…” the Draenei responded. The activity on the other side of the table drowned out his words.

The man in the very fine hat might’ve made a gesture to his fellows. Maybe he was just adjusting his position. Either way, the blonde and the elf stood up, while the ginger bastard leveled a finger and began shouting.

“Fuck this. Yeh said he’d be here. All the major players we’re gonna be here. Now yer boss is too wrapped up in shite ta be here? Then we’re done.”

“Please, there is no need for this situation to devolve further, I am perfectly capable of addressing his requests and demands.” The draenei said calmly.

“That means sit your ass down before we kill you.” The gnome said softly.

“Adorable, isn’t she?” The elf said to the blonde. “In a creepy-porcelain-doll of death kind of way.”

“My family isn’t too keen on spooky dolls,” the blonde responded. She squinted at the now scowling gnome. “But I can see it.”

“Yeh lot ir eh pair o’right cle’er twists. I’d b’a right fookin’ pleasure ta rip out yer fuckin’ tongues.” The woman in the homespun dress said. As she stood up from the table, she drew a wicked curved knife.

“That’s all?” The elf said, drawing two straight edged daggers. “I’m disappointed, sweetheart.”

The man in the very fine hat put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands, looking as bored as if they were talking shipping.

“Enough!” The draenei shouted. “If you insist, I will find him.”

“Boyo, I think we insist.” Bricu said.

The draenei stood up from the table, and motioned for his companions to sit down. They complied, albeit far from willingly. Bricu made a similar motion to Lorelli and Annalea. Annalea stood behind her chair, while Lorelli put her daggers on the table and sat back down. For his part, Bricu leaned against the wall behind Tarquin.

“So.” He said, “If it’s gonna take our friend a long time ta get Angel, we should get at know each other. What’s yer names lasses?”

“Fook off.” The woman said. The gnome said nothing at all.

“Right then. Fook off an’ Glower it is.” Bricu said.

“Figure we should just enjoy some quiet time, Bric.” Lorelli said.

Bricu snorted. Tarquin said nothing.

–

The room was silent for some minutes while they awaited the return of the Draenei and Angel. Tarquin rested his head, Annalea smiled sweetly at the gnome. Lorelli sat sideways in her chair, legs crossed not looking at any of them. Bricu watched the door. Glower and Fook Off conferred with each other, but in hushed tones that even Lorelli struggled to hear.

The draenei entered first. He carried himself taller and straighter, and he smirked as he sat back in his chair.

The Angel was a few feet behind him. He was taller than Tarquin, with Bricu’s broad shoulders and something of Lorelli’s predatory grace, and the innocent, almost beautiful face of a marble statue. He stood behind his chair and smiled at everyone at his table, like he was welcoming them to dinner and they had only to partake of his bounty. His blue eyes rested on Tarquin.

“Master ap Danwyrith, it is truly a pleasure to sit here with you. May I stand?” Angel said. His voice was as rich and clear as a note on a viola.

Tarquin, by comparison, sounded rusty and tired when he spoke for the first time in that room. “Sit, stand, long as we talk.” Bricu took his seat next to Tarquin, and Lore put away her knives. Annalea leaned forward and studied each face at the table carefully. She did not flinch when they made eye contact–instead, she smiled brightly before winking at the Draenei.

“Please, continue.” Annelea said, “We’re all ears.”

The Angel was stone-still, but not stiff or awkward; a man who moved, and could be moved, only when he allowed it so. “I will state the obvious, on the chance that it is not. This conflict has grown beyond reason and profit. I have lost valuable resources.” His three confidants, employees, or henches had no overt reaction to being referred to, by implication, as resources, but Annalea smiled at them all when the Angel said that. “Yet you are not invulnerable, and your people have learned that.” It was his turn to smile, at Lorelli, who looked back with searing, white-hot blankness.

“There’s none o’ us dead,” said Bricu with a sneer. “An’ a whole fuckin’ pile o’ yer best gone ta the dirt. So don’t yeh talk like it’s even, huh?”

Again that soft smile. “Yes, I am sure the judges place you firmly ahead on points. Nevertheless, that you are here at all speaks to the danger of your position.” He stared at Tarquin. “You have few of your Riders to lose, and fewer still that you can afford to lose. I, on the other hand…” He spread his hands. “There are always violent people with more debts than sense. Your luck cannot hold out forever, Master ap Danwyrith.”

The silence would have been oppressive, to a different eight people. All of these, on either side of the table, were well used to it. Finally Tarquin rolled his neck and shrugged. “Obvious. As yeh said. An’ so wir here fir terms.”

The Angel didn’t exactly relax, physically, but there was a lessening of that thick tension in the air. “Let us discuss those vaunted terms. Simply, we will continue to sell our product, as long as we remain outside of Old Town.”

“Aye.” Bricu said.

“In return for this, you won’t…”

“Deal with unmentionables in a clean, quick and terribly efficient fashion.” Lorelli stated matter-of-factly. “We are professionals.”

“And if we say no to these terms?”

The Riders glanced at each other, and one by one each pair of eyes travelled to Tarquin. “Then we’re back where we was, big lad,” said the northman. “Yir people try an’ do business in Auld Town, an’ we float thim home in the canals. We kin keep it up till someone runs outay mates -” he opened his fists and spread his hands apart – “or, we kin do business.”

“I see.” If the Angel had a reaction to that, he wasn’t sharing it. “Well then, do we all sign in ink or in something more permanent?”

Annalea rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the opera. Ink.”

Starting with the Angel and ending with his right-hand Draenei, everyone around the table signed the name.

Bricu snorted as the paper passed him. “Yer signin’ this as the Angel?”

“For all intents and purposes, that’s as binding as anything else I would have signed with the name my parents gave me. I intend to enforce this agreement severely. In fact, my organization is aware of how I will enforce discipline on this issue.”

Fook off, who signed her name as Clara Hunt, shuddered at the mention of discipline. The Draenei paled, but the gnome gave no indication of any concern.

“Discipline is good.” Lore said, “It should make sure we all play nicely.”

Glower turned her gaze to Loreli, “I agree,” she whispered, just loud enough for the room to hear; “Fire makes for excellent discipline.”

The room was quiet for more than a few moments. Finally, Tarquin broke the silence.

“So that’s us set, then, is it?”

“I suppose it is.” The Angel looked around at them, smiling like a plaster saint. “Until our business conflicts again. We may well see each other at this table in years to come, Master ap Danwyrith – and those of your associates who are still able to join you.” Bricu bristled, but it was Lorelli who spoke.

“Trust me, I fully intend to outlive you and yours. And by quite some time at that.”

Angel looked over Loreli. Glower simply snickered.

“Miss Tymara, this is not a threat but a fact, with figures. One in your line of work doesn’t grow old gracefully.” He looked almost sad about it. “In fact, likely none of you will grow old. You can cheat death only for so long before she claims what is hers…and I am certain you are each far, far in the red.”

Silence weighed down the room for a long moment. Again, there was some signal from Tarquin that might as well have been a slight shift in his seat; Bricu put an already-rolled cigarette in his hand, and Annalea leaned in on his other side with a light. “I take that ta mean, mate, that yeh’ll be waitin’ when the books are due ta be balanced.”

The Angel inclined his head. “It’s just good business.”

Tarquin took a long drag while the Angel waited with ironic patience, his subordinates following his lead. These things had a form, after all. Finally Tarquin ejected two jets of smoke from his nostrils and spoke.

“S’pose so. Only – I’m no’ really a businessman, big lad. None ay us are, proper. Did yeh ken that?” He stood, and the Riders stood with him – Bricu hard-eyed and sneering, Lorelli stretching like a well-fed jungle cat, Annalea’s gaze flickering between faces and her mouth crooked in a slight smirk.

The Angel answered, after a pause, his smile just this side of wary. “I can’t say I’d thought much one way or the other about it, Master ap Danwyrith. But we are doing business – so if not, what then?”

Tarquin pulled the cigarette from his mouth and smiled, a white wide fence that kept in things better not considered. “Nutters,” he said, almost happily, and extended his free hand to the two women. “Murderin’ witches. Red-handed savages. [i]Mad bastards[/i].” He dropped the stub of cigarette and laughed. “Shite, big lad, think I set out ta live like this? None ay us did – it’s the only friggin’ thing we got left. An’ yeh want ta try an’ take it? Guid luck t’yeh.”

The Angel couldn’t help but smile back, or at least, that was the impression he wanted to give. “Why, Master ap Danwyrith, I’ve never been so amiably threatened.”

“Ah, I’m no’ threatenin’ yeh. Hell, we do business again–” Tarquin stepped back, half-turning towards the door. “Bric?”

With a suddenness all the more shocking for how placid the negotiations had been, Bricu stepped into Tarquin’s spot, hands slamming down onto the table, teeth bared, eyes bright and deadly. “We fuckin’ do business again, yeh get me,” snarled the Bittertongue. “The chief’s the fuckin’ businessman. I’m a bloody-minded north country bastard, an’ I don’t care what the fuck it costs, or any o’ that shite!” He swept his eyes across the four of them, Lorelli looming at his shoulder, tongue darting across her lips with an uncomfortably serpentine air.

The Angel had no response, a guarded lack of expression on his face, and none of his anxious lieutenants dared to speak. Again came one of those barely-notable signals from Tarquin, and Annalea smiled sunnily. “A pleasure, you lot,” she purred, and linked arms with Tarquin, the two of them heading to the door. Lorelli took two long steps backward, turned gracefully, and followed.

Bricu was the last out, but not before making a wet death-rattle in his throat and gobbing mucus across the Angel’s pristine table. “Come on if yeh think yer hard enough,” he said, leaving the challenge and the splitting behind him as he turned on his heel and walked after his fellows. Annalea gave the Angel a last lingering, unreadable look, and closed the door behind him.

And then the war was done.

The Pig and Whistle is full of people tonight: A Northern music session is drawing a crowd to the loft, while the back tables are full of smoke and schemers. Bricu is sitting to the right of the head of the table. The chair is empty, of course, and despite the crowd none of the regulars go near it. Bricu waves you over and invites you to have a seat…

Strewth, yeh want ta know ’bout the boss? That’s his chair yeh know. He’ll be in later. Till then…

I first met Tarquin ap Danwyrth when I was King o’Stormwind. I was three sheets ta the wind, stumblin’ down the main thoroughfare o’the Trade Quarter when I heard him yell after some crazy bugger ’bout bein’ some sorta fuckin’ dragon or some such nonsense. I turned ’round–hopin’ ta actually see a dragon–an’ instead I see this lanky wanker o’a bloke, leanin’ up against Pestle’s like he was supportin’ it with his own ego. I can’t remember rightly if he was in twill, but he sure as shite was wearin’ a bloody brilliant hat.

The bloke he was yellin’ at stood rightly Seven Feet tall, but with each shout, the nutter slouched more an more. Now, I knew this nutter. I’d crossed words, an swords, with ‘im in the past. I didn’t feel any sorta loyalty ta ‘im. I didn’t feel any pity either. I wanted ta see if the lanky blonde bloke had stones. So I shouted after ‘im. I said:

“Oi, shut yer mouth yeh great blonde poofda!”

The nutter stood a wee bit taller fer a moment. Me great blonde poofda didn’t miss a beat. He shouted after the nutter–by the light, the nutter shrank a good foot–an’ then shouted after me:

“Shut your bloody mouth you red-haired sheep fucker.”

Please notice, I’m translatin’ his accent fer yeh. Accoridin’ ta Southrons, Northman’s accents sound like one part cotton-mouth, one part gentry an one part drunk, topped off with clipped tones o’a pipe player bein’ pelted by rotten fruit. Personally, I think we speak perfect common–its yeh other bastards that mispronounce words.

Anyway, we’d exchanged our first witty banter by shoutin’ down the streets. I think I shouted that he shouldn’t talk ta his king that way… It doesn’t really matter. We eventually both made route ta the Pig fer a drink. Turns out he knew me “nephew” Uthas, an’ that he ran with a crew from Gilneas: The Greymane Exiles. I don’t remember whose colors I wore at that point. I know I wasn’t drunk enough ta be slummin with the Cats, nor was I with the Heroes… That doesn’t matter either. He told me he’d get me a job here an’ there. I told him his majesty welcomed the work.

Turns out the Oathbreaker–that’s a story fer a different time– was good ta his word. I ran with their crew a few times ta the Molten Core. Once ta the Lair. We did a few odd jobs ’round the world. Never went ta Stratholme t’gether. That was ta painfull fer us both…

Then me nephew went wonky. An’ bloodthristy. He sent assassins ta e’ery big lights damned hero in the known world–Alliance an Horde–an fled ta his camp. That helped shatter the Greymanes. Hell, it shattered a lot o’folk. But we rallied enough ta send me nephew an’ his flock North without their bloody boats. A victory is a victory, even if it leaves ashes in yer mouth.

Once Tarq an’ the remains o’his crew came back south, ta the Pig, they started up with the Riders. I wasn’t at the plannin’ session–or maybe I was an’ I was King o’Stormwind again–but he handed me a piece o’paper incorporatin’ the Black an’ Red. Now last time I signed a contract, I enlisted with Lordaeron’s Army. This time, I signed up with a merc group. I thought it o’er fer a second, demanded ta have a say in what booze we bought fer the Pig, an’ signed me life o’er.

That’s our boss. He’s a quick wit with a plan. I never saw his knife–lest he was workin–but I can assure yeh at least one is in reach at all times. Even when he’s sleepin, he’s got one nearby. He’s a Northman who has done his share o’work fer the Crown–why else do yeh think Shaw has a hard-on fer ‘im?–but now works fer his crew. If yeh want ta see him, he’s upstairs. That session that’s goin’ on? He’s the fiddler. The blonde next ta him–the one singin’–is me sister-in-law. Turns out he’s not a poofda after all…

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.

–
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.

Thenia al’Cair was an exception, but as time has gone on, the woman has grown increasingly fretful. Deeming this unhelpful to Threnn, Annalea finally ushers her mother out of the room, closing the door gently but firmly behind her.

* Bricu fidgets.
* Haemon sighs.

Well. That’s one thing out of the way. I’ll be hearing about it for the next ten years.

She’s gonna be a fuckin’ mess Annie.

You want her to be a fucking mess up here or down there?

As long as yer mum don’t bring it up every year from now… Down there is fine.

I personally would prefer she not be here to upset Threnn. Speaking of which,

Threnn, are we up for another few laps around the room?

* Threnn grimaces.

Careful now…careful, jest. Don’ -hurt- her none. …more.

Ought to have built me one of those hamster wheels.

Ah, the lad kens ‘is business.

I should look into that. Portable running wheels for expectant mothers. I expect I would lose all my patients.

There’s a touch mair at it’n jus’ havin’ ‘em walk circles, innit?

Well

Nah. They’d want to keep them for losing the baby weight after.

I would merely expect they would be insulted, actually.

* Threnn sighs and gets to her feet anyway.
* Haemon helps.
* Fells rushes to help, anxious.

Oi, love, yeh…

* Tarq stays the hell out of the way.
* Bricu watches his wife get surrounded by help.

Yeh know, I thought she’d be…I dunno, lyin’ down or somethin’?

Think tha’s fer the later, Bric. Mean, innit?

Myst’ries ay childbirth.
I think, auld boy, thit by the time this eve’s done wir both ta ken mair’n we ivir wanted.

s’all part o’me plan for omniscience.

Walking helps. Gravity. Really. It works this way.

This helps make her comfortable. And um.
That.

Och. Distractin’ sounds more like it.

* Threnn eyes the men from where she’s propped up between Haemon and Fells.

Wouldja rather concentrate onnis?
* Fells gives Bricu a Look.

How long until we throw them out?

Strewth, I’m just concentratin’ on me lovely wife s’all.

‘s long as they’re not channelling my mother, they can stay.

Now there’s a terrifyin’ thought.

strewth.

Isn’t it?

I can picture it now.

* Haemon leads Threnn around the room, slowly.
* Threnn makes a slow circuit.

Oh, bloody…

What?

Whatsit? Threnny?

Oi, missus, yeh alright?

* Threnn grits her teeth.
‘s fine. Nature.

* Fells winces at her grip, but squeezes back all the same.
Don’ fret, we’s here.

Awright, Threnny, jus’ another couple, eh?

* Threnn takes a few deep breaths.
If only, Tarq.
They’re closer, though. Least there’s that.

* Bricu absently reaches for his tobacco pouch, which is not on his belt.
S’a good thing, then, right?

It is. The more frequent the contractions, the closer we are to the birth.

Think so. Means she’s eagerer ta git free.
Out.
Born.
* Fells frowns.
Sorry. Not jest out, like…

Oi. Fellsie. We got it.

* Haemon pats Fells. It’s the “Okay, that’s enough” pat.
* Fells sighs.

* Threnn looks up again.
You, uh. Do I keep going?

You can lie down again, if you would like. At some point, I should likely see if you are dialating.

* Fells looks a smidge uncomfortably.
Not all’a us gots t’look, though. Ayeh?

Sweet Light, I hope not.

No. The fewer eyes, the better, really.

* Bricu grumbles.
yer damn right…

I volunteer ta stay here an’ study the wall.
No offense, Threnny.

M’kinda with Tarq onnat part.

None taken.

None taken.

Then we are all agreed, I believe.
* Haemon grimaces briefly, then returns to smiling placidly.
* Threnn starts steering back towards the bed.
* Haemon helps!
* Fells hobbles along.
Here, now, there…

Right.

* Threnn settles back down onto the bed.
Thank you.

Missus, yeh want for anythin’?

* Haemon takes out his pocketwatch, still silently counting from the last contraction.
* Fells rearranges pillows, more for wont of something to be useful doing than anything.

No, I’m all right, I think.
* Threnn closes her eyes as another hits.

* Haemon tucks his watch away.

Oi, Fellsie, mind if I scooch by yeh?

Five. We are progressing nicely.

Nono, ‘course. Here.
* Fells steps away, her eyes fixed on Threnn.
…looks like it hurts…

It’s the rumor.

* Fells winces.

Yeah, I can… confirm it.

Should I not mention it will likely get somewhat worse?

Awdamn.
* Fells bites her lip.

‘s what they say.

I…I don’t got a thing t’say.

They also say it is entirely worth it. Shall we see how we are doing?

I could juggle.
Do card tricks.

Yer gonna git smacked inna tick, Tarquin.

Oh, it’s not every mother who has her very own entertainer. I like this idea.

Yeh got a trick that’ll make the birth easier?

* Annalea rolls her eyes at her sister and gets a sheet, for privacy.

Ferget adventurin’ an’ makin’ money the hard way Tarq. Yeh can get a bunch o’ professional card sharks t’do tricks

As a sleight of hand artist, perhaps you could pull the baby from behind her ear?

I do, but it comes in a brown bottle an’ it’s prolly no’ recommended by medicine.

‘member a time when it was…

Actually, at this point, the baby is no longer being fed so much by mother, so….

So I could waddle down to the Pig and have a pint?

No, -no.-
* Fells does not see the jest.

Hypothetically. The larger risk would be the baby falling out and cracking its head on the pavement on the way.

Och, next lap, just down the stairs.

I agree, s’completely unacceptable.

* Bricu blinks.

A pint. What’re yeh thinkin’?
Whiskey does’na come in pints.

That’s an image I didn’t need Shad…
Strewth.
* Bricu whispers to Tarq.
* Tarq snorts laughter and claps Bricu on the shoulder.

* Threnn snickers at Tarquin.
Oh. Oh, ow.

Another? Already?

Yeah. Small one.

* Haemon straightens the sheet over Threnn.

* Fells looks confused.
They come in sizes?

Intensities.

Big ow, little ow.

All right, no more joking from me. You lot are free to continue. Laughter helps.

Doessit truly?
* Fells tries.
* Fells doesn’t do well.

Yeh heard the one ’bout the twa Stormwind boys wha’ went ta see the priest?

* Haemon crouches at the far end of Threnn.
* Annalea watches over Haemon’s shoulder.
Pardon me, apologies…

‘s all right.

Nah, never.

Right, so.
There’s these couple City lads. Let’s say it’s Robert an’
William Bell.
In the int’rest ay bein’ familiar, eh?

Aye, aye.

So they go ta confession at the Cathedral, ta talk ta Father Mackenzie. An’ Robert’s first.

* Haemon reaches and peers, still muttering apologies under his breath.

So he goes up ta the booth, an’ says “Forgive me, Father, for I’ve sinned. I had carnal knowledge ay an unmarried woman.”

* Threnn tries to see what Haemon’s doing, even though that’s physically impossible.

…brilliantly fuckin’ timed there Tarq….

Innit?

s’like the Light inspired yeh

An’ Father Mackenzie frowns an’ sighs, wi’ great disappointment, an’ says “Ah, my son, it grieves me ta hear this. Wha’ was the poor lassie?”
An’ Robert goes “I’m sorry, Father, I kinna tell yeh thit, I dinna wanna shame her.”
So the auld Father, he thinks ’bout lassies he knows from the young Bell’s neighborhood. “Was it, uh, Susan Creely, my boy?”
“Nah, father,” says Robert, “I kinna tell.”

* Haemon emerges from under the sheet.
About three inches. We should be crowning soon. Sorry to interrupt, do continue.

Crownin’?

“It’s virra important, me lad. Wis it-” nothin’ ay it, Shad – “Darce McKearn?”

We will see the baby’s head start to appear and push through.

Right…right.

Och, guid.

should’ve fuckin’ known that bit.

S’pose it’ll be a few years at least afore they put ‘er oan the throne, Bric.

At the least.

* Annalea snorts. “I think Robert *did* fuck Da–”
* Annalea shuts up.
* Fells blinks at Anna.

Anyhow. Robert says “I’m sorry, Father, I kinna say either wey.”

* Fells grins.

couple… only a couple.

An’ Father MacKenzie sighs. “I should know, for the benefit of her soul. Was it…”
* Tarq pauses and looks over at Annie, grinning slyly.

* Annalea puts on her angelic face.

“…Thenia Al’Cair?”
* Tarq keeps a perfectly straight face.

* Haemon fails not to laugh.

* Annalea blinks.
* Threnn blinks.

Yeh see, he wis tryin’ ta think ay lasses that’d…anyhow!
Robert still will’na tell ‘im.

* Fells snickers.
* Bricu snorts once, trying to keep from laughing. He glances once at Tarquin then keels over with laughter.

So fin’ly Father MacKenzie gies it up. “Aright, my son, I kin respect thit. So I’ll need yeh ta say ten Verses ay Pentinence an’ spend six hours in the church garden. Go an’ sin na more.”
An’ Robert walks out ay the booth an’ back ta the pew , an’ his brither asks “Aright, Robert, what’d he gie yeh?”
An’ Rob says “Ten verses, six hours in the garden, an’ three names.”
* Tarq clasps his fingers together and grins.

…
* Fells shakes her head, laughing.
That ain’t -right.-

* Threnn bursts out laughing.
* Haemon grins, ducks under, and calls out from within the sheet. “Three and a half!”

…is thit a measurement, or did I miss yin?

That was a measurement.

I think it was a joke, boss.

Sorry, I should specify. Inches.

* Fells holds her fingers apart, about yea wide.
* Haemon extends his arm out from under the sheet. It’s about thiiiiis far.
* Fells cocks her head.
You umn. You doin’ a’right there, Threnny?

Oh. I thought there wis a lass ay only half-doubtful virtue in the joke I fergot.
If yeh dinna mind, I’m gonna pretend thit’s what it wis.

You are welcome to.

* Tarq nods. It might just be his wardrobe, but he’s looking slightly green.

They wait. One hour, two. The contractions start coming closer together, lasting longer. Threnn’s in pain, but managing. Bricu and Fells take turns holding her hand, relieving one another when the need to fidget grows too strong. Tarq lounges, tries to keep everyone’s spirits up, and covers up his own nervousness with wisecracks.

Meanwhile, Shad begins to frown.

* Annalea glances towards Haemon.
* Haemon frowns. Deeply.

Anna, I think I need my buzzbox.

Och, why?

Fells, would you–it is in my bag…

* Tarq ‘s gaze snaps over to Haemon.
* Haemon stands up to stretch slightly.
* Threnn pushes herself up to her elbows.

The head disappeared. It crowned, and then it retracted. And I have no idea what it is doing, so I would like some advice.

Fells, overwhelmed by the circumstances, faints. (aka, internets go splat)

* Annalea helps Fells into a chair and retrieves Haemon’s buzzbox in her place.
* Tarq finger-drums on his knees, eyes flickering between Haemon and Threnn.

Bloody hell. Shad, who’re yeh callin’?

* Haemon takes it and awkwardly dials a frequency, glancing over at Bricu. He puts the thing down as quiet as he can.
A, ah….an acquaintance. More experienced than I.
* Haemon turns away from Bricu.

What’s happening?

Priestess?
Calling the baby hotline, that is all, no need to worry.

* Bricu smiles at Threnn
Shad’s callin’ fer advice.
An’ *just* advice.

Gonna keep everythin’ runnin’ smooth

* Bricu glances at Haemon
* Haemon mutters quietly into his box.
* Threnn squeezes Bricu’s hand, hard, as a contraction hits.

* Bricu doesn’t stop smiling.
It’s all right missus. S’allright.

* Annalea touches Haemon’s shoulder.
* Haemon turns around.
Hmm?
* Annalea nods towards the bed, trying not to look too alarmed. There’s blood.
* Haemon frowns slightly and crosses back to check, taking the box with him.

Threnn, are you in pain?

* Tarq keeps his face mask-still, fingers folded in front of his chest.

You talking intensities again?
Because ‘s fairly constant.

Are you currently feeling any -new- brand of pain. Stinging.

I…
* Threnn nods.

* Bricu looks around the room, then back at Threnn. His smile fades.
* Haemon frowns, and looks at Bricu.

You said anything, right?

Just gimme the fuckin’ name.

* Haemon pauses.
…Leafwhisper.

Slightly better than’ some fuckin’ Legionnaire’s name. Fine.
Anythin’ goes wrong…

* Haemon nods and goes back to the box.

She’s a professional.

…she can probably hear me.

Never lost a baby. Not in a thousand years, she said.

Heard it all afore.

* Bricu mutters, “except for the ones she killed.”
* Tarq gives Bricu a deadpan stare.

She is in her way. In the meantime, I want to try something…
* Haemon kneels on the bedside, pushing Threnn’s shoulders gently to the mattress.
Try to keep your spine straight, please.

…or a mother.
All right.

Let me know if this hurts more.

* Haemon presses gently on Threnn’s abdomen.
* Threnn shrieks. That’s a yes.
* Haemon releases immediately.
* Bricu pales.

Okay, so, not that then.

* Tarq hisses a muffled curse.

* Haemon grabs a rag from his bag and disappears under the sheet again.
Tarquin, will you let her in when she arrives?

Guessing that didn’t work?
* Threnn pants that.

Ayeh.

Indarra arrives a few minutes later, true to her word. She ignores pacing family, friends, and visitors in the guest room, making haste towards the steps. Her knuckles rap upon the door.

I am not seeing anything. I am going to try to patch you up a bit here, all right?

Whatever you have to do.

Aye.
Whatever.

* Tarq steps over to the door and, with a quick glance over his shoulder at Bricu, opens it up.
Lo, Indi.

* Bricu nods.
* Tarq smiles blandly.
* Indarra bows low, murmuring a “hello”. She’s in priestess robes with a huge white pearl on a gold chain around her neck. There are no shadows on her hands.

Evenin’. Indi.
* Threnn tries for some dignity.

* Bricu says a quick prayer.

* Tarq steps back and shuts the door.

Hello Threnn, everyone.

* Haemon emerges discreetly.

Oi.

* Indarra brings a medical bag to a small table, keeping her eyes downcast.
* Annalea makes room for Indarra’s things.
* Bricu watches Threnn.

Just so we’re clear, Haemon, Threnn, I lack magic this evening. I’ve found a way around shadows, but it keeps me shut off from all of my power.
* Indarra taps the necklace at her neck.

* Haemon nods.
I can handle healing. And I appreciate you coming.

I did make a promise.
* Indarra smiles faintly.

Can you… I mean, without, you still can…?
* Threnn gestures at herself.

Most of my births require very little magic.
. . . Yes.
* Indarra makes sure she sounds confident.

People been doin’ it a virra long time without, eh?

Aye.

* Haemon glances at Tarquin, and does not precisely agree.
I tried what you said, Priestess, and it just seemed to induce pain.

* Indarra finds water, and washes her hands meticulously, scrubbing them until they’re pink.
All right. I’ll take a look with you in a moment.

* Haemon nods, and steps back to wait. And fidget.

Is there something I should do? Or…?

* Bricu squeezes Threnn’s hand.

Tell me a story.
* Indarra smiles at her and approaches the foot of the bed.

* Bricu closes his eyes.

What kind of a story?

* Haemon moves to stand somewhere between Indarra and Bricu.

How about something from your childhood, a happy memory. When you have to breathe through a contraction, do so, but let’s hear a story.

* Bricu fidgets.
* Threnn lets her head fall back a moment while she thinks.
* Indarra lifts the sheet and peers beneath. “Apologies for the hands, but at least the water was warm, hmm?”

I… yeah. Thank you.
When I was ten, the, uh. The Bells. They were here. Did you meet them?

They must be some of the gents downstairs I passed.
* Indarra applies gentle pressure and motions Haemon over.

* Haemon steps over quickly.

Bricu, if you’d be kind enough to mop Threnn’s brow? Cool water. She’s likely over warm right now.

Decent lads, they seem.

* Annalea gets a bowl of water and brings it over to Bricu.

Where are the clean cloths?

They’re… they are. We were nearly raised together.

Here, Bricu.
* Annalea passes some over.

* Bricu takes a clean cloth and dips it into the water. He rings it out then mops Threnn’s brow.

So I was ten, and Anna was…

Nine.
* Annalea watches Threnn.

‘s shit.
You were seven. The Bells were nine.

* Indarra waits for another contraction, one of her hands – still clean – coming out to rest on the mound of Threnn’s stomach.

* Annalea nods at that. “All right.”

They sent us — our parents, that is — to Goldshire, before it was…
* Threnn cuts off, groaning.
‘nother, Indi.

* Indarra watches beneath the blanket and nods. Her eyes flick to Haemon.
* Haemon tilts his head questioningly.
Keep a monitor on the babe if you would?
* Indarra stands, swaddling her hands in cloth to keep them hidden from Threnn.

Is she all right?

Yes.

* Haemon nods and places his hands over Threnn’s abdomen, concentrating.

Keep telling the story, Threnny. They sent us to Goldshire.

* Bricu says softly, “for the love o’all that’s holy, would one o’yeh do somethin’ fer her godsdamned pain.”

* Haemon ‘s eyes flick to Indarra.
I have some herbs, if you do not think it will be a problem…no blood thinners.

As long as they don’t tire her. If it’s served in tea – perhaps cold tea, as she’s warm – I have no objection.
* Indarra looks at Bricu and Threnn.

…Goldshire. We had to buy something there, nails from the blacksmith.

* Haemon nods.

Shad, tell Kara t’get the water ready fer tea an’ some ice

Anna, you would do best with it. The goldthorn and peacebloom mix?

Got it.

* Haemon rises.
I will return with the water shortly.

After the tea, I’m going to start maneuvering you Threnn, with Haemon’s help. Your daughter’s head is through, but her shoulders are having trouble moving through. It’s nothing to worry about, it’s fairly common, and we have many, many options to make this easier on you. All right?

* Haemon listens to the last bit of the instruction before darting down the stairs.

All right.

* Bricu simply nods.

Story. Continue please.

* Annalea sorts through the herbs, finding the goldthorn and peacebloom.
* Indarra washes her hands again, trying to shield Threnn’s eyes from the pink pool growing inside of the basin.

Nails. John says the smiths in the Dwarven District don’t use the right ratios.

* Bricu mops threnn’s brow, smiling weakly.

* Threnn smiles at Bricu. “Did you know that? About the dwarven nails?”

No. No I didn’t.

Hnh. That’s odd.

* Haemon returns swiftly with two cups, a pitcher, and a bowl of ice chips.

Wonder if it’s aught ta do wi’ dwarven construction?

Dunno. Might be –
* Threnn grits her teeth again.

* Haemon sets the cups and pitcher of water by Anna’s work, and hands the bowl off to Bricu.

Bloody…fucking…

* Bricu leaves the damp cloth on Threnn’s forehead, taking the bowl with a fre hand.
* Bricu looks at the basin of pink water.

* Annalea sets about steeping the tea.
* Tarq is doing his best not to look like he’s hovering nervously.
* Bricu is clearly hovering nervously

I’ll need one more set of hands.
* Indarra looks around at the room, towelling of her hands.

The nails, maybe they work better in colder weather, yeah? Up in Kharanos?

One more than mine?

But here, ‘s…warmer. And… something.

Yes.

* Fells sputters, her eyes blinking at random intervals.
* Indarra smiles at Threnn.

What do you need?

Issit Winnerveil…?

No, s’Naiara’s birthday still.

No, but you could help deliver a present. Welcome back.

Oh, good…

* Tarq quietly facepalms.
* Fells sits up, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple.

Anna, I need you to lift her legs if you would, to her chest as far as you can get them. Haemon, I’d like you to continue monitoring the babe? And press gently on her lower stomach. I’m going to gently pull and try to get her past the pelvis that way.
We’ll need to coordinate this if not the next contraction, the one after.

* Threnn ‘s head swivels towards Fell’s voice.

Past the pel…
* Fells blinks.

* Haemon nods, and takes up position at the side of the bed.
* Indarra returns beneath the sheet.
So Stormwind nails are far superior, Threnn.
Good to know.

‘lo, Fellsie. Might not want to come around… Oh, this isn’t dignified in the least.

I’ve learned something today.

* Fells wobbles a bit.
Oh, oh -damn.- There’s sommat comin’ outta ya.

Not Stormwind nails.
Goldshire.
* Threnn sounds like this is the most important point in the world.

Goldshire nails.

Huh. I’m no’ sure I kin admit thit.

Goldshire nails.
I see.

Yeh could advertise off ay it, likesay.

* Indarra waits expectantly, looking at both Haemon and Anna.

“Get Proper Nailed In Goldshire!”

‘s a joke there, too, only, never thought of it till just now.
* Threnn lifts a hand to point at Tarquin.
Stole my joke.

* Bricu mops Threnn’s brow.
* Haemon bites his lip. Now is not laughing time. He nods at Indarra.

He is a professional, Missus.

‘s gotta be at least a day in the Stocks, isn’t it? Stealing a pregnant woman’s joke?

a fine.

Anna, are you . . .

s’a huge fine.

* Fells stares incredulously.

* Indarra pokes her head over the sheet to peer at Annalea.

I gots t’still be outta it.

Tea’s ready.
What do you need, Indi?

Excellent.

* Annalea brings the cup over to Bricu.

Get her some tea, and then lift her legs to her chest if you would.

* Haemon raises an eyebrow at Fells.

* Annalea comes around and places her hands on Threnn’s legs.
Tell me when.

* Fells pushes herself to her feet.
I can — I can help, m’here! M’here.

Next contraction hold her steady.

* Fells repeats, convincing herself more than the rest.

Threnny was telling us that Goldshire nails are far superior to dwarven nails, Fells.
* Indarra adopts the nickname and keeps her voice steady.

Far superior.

* Fells gawks.
Issat so.

So they sent us to get nails — NOT nailed. We were ten. And nine. And seven — and we went to the blacksmith’s.

So you and Anna were in Goldshire getting nails. What happened next.
* Indarra ‘s head disappears under the sheet, waiting for the next contraction.

* Tarq doesn’t even snicker at that.

And he was there, at the forge. That’s where blacksmiths work. And –
* Threnn ‘s voice climbs until she’s not really speaking anymore.

* Haemon presses gently on Threnn’s abdomen.

Breathe Threnn. Breathe.

* Fells covers her mouth.
* Annalea pushes Threnn’s legs to her chest, gaze flicking between Threnn and Indarra.

when the fuck is she gonna be able t’drink with yeh lot pushin’?!

She can’t drink during a contraction. Threnn, I want you to push.

All right.

Is this one over?
* Indarra pulls her head back up.
* Indarra looks at her.

I… Yeah.

Tea now.

Oi, drink this.
I figured as much.

* Indarra pulls her hands out, grabbing a towel to mop up the blood on her skin.
* Threnn uses Bricu for leverage and sips at the tea.
* Fells ‘s eyes go wide.
* Haemon gives Fells a warning glance.
* Fells offers him a quick smile. All good! Really!

Next contraction I’m going to pull her, and you need to push. Haemon, watch the bleeding if you would.

* Haemon nods.

Anna, same thing.

I will.

Keep talking to us Threnn. So he was at the forge . . .

* Annalea pats Threnn on the arm. “You’re doing fine.”

Ayeh, Goldshire?

I never thought I’d say this, but ayeh, I wanna hear ’bout the nails in Goldshire.

Bugger that love. Scream if yeh want ta.

The forge. Oh! The forge. He was making this sword.

* Indarra washes her hands one last time. She runs her sleeve over her own forehead and smiles, returning to the foot of the bed.
Fells, why don’t you get a blanket ready for the baby?
* Indarra tries to give the young woman something to do so her eyes don’t fall out of her skull.

And it was the most beautiful sword you ever saw. Not a king’s sword. A soldier’s.

Blanket, surely. No troubles.

Ask Kara. She’s got clean linens too.

We have some already. Stack on the chest over there.

He was finishing it as we came in. Got there just in time to see him quench it.

* Fells turns to the indicated chest immediately, all too glad for the distraction.
* Indarra tucks her head beneath the sheet, waiting and watching for the next contraction. She’s prodding, but she’s doing it as gently as she can.

Everyone else wanted to go see the bard at the Lion’s Pride. I stayed and watched him make a sword.
* Threnn looks around.
‘s it. ‘s… not a very good story, is it?

s’fine story love.

It is an excellent story. And educational.

It is.
If you don’t finish it I’ll be most disappointed.
Is that what inspired you to become a blacksmith?
* Indarra still sounds grossly matter-of-fact.

* Threnn doesn’t answer. Another contraction hits.

Breathe through it Threnn, and push.

* Haemon pushes down on her abdomen again.

* Fells grabs up what seems to be the softest of the lot, rushing to Indarra’s shoulder.
Threnny, s’fine, yer doin’ -so well- c’mon…

* Annalea resumes pushing on Threnn’s legs.
* Indarra reaches forward, her hand actually wrapping around the baby’s head and a bit underneath. She begins to pull her forward, trying to move her past the pelvic bone.
* Bricu squeezes Threnn’s hand.
* Threnn just pushes. She’s shaking from the effort.

och, love, just push!

That’s good, Threnn. Excellent. Keep pushing now.

* Fells holds her breath, staring openly.
C’mon, c’mon…

* Threnn pulls in a ragged breath and does it again.

* Indarra gets a grip and she smiles. There’s a give. One shoulder is past. With another gentle tug, on the second push, the second shoulder slides past.
There we have it. One more, Threnn. Just one more.

* Fells holds the blanket to her mouth. Wait no, the blanket’s for that tiny thing right there.

Oh, sweet gods.

One more love. Just one more fuckin’ push.

* Fells drops beside Indarra, blanket outstretched.
C’mon Threnny, yer near there, s’damn close…

* Threnn pushes once more, grabbing at Bricu’s hand.

* Indarra smiles as there’s a cry on the air. The baby’s abdomen is through and the rest of her presents itself shortly thereafter, sliding free of her mother.
Lovely job, Threnn. Lovely, lovely.

* Fells leans in, catching the tiny being that slips into the world more carefully than she’s ever done a thing before.

Och. yeh hear that love?
S’our wee girl.

* Indarra lifts her head out from the blanket, smiling at Haemon and Anna.

Is she all right?

* Fells nods dumbly.
Oh damn she’s amazin’.

* Annalea eases off of Threnn’s legs.

Fellsie.

* Haemon smiles back, asking after the bleeding in Darnassian.

Oi

* Fells laughs once.

No fuckin’ secrets.

* Indarra replies in Darnassian.
* Threnn strains to see.

An’ Fellsie. our girl.
Please.

* Fells rises on shaky legs, bringing the babe over to the proud parents. Or close.
Indy, the umn, cord…thinger…

* Haemon nods.
* Indarra pulls her hands free. She’s got blood on her lower arms, her dress. It’s fair everywhere. She mops at herself with towels and returns to her bag.
A moment.

Bric, promise, I’ll jest be one tick here…

* Indarra looks at Haemon.
You can heal it off.
If you’d be so kind.
* Indarra motions at the cord.

Fells.
S’our wee one there.

* Fells grins up at him, bright as day.
Surely is.

* Haemon moves underneath the sheet, separating the cord and letting Fells go with the child.

Thanks, now…

So bring her o’er here, please.

* Fells brings the bundle to the head of the bed.

* Tarq lets out a long breath, discreetly making his way over to the foot of the bed.

Sommat you two oughta meet.

‘s all right, love. She’s coming.

* Haemon sets to healing. There’s plenty to heal.
* Indarra goes about scrubbing her hands off in the basin.
* Bricu looks at Fells.

Congratulations both of you.

I’d like t’hold our wee one. now.
Or give her to her mum.

* Fells holds the swaddled thing out to him.

Easy, love. ‘s all right.

Was waitin’ on ya t’take her. Here.

* Annalea edges closer to Bricu, one hand dipping into a dress pocket.

Bricu’s lookin’ forward ta bein’ an oe’rprotective father.

* Bricu takes his daughtger.
Aye.
* Bricu smiles at his daughter, and beams at Threnn.
Oi.

Gonna have yir work cut out fir yeh, but.

* Bricu leans in closer to Threnn
S’our girl.

* Threnn seems to be counting fingers and toes.

* Indarra begins repacking her things quietly, keeping to herself on the other side of the room.

* Fells steps back, arms wrapped around herself and smiling like an idiot.

Do I get to say hello to my niece?

Thank yeh, Indarra.
Yeh can see her when her mum is done cooin’ an’ holdin’ ‘r.

You’re welcome. I wish you both joy, and Elune’s blessings.

Meanin, Annie, yeh prolly wanna get a room fir the night.

* Threnn looks up from staring at the baby.
Indi.
Thank you.

* Indarra glances up, already wrapping a cloak around herself.

Oi, hold our wee one love.

You are more than welcome.

* Threnn smiles tearily.

* Indarra swallows somewhat shakily.
I do think this is . . . in Haemon’s capable hands now so I will take my leave.
* Indarra bows, her bag clutched to her chest.

* Tarq strolls over to Indarra with excessive casualness, and opens the door.
Walk yeh out just a tick, will I?

* Haemon leans out from under the sheet to bow to her.

I’m glad you were here.

* Fells doesn’t even know when she -got- here.

Thank yeh Shad. Fells.

Heh.
* Fells nods.

* Indarra smiles and makes a Darnassian blessing with her hands, motioning at the child. She walks past Tarquin with a small nod.

Don’ mention it.

* Haemon smiles at Bricu, and ducks under to finish up.

Right back.
* Tarq follows Indarra out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

M’jest gonna…

* Haemon pops his head out a moment later.
Do you want to keep the placenta?

* Fells backs towards the door, so she doesn’t have to take her eyes off of them.

What did she just–fuck no—do?

Don’t think… no.

All right. What did who do when?

Indarra did.

She delivered your child?

* Annalea bends over Threnn, her fingers coming out of the pocket. She touches the baby’s forehead, lips and heart, and whispers something in the tiny girl’s ear.

She just did a blessin’. What kind o’blessin.
* Bricu makes a sign against the evil eye, just in case.

* Haemon blinks.

* Bricu smiles at Annie.

It is one I am familiar with seeing from the Temple, though I am not aware of its precise meaning. If it is ill, then surely the Temple has been out to get me for decades.

It was a good one.

* Haemon emerges fully, hands and extras wrapped in cloth.
* Annalea steps back, towards Haemon.

As long as its a good one.

She’s beaut’ful. Y’done -so- good, Threnny.
* Fells leans her back on the door.

Aye, yeh did love.
S’our Naiara.

So tha’s the name.

* Threnn nods.

Aye.

Naiara.

S’loverly. Y’named her well too.

Bricu picked the name.

Aye. Och, I suggested it. We agreed on it.

You two gonna be a’right? Can I tell Laz?

* Threnn smiles.

* Haemon wipes his hands clean. Clean-ish.

‘course you can.

Aye
go let everyone know

* Fells laughs.

* Tarq pokes his head back into the room at that.

Naiara Bittertongue

Wis ’bout t’ask oan thit, actually.

Yessir. Twist m’oomph.
* Fells is bumped out of the way with the door’s opening.

Guessing they’ll all be swarming when –

She should rest for a bit yet.
Give her a half hour at least before the masses are allowed in.

If yeh dinna mind – sorry, Drachmas – sure eno’ thit lot downstairs is twitchin’ wi’ anticipation.

Oi, one at a time.
no one’s holdin’ her yet.

Ayeh, ta be sure. Tell yeh what, Bric’ – gie’ me the honor ay announcin’ it at the floor, an’ I’ll do the job ay keepin’ the greedy buggers out until yir say-so.

Think Haemon might’ve meant me, love.

done.

Let ‘em have the night, Tarq. I — aw!

I did, yes.

* Fells frowns at him.

* Threnn smiles.

Don’t care what shad meant. One at a time for Threnny an Naiara. No one’s holdin’ her but us.
Oi. Go tell yer man.

You can both carry the news down there if you want.
Just be careful my mother doesn’t bowl you over.

* Fells gives Tarquin a good poke in the ribs when she passes.
* Tarq snorts at Fells.
Noooooo, let him, he’s the ruttin’ head’a the red an’ black. ‘sides, I wanna tell Laz.

Tell yeh what. I’ll tell ‘em ’tis a lassie, an’ then yeh tell ‘em they dinna get ta see her yet.

* Haemon gathers the various bloodied cloths from by the basin.

They’ll love thit.

* Fells grins at him.
Oh yer awful.
Like they’s gonna listen t’me, I’ll git -trampled.-

I try. First, but -
* Tarq swivels back over to the bed.
Mind if I say a quick ‘ello?

‘course you can.

Aye. Fells did. Yeh should too.
Naiara, this is tarquin. yer gonna have his job one day.

* Fells is so pleased.

I will withdraw to allow family time. The bleeding should be stopped. If not, Anna, I imagine you know herbs better than I. Call if you need anything, I shall be downstairs after cleanup.

* Tarq leans over, studying the tiny pink thing with a somewhat ludicrous grin on his face.
Naiara, huh?

Shad, thank you. So very much.

* Haemon smiles.
My pleasure. And apologies.

* Annalea stands up on her toes and plants a kiss on Haemon’s cheek.
Hell of a job.

I kin hear the world tremblin aready.

Everythin’ went well mate. Nothin’ t’apologize fer.

* Haemon purples a bit.
Thank you.

* Tarq straightens slightly to look at the proud parents.
* Fells grins.
* Haemon heads downstairs to offer the placenta to anyone who gets in his way.

Bittertongues, yir oan vacation.
Oan account ay a job well done.

OI! Shad. Get rid o’it completely!
Nothin’ left.

* Haemon calls back. “Yes sir!”

Och, that’s particularly brilliant o’yeh

* Threnn grins at Tarquin.

Least I could do, eh?

* Fells nods to the family and ducks after Shad.

Give us a shout when yeh kin tolerate the visitors.

Yeh did more than that. Aye we will
Give us a moment ‘for teh thunderin’ crowds, eh?

I’ll hauld the stairs at swordpoint, if yeh want it.
* Tarq sketches a bow to the suddenly-a-trio of Bittertongues and backs towards the door, picking up his hat along the way.

Kept me smiling. ‘s more than you think.

* Tarq has no response to that. He just shrugs, tips his hat, and exits.

Och…

* Annalea watches the new family for a moment, then simply nods and follows Tarquin out the door.

* Tarq shuts the door firmly, then reaches into his pocket and produces his cigarette case, looking like he’s found religion.

Och, missus. yeh did..och. yeh…och.

* Threnn settles the rest of the way back against the headboard, exhausted.
Everyone did.

Aye. We all did.
But yeh two did the most.
An’ the best.
Two soliders….strewth.

She’s beautiful.

Like her mum.

* Threnn smirks.
‘s just flattery right there.

I’m gonna need all the words I got, two beautiful ladies an all….

Aw, now.

* Bricu pulls a chair near Threnn’s bedside. The paladins marvel at their daughter, at a loss for words.

He felt that the fox was close.

The panther had hunted the fox for hours as she ran through Elwynn forest. The chase led him to a clearing, halfway between the forest and the hills that surrounded the human city. The fox sat on a rock, looking towards the hills. The panther approached slowly, crouching low to the ground, his belly rubbing againt the twigs and leaves of the forest flooor. His tail swished, once, before the pounce. The fox’s ears perked as the panther’s tail hit the ground. She jumped from the rock and bounded off into the hills. The panther pounced and landed where the fox was. She was yards ahead, looking down on the panther from the top of a hill. The panther gave the chase.

He gained on the fox quickly, closing into pounce once more. The fox ducked right. The panther lunged, falling for the feint. She bounded down another path on the left, forcing the panther to slow and turn. It took a moment for the panther to track the fox, but the moment was all the fox needed to disappear into the hillside. The panther smelled the fox–she had ran down this path–but the scent trail ended in front of a small, narrow cave.

He could feel the fox was nearby, but his senses focused on closer prety. The sounds of mewling caught his ear. He smelled somethign similar to the fox–her kin–but he could not see them. Her kits were close, in a cave too small for the panther to reach them. So he waited. The kits would eventually stop mewling and look out for their mother. When they would, the panther would be there, ready for them.

The kits didn’t stop mewling. He walked a few paces away, downwind, so the kits couldn’t smell him, but not a single one looked for their mother. As the panther waited, the moonset behind the hills. The mewling grew fainter. Soon the panther walked back to the cave and listened for the mewling. The cave was silent. While he smelt the fox still, the kit’s scent was fading. Another smell, sickly sweet, filled his nostrils. Something above the cave cracked and shattered. The panther lept backward, dodging the falling rocks and debris, sealing the cave completely.

His senses focused on the cave, the panther didn’t hear the fox as she crept behind him, but he felt her when she pounced on his tail. Lighting quick, the panther reared round to face the fox, but not before the fox bit into the panther’s paw. The panther growled and lashed out with the the same wounded paw, but the fox glared and barked at her.

“Annie!” it growled. “ANNIE!”

Annalea Al’Cair sat straight up in her bed. Her dream still playing in her mind as she looked for the buzz box she had left on her nightstand. The nightstand, and its contents, were scattered to the ground, knocked over in her sleep. She found the box underneath her notebook. Her brother in law’s voice barking her name.

“Oi, fer fuck’s sake, ANNIE!”

“I”m here, I’m here. I was just…getting…What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ wrong. Everythin’s on schedule. Threnny’s water broke.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I think so…but yer the other fuckin’ midwife. Yeh’re supposed t’tell me! So get yer arse o’er here!”

“I’m coming.” She paused for a moment, trying to clear her head. “Did you get my list?”

“Aye, only thing missin’ are yeh an Shad an our Naiara. I’ve gotta get that one on the box. Yeh comin’?”

“Aye, aye.” She said. “Be there in two shakes.”

“We’ll be waitin’.”

Annie set her buzz box down on her bed and started to change from her night clothes into something more appropriate for her niece’s birth. She looked at her right hand, the same she must have used when she knocked the nightstand over. A bruise was forming. By the time Naiara would be born, it would be a sickly purple green. Annie tried to focus on the bruise, but all she could remember was the fox’s bite and the kits trapped in a cave.

–
Tarquin
The Gilded Rose had always been considered a respectable establishment, even in its early days. It was the sort of place that, rather than being tarnished by those of its clients with tarnish to impart, gave them a sort of glossy sheen. But there were always going to be those who disagreed.

The trouble started with a toast, old John Bell lifting a glass of the Rose’s good dark beer to Threnn Al’Cair’s good fortune, and his sons responding in kind. Really, not the sort of thing that should have inspired trouble. Then William toasted Bricu Bittertongue and his good fortune, which Robert suggested was much greater – “After all, he’s getting a lovely child and our Threnny.”

None of the Bells knew the man who rose from a table of five companions and made his way to their snug table by the fire, but John at least recognized the emblem stitched onto his tunic – House Fairfax’s horse-and-horn quarterings. He was an athletic-looking young fellow, with handsome features spoiled primarily by the supercilious sneer lurking on his face waiting for an excuse to pop out. “What’s the happy occasion, citizens?” he inquired pleasantly enough.

“A birth, sirrah,” reported Robert with a grin. “And the couple’s first to boot. Join us for a drink, won’t you?” He was in the sort of ebullient good mood that manifests itself as contagion. “Anyone, in fact, who’d like a round on my brother can have one!”

The Fairfax man chuckled at that, and William’s protesting shout. “Well, it’s rare enough I turn down a free drink. Only – who did you say were the lucky couple again?”

“Threnn and Bricu Bittertongue,” Robert answered. “Fine Stormwind business-folk, the both of them, and proper soldiers to boot.” The uniformed man lifted an eyebrow and made a noise in the back of his throat that carried some unflattering connotations.

“Something troubling you, sir?” asked William, with a wary glance at his brother.

“I’ll have to decline, with all respect,” the Fairfax man said in a tone that implied very little in the way of respect. “While I’m sure you’re fine Stormwind gentlemen, a greenskin’ll sit the Lion Throne before I’d lift a mug to the likes of those.” That sneer had no compunctions about making itself shown.

“And what likes would that be, my friend?” Robert pushed his mug aside and let one tattooed arm fall on the tabletop,fingers tapping. As carpenters went, he was a fairly muscular sort. The standing man seemed unimpressed, but his five friends at the far table might have had something to do with that. “Threnny’s like a sister to us, I’ll have you know.”

“Not much of a brother then, are you?” The Fairfax man planted his own hand on the tabletop, not far from Robert’s. “I couldn’t imagine letting any sister of mine marry that Bittertongue sot, or wear those colors.”

“Not our bloody fault you haven’t any imagination,” offered William, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Look, fellow, why don’t you go and sit down? This is meant to be a happy occasion.”

The man scoffed. He practically said “Scoff.” William was seized by a sudden urge to laugh, and the looming man caught it and scowled. Nothing irked the likes of the provocateur more than not being taken seriously. “Well, then again,” he said with weighty sarcasm, “Maybe your ‘Threnny’ is just where she’s meant to be, with the criminal scum. Like that sister of hers, hm?”

William and Robert were both on their feet in an instant, the smiles wiped from their faces. “Say that again,” Robert said flatly. “Go on and say that again, you streak of piss.”

“Better,” grunted their father as he got to his feet. “Don’t. Turn around, walk out that door, and go tell Lord Fairfax to give you something useful to do.” John Bell clasped his big gnarled hands in front of his chest. “Because if you say it, then you have my personal guarantee that whatever else happens, my boys will knock the teeth from your head for speaking ill of the Al’Cair family. I’ll put it on paper if you want.”

The Fairfax man glanced around the room, which had fallen silent. A bit less than twenty people in the commons, split three ways between Bittertongue well-wishers, unrelated guests, and of course his own five companions. Apparently, he liked his odds. “Bricu Bittertongue is a drunken, murdering bastard,” he said with slow and oozing malice, “And Threnn Bittertongue and Annalea Al’Cair are nothing but a pair of-”

“-virra lovely an’ charmin’ ladies.” Somehow, the speaker had entered the Rose in the few moments between the Fairfax man’s survey of the room and his address to the brothers Bell and their father. “An’ I’m glad ta join yeh in the privilege ay thir ‘quaintance, Bennett, auld boy. It is Bennett, innit? Hadyn Bennett?” The apparent Master Bennett made no reply, but the color could be observed to be leaving his face at an unusually rapid rate.

Tarquin ap Danwyrith strolled into the room, glancing over at Bennett’s table of friends, none of whom made move to rise. He draped one lanky arm around Bennett’s shoulders. “Hadyn Bennett, an’ in the colors too! Fuck me, mate, but yeh’ve moved up in the world, have’na yeh? I recall when a keen punter could get yeh ta break yir ain dear auld ma’s knees fir the price ay a whore!” He laughed at his own wit, grinning broadly at the slightly bemused trio of Bells across the table. “An’ look at yeh now. Time’s been kind, eh?”

He adjusted his hat and leaned in to speak into Hadyn’s ear, his smile getting even wider while the latter’s sickly grin curdled. From his place across the table, William could hear quite clearly. “If I see any ay yeh Fairfax cunts within a hundred paces ay Threnny’s child, they willna find the bodies ’til she’s a grandmother. Take yir lads an’ go tell Fane what I said. Now.” Tarquin let go and clapped Bennett on the shoulder, then turned away, not bothering to watch as the man made a hasty gesture to his table of companions and exited the Gilded Rose with haste unbecoming a sworn man of House Fairfax.

Once the six had left, Tarquin planted one foot on an unoccupied seat, tilting his hat back to peer at the brothers Bell, still standing. “Well, thit wis divertin’. Which yin ay yeh’s Bell, then?”

“Ah – all of us,” answered William, staring at ap Danwyrith skeptically. Robert settled for a pugnacious glare, a recalcitrant blood vessel still throbbing slightly at his brow.

“I’m John Bell,” responded that eminent personality, comfortably ensconced in his seat once again. “Those two are my sons, William and Robert. And you’re ap Danwyrith, aren’t you?”

“Guilty, ay thit if naught else.” Tarquin tipped his hat to all three and stepped back, buffing the buttons on his green tunic. They seemed perfectly shiny, but he was the sort of man who always needed something to do with his hands, if only to keep them out of trouble. “I’m meant ta tell yeh thit Thenia an’ Padraig’s oan thir way. Have a drink or twa ready fir thim, eh?” Some prestidigitation with his right hand saw a gold half-crown glittering on the tabletop. “Oan me.”

“Very generous of you, Master ap Danwyrith,” observed John with a certain wry twist to his lips that neither of his sons completely understood. “Have that drink with us?” William, back in his seat, moved to draw out an empty chair.

“Love ta, auld boy, but Threnny wants me up thir ta keep her husband fra’ breakin’ down wi’ the terrors.” He smirked and stepped back. “I’ll see yeh eftir, na doubt. Cheers, Masters Bell, an’ keep up the guid work.” He withdrew his leg and made his long-stepping way up the stairs, as the rest of the room slowly returned to its previous mutter of conversation, less the empty corner table.

William broke the silence, smirking at Robert. “Are you ever going to sit down?” Robert coughed and did so, a touch of that pugnacious scowl still on his face, and Will turned to his father. “That fellow, he’s the same one in the papers. The one who…” He couldn’t seem to find an adequate way to finish the sentence, and settled for picking up the gold coin from the tabletop. “All those stories can’t be true.”

“Half’d be enough,” said John quietly. “But that’s the way it is, boys – if Threnn’s family, then so’s Bricu, and so’s that one.”

The brothers Bell looked at each other, and then Robert shrugged and lifted his glass. “Alright, then. Wouldn’t be here if we didn’t trust our Threnny, now would we?” William smiled, put down the coin, and found his own beer.

Clink.

–
Threnn checked three times to make sure she was broadcasting to a private channel rather than to the Riders’ common one. “Fellsie?”

It took a minute for the other woman to answer. She was likely busy putting the house in order, or outside, fingers dug deep in the earth, planting her garden. “Mmn? Whatsit?”

“Think you can get to Stormwind soon?”

“Threnny? Everthin’ a’right?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine so far.” Bricu had put out the summons to Anna and Haemon already. She could hear him talking quietly with Tarquin now. Kara had been sent to find her parents. This was really happening.

“‘So far’.” The sound of a bridle jangling as it came down from its hook almost drowned out the concern in Fells’ voice.

Threnn tried to keep her own calm. “So far. My water broke maybe ten minutes ago. Can you–”

“‘M ON M’WAY.”

She grinned as Fells switched off, and settled down to wait for her family to arrive.

She didn’t insult him with a key.

The unfortunate part of it was, The Hero’s Welcome had recently changed its locks, taking the profits they were raking in from an influx of adventurers (and perhaps thanks in no small part to an increase in patronage by the Black and Red in the Beer Garden) and splurging on sleek, complicated mechanisms of goblin design.

Which meant that what should have been thirty seconds’ work instead had Tarquin swearing under his breath, switching from one pick to another, his blonde head bent close to the keyhole as he tinkered about with its innards. Where moments before his eyes had lit up with the feverish appreciation for a new adversary – Anna had been subjected to the illustrious history of the Krazzik Brothers’ locks – now he was muttering in frustration.

“Yeh see, it looks so fuckin’ simple, Annie, but that’s where they get yeh. Take pressure off ay this tumbler” – here he wiggled the pick – “an’ this yin behind it clicks in.” As far as she could tell, his hands hadn’t changed position, but she knew that to Tarquin’s practiced fingers, there might as well have been a mile between the tumblers in question.

She nodded and turned to lean against the wall. It was tempting to retrieve the key from the pocket of her dress and have done with it, but she didn’t need to throw the bones to know what the outcome of that would be: he’d follow her into the room, all right, and leave off the problem of the lock for a while. She was fairly certain she could drive thoughts of pins and tumblers out of his mind for an hour or two, or at least make him shove the puzzle to the back of his brain while he was otherwise occupied. But soon enough after, he’d be out of bed again, cigarette clenched between his teeth, looking like a pale, naked scarecrow trying to escape the bedchamber.

It still might not have been such a bad thing, letting a stubborn lock be foremost in his thoughts instead of the conversation they’d had outside.  It would let him put off thinking about the conversation that would follow it soon enough, one she wouldn’t be present for.

But mischief won out over practicality.

Anna leaned down. Tarq wasn’t just bent over to see the doorknob now; he’d plunked himself down on the floor, in for the long haul. Anna checked her angle and pulled her hair back over her shoulder. When he looked up, he’d get an eyeful.

Three, two, one… She cleared her throat and his eyes snapped up to hers, a sheepish grin forming on his lips.

“Just a wee tick, Annie, an’ I’ll ha’ –” Her smile stopped him. His gaze flicked down, widened. The grin went from sheepish to wolfish in the time it took for her to take a deep, bodice-filling breath – but for just a moment, he was actively taken aback. “So work faster, is wha’ yir sayin’.”

She straightened, enough to pluck the key from her pouch.  When she held it up, it caught the light. “Here’s the deal.” She dropped the key down the front of her dress and felt it settle just below her navel, where her belt cinched her waist.  “Ten buttons from top to bottom.  If I get to the last one before you get the best of that thing, we use the key and you live with the knowledge that I can unbutton my blouse faster than you can pick a lock.”

He frowned.  “An’ if I beat yir entirely arbitrary timer?”

Her voice was low and husky as she undid the first button.  “I think the reward speaks for itself.”

Tarquin pushed himself up onto his knees and drew her down into a kiss.  “Ta hell with speakin’.  I’ll make yeh sing.”

Anna laughed and pushed him gently away  “Get on it, then.”  She began humming a tavern song that sounded suspiciously like “The Queen’s Lockbox.”  At the end of every second measure, she undid a button.  By the time she got to the chorus, three buttons down, he’d picked up the pattern, cutting his eyes to the side when it was time for her to reveal more of her décolletage, then back to his work when her hands moved away.

“Incorrigible minx.”

“Seven to go.”  She dropped to her knees beside him, positioning herself right in his peripheral vision.

“Thit’s fuckin’ distractin’.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Yeh’ll notice I said distractin’, no’ displeasin’.”

Another button.  “Good.”

She made it to five, had her fingers hovering over the next button (“Oh try your key in my lock, said she–”) when Tarq crowed, “Ha!  Yeh beautiful bastard.”

Metal clicked deep within the keyhole.  He reached for the doorknob with a flourish and nodded as it turned easily in his hand.  “See, now?  Thit’s how yeh open a fuckin’ door.”  His tools were folded back in their oiled cloth in a few deft moves, but he didn’t tuck them away in the pocket of his cloak.  Instead, he slipped them into the still-buttoned bottom of her blouse as he pulled her to her feet.  “I’ll retrieve those in a tick.  But first, yeh mentioned somethin’ about a reward.”

“Mm-hm.”  She grinned up at him as his arms encircled her waist.  “Best get on inside and collect it.”

The door clicked shut behind them.  From deep within the Krazzik Brothers’ lock came the sound of the tumblers resetting themselves.

What do criminals do when they go on vacation?  It was suggested to Tarquin that he needed to take some time off and regain his balance — though his interpretation is probably very different from what Alishe had in mind when she meted out the advice.  Tarq and Annalea headed down to Booty Bay with the intention of drinking, gambling, and doing nothing that resembled work.  But old habits die hard, and in the Bay, opportunities for heinous fuckery abound…))

There were four guards, bulky and heavily armed, spaced around the chamber. There was a brace of breech-loading hand cannons under the desk. There was a sniper somewhere, so well concealed that even the Admiral couldn’t find him off the dot. His guests had been disarmed at the door. And still, Raza Breakwater was sweating. It hadn’t been much more than a year since the last time he’d been in this same situation, and he’d come very close to dying that day. Every day that entire week, in fact – so maybe it was just the association, and not any actual fear for his life when the odds were completely in his favor.

But a goblin in his position really had to be honest with himself. It was the latter.

“Let’s play straight,” he said, shaking off the nerves with an irritable twitch of his neck. “You want use of my properties for a week, my backing of your stake at the tables, and my name as assurance against harm. And in return, you offer me…nothing.” He leveled a gaze at the taller of the two pale yellow-haired things standing across from him. “Straight?”

“Half again your normal cut, wasn’t it?” The woman, Elcare or some such, was a gorgeous specimen, just delicate-looking enough to assure the Admiral that she most certainly wasn’t.

“That’s nothing.” He raised a thick-fingered hand. “First off, a cut of your winnings is nothing, because you won’t keep winning, because nobody ever fucking does unless they’re conning the house. In which case, it’s my fat green ass on the line for you, and I don’t see Prince Kezan coming out of the clouds with sacks of cash for all, so that’s not happening. Second off, even if you did keep winning, money is fucking nothing. I could buy and sell you both ten times before sunset.” He paused. “Seven, at least.”

“Playin’ this yin hard, are yeh no’, mate?” Every time Tarquin ap Danwyrith smiled, Raza had to keep himself from going for one, or maybe both, of his guns – partially on survival instinct, partially on principle. “A share fir yir backin’, a payment fir a room at t’inn – s’a fair standard deal.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not a standard fucking guest.” Breakwater matched the smile with a steely glare, a weight of beetle-browed scowl over the top of his braided collar and epaulets. “My boys say you walk through walls and cheat kings at dice, and that when you snap your fingers, an arrow drills itself through a warlord’s brainpan. The Horde calls you Oathbreaker, the Alliance calls you traitor, and a bunch of fire-flinging lunatics and bloodthirsty elf cannibals call you boss. You’re a pain in the ass with a hat on.” He switched his gaze to the woman. “And you, lady, I don’t even know who the fuck you are, but any woman passing time with this skinny white ghost is nobody I want anything to do with.”

She smiled at him. He did not feel the urge to reach for his guns. “Are you always this smooth with the girls, Admiral? Think if you don’t know who I am, that’d be a fine reason to play it careful.” Her eyes flicked around the room. “Don’t know how goblins say it, but in Stormwind, there’s all sorts of warnings about getting familiar with mystery women.”

Raza snorted. “Not bad. And that’s an even better reason for me to tell you to fuck off and get off my ship.”

“Wis gonna say, mate,” piped up Tarquin, “I’m enjoyin’ the new boat. Stays even a fair deal better’n the last.”

“It’s a ship, and you’re leaving it. Lucky for you, I’m not going to tell that carroty prick in the City you were down here. Not today, anyway. Boys?” Before the guards could move in, the woman stepped forward.

“Come on, Admiral. Aren’t you the least bit curious what brings us down here? What sort of business we have planned that requires the cooperation of such an infamous…businessman…” She didn’t say pirate, and he could hear her not saying it. “…with a personal grudge against us? It’s a bit of a risk, even for the Black and Red. It’s got to make you curious.”

The guards were hesitating. Raza cursed his race’s inherent weakness for good dramatic timing. “No. Not even a little. It’s some insane fucking scheme and I want nothing to do with it.” He didn’t raise his hand to the boys again, and both man and woman just looked at him in smiled. “Galzik’s loose change, alright, fine, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yeh tell ‘im, Annie,” Tarquin said, sticking his thumbs into his belt and leaning back.

The woman began to walk closer, her voice taking on a tone that somehow passed for both businesslike and intimate. “Admiral Breakwater, my name’s Annalea Al’Cair, and this reprehensible fellow’s offered to take me on a vacation. We have no grand plans.” She paused elaborately, thinking to herself. It wasn’t a seduction – it was something significantly more subtle, and appealing. “Well, alright. We plan to ruin Booty Bay. We’re going to win your games of chance, defile your prettiest men and women, and be so blind stumbling drunk you can’t believe we got away with it.” She finished leaning against his desk, eyebrow arched, looking around the cabin with the air of a woman looking to redecorate. “And if you turn us down, you’ll never see what happens when you turn Stormwind’s finest criminals loose on the richest port in the south.”

More subtle, more appealing, and infinitely more dangerous. Raza closed his eyes momentarily, half-expecting to hear Tarquin crow Got yeh, yeh bastard! or something similar. But the human at least had more manners than that. “Twice my normal cut. And when you drop my name, you do it with respect.”

“S’if we could do elsewise, auld boy.” Tarquin grinned expansively, striding up to join Annalea Al’Cair in front of his desk. “Far as any punters asks is concerned, I’m here oan account ay air frequent business, an’ might be earnin’ some coin at the tables ta repay the favors I owe yeh.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Raza reached back for a bellpull. “I’ll have one of the girls show you to a suite. This had better be fucking entertaining, ap Danwyrith. Al’Cair. Now go away, I’ve got a motherfucker of a headache coming on just looking at you.”

They moved to the door, the guards folding in around them. Tarquin glanced back over his shoulder. “An’ by the by, Breakwater, Ceil sends her virra best regards.”

There it is. He kept his hands away from the guns by force of a certain effort. “Yeah, I’m sure. Shaw won’t try anything in Cartel territory, you half-vrykul freak. Keep your leashed devils away from me and don’t make me regret this.” He waved them away, ignoring the effusively barbed rejoinders, and waited until he was certain they were gone before smiling. You had to take your entertainments where you could.

—

The Bosun’s Quarters was a deceptively modest inn. Breakwater’s had girl led them along the plank streets of Booty Bay, seemingly unsure whether she should be chatting up the pair that had made her boss’ teeth grind audibly, or whether she should leave them the hell alone and hope they forgot her as soon as the doors to their rooms closed behind her. In the end, she opted for the latter, and that was fine by Tarquin and Annalea. They had sights to take in along the way — seeing which taverns looked lively, which alleys might lend well to skulking through, which others were better for pelting down at full-speed if need be. The Bay’s more opulent inns were built on the higher decks of the port city — above the stink of the docks and the rabble — but The Bosun’s Quarters was nestled snugly into the middle tier, the inn’s front looking no different than any of the others near it.

Once you got past the facade, however…

“So this is how you slum it without giving up your comfort.” Anna dropped her bags on the floor just inside and turned in a slow circle. The spacious common room was big enough to host a small dinner party in. Across the room, the balcony door stood open, the salt breeze stirring the curtains.

Tarquin sauntered over to it, peering out as though taking in the view, but his fingers traced the contours of the lock for a moment before he nodded. “This’ll do. Annie, thank our guide fir her services.”

She dropped a gold piece into the greenskin’s upraised hand and steered her to the door. “Give Breakwater our best,” she said, closed it in the goblin woman’s face. When she turned back to the room, Tarquin had disappeared. She heard a low whistle from one of the bedrooms and followed the sound.

Tarq stood, hands on hips, taking in the setup. The bed was heaped with pillows, their decorations stitched in shimmering silk. The furniture was finely crafted, gold gilding the mirrors, the arms of the chairs, even the washbasin. Not that anyone staying in Booty Bay ever needed extra blankets, but a heap of them sat on a lush divan by the window. Anna knew Darnassian lambswool when she saw it. The blankets would fetch enough back home to pay her rent for half a year. “Yeh think we could do somethin’ like this downstairs in the Pig?” He tossed a grin back over his shoulder.

“Sure. If you empty out the King’s coffers.”

“Put it on my list.”

“When we get back, I will. I’m on vacation.” The other bedroom was nearly the same, decorated in cool blues instead of the greens that graced the walls of Tarq’s room. From her window, Anna could see people strolling about, enjoying Booty Bay’s attractions while they waited for the sun to set and the true debauchery to begin. A woman walked by, hair piled high atop her head, wearing a dress that had to have her sweltering beneath it. The man at her side was also overdressed for the southern heat, but that wasn’t what made Anna curse under her breath. His black coat bore a crest she knew, had known since she was little and memorizing the Houses at her mother’s insistence. “Tarq?”

“Ayeh, Annie?” His voice came from the common room this time. When she poked her head out the door, she spied him by the window again, fiddling with the lock. He’d dragged an overstuffed armchair over to the door so he could sit while he worked on it. It was expensive seating for breaking-and-entering practice, but Tarq looked almost at home. “Have ta give it ta Breakwater. They didn’t skimp oan the security. This is a fuckin’ Wilmar an’ Young’s. If any punter in this town kin pick it, I’ll eat that virra fine hat I lent yeh.” The lock clicked under his ministrations. “Well. Any ither punter, ay course.” He looked up at her. “What were yeh callin’ for?”

“House Lambrick,” she said, tapping at her lip. “Didn’t they declare themselves penniless over the summer? Said that’s why they couldn’t donate any funds to the war efforts?”

“Ayeh, or so we heard.”

“Well. I just saw Lord and Lady Lambrick heading for The Golden Anchor. Unless they’re washing dishes, it’s not a place broke nobles ought to be able to eat at.”

For a moment, they were quiet, wheels turning in two separate golden-haired heads. But the silence between them was a sly one, of plans being mulled over, dismissed, or reworked. Anna’s grin broke first, but by the time Tarq had reset and picked his lock once more, his own sharklike smile matched hers. “Put oan yir prettiest dress, Annie,” he said, unfolding himself from the chair, “wir awey ta dine wi’ the bankrupt.”

Half an hour later, they emerged from their rooms, transformed. Anna’d buttoned herself into a crimson gown with altogether too many ruffles. It was completely impractical and the height of Stormwind fashion. Her hair was gathered up in a bun, with onyx beads tucked into the twists. She curtsied while Tarq sketched a bow, sweeping the hem of his white coat back in a manner that would impress the King himself. An intricate gold chain at his waist disappeared into the pocket of his pristine, snow-white pants.

“Didn’t the man waiting beside us at the gryphons have a pocket watch?”

“‘Did’ bein’ the operative word.” Tarq held out his arm. “Yeh ready ta go make Breakwater glad he saw things air wey?”

They headed out the door, making their way towards The Golden Anchor and its patrons. Behind them, the sun was sinking into the ocean, turning the water the color of blood.

Also, uh. Warning, adult content in both.))

—

Farley had sent for her, late in the day.  The Pride’s latest sensation had gone and caught herself a bad case of minstrel’s finger — which was a polite way of saying she’d spend the majority of her set clawing at the itch in her nethers if they put her up onstage — and that would never do.  So wouldn’t she please come and save him, just for one night?  Drinks on the house, double her old pay, anything, anything, just come and sing.

And so she had.

The inn hadn’t changed since the last time she’d performed here.  The patrons hadn’t changed all that much, either — soldiers, farmers, minor nobles, travellers passing through — though they wore different faces.  But even that was another example of all that had stayed the same.  She wondered if maybe she was still the same, too.

Her eyes roamed over the crowd, gauging their mood, choosing the songs that would draw them out, make them call for more ale, make them drop coins in her lute’s case between ballads.  She strummed the instrument idly, her fingers picking out a lilting little nothing-melody to get their attention.  It worked like it always had:  the hush spread through them like ripples on a pond, quieter and quieter, until all eyes were on her.

Then the notes trailed off, too, her fingers gone still upon the strings.  Her head was bent, eyes on the floor.  The anticipation grew until it was near-palpable.  Some of them leaned ever so slightly forward, as though they couldn’t exhale until she gave them permission.  Then she lifted her chin and threw them her bawdiest smile as she launched into the first verse of “Redridge Lasses.”

It came back so easily.  Eye contact, of course, was extremely important for a bard — give this one a grin, that one a wink, make each person in the crowd think she was singing for a party of one.  A coy look for that one, let your eyes linger a full measure on that one — within three verses, they were hers.

Then there was the one in the front row.

He sat dead center, long-fingers curled around a glass of bourbon.  His cotton shirt likely doubled for Sunday best or a night on the town.  Bits of mud still clung to the bottoms of his boots despite the brushing he’d clearly given them.  A farmhand, then, someone who had cleaned up for an evening of leisure.  And cleaned up nicely, at that. He stared up at her with eyes the color of the earth he turned day in and day out, and when he was sure he had her attention, he let them travel down, then up again.

She knew how this dance went.  She hadn’t moved through its steps for nearly two years, but she remembered every single beat.  Lower the lashes, find a smile that’s just for him, now turn away and smolder at someone else.

But only burn when you look at him.

That came back easily, too.

—

If you do this, there’s no going back.

During her break, he came to her in the kitchen.  She pressed coins into his palm, enough for a room on the quiet side of the inn, and pointed him at Farley.

If you do this, you’re every inch the whore he tried convincing you you weren’t.

When the singing was done, when she’d finished making them howl with laughter and weep with songs of the frozen north, when they’d gone hoarse from shouting back the chorus of “The Fox and the Cocks,” she packed her lute in its case and made her bows.  They begged for one more and she gave it to them, unaccompanied.  A lover’s song.  She closed her eyes as she sang, her voice gone hushed and husky.  She tried not to remember the feel of golden hair beneath her fingertips or the smell of the sea, where she’d been when last she’d sung this song.  When she’d sung it for him and him alone.

When she opened her eyes, she saw her new conquest ascending the stairs.

She followed.

If you do this, you’re not worthy of him.

She couldn’t tell if she was dragging him backwards while he kissed her, or if he was the one in charge, driving her forward in his enthusiasm.  Either way, her back slammed into the door hard enough to make it rattle in its frame.

Fin would have stopped, asked if she was all right, eased back in.  Her new companion didn’t even seem to notice.  She was glad for it; she didn’t think she could bear even that small kindness tonight.

I was never worthy.

—

“I… I sometimes find myself thinking about your past relationships.  What… what you told me.  And I know I shouldn’t! I really do.  I don’t care about them.

“But, you know. I grew up in the country. I haven’t…  I found Johanna when I was young, and that was it. After the plague, working for the church doesn’t leave much time for a social life, aye?  I’m just sayin’ for various reasons I haven’t… I haven’t been with many women.”  Fin looked down, embarrassed.  “You were likely expecting a more… worldly man.”

“Fin, look at me.”

He did, reluctantly.  She took his hand and moved in closer.

“I’ll bet you knew every curve of Johanna’s skin.  And what kind of day she’d had by how she kissed you.  Walked into a crowded room, and you could find her by her laugh.”

His grin was tinged with memory.  “We were still young, but aye. I knew her well.”

“I had to start from the beginning.  Every time.”

—

For the third time, she guided his hand to where she wanted it and for the third time, it felt good until he got caught up in what she was doing to him, and he forgot all over again.

She’d been patient about it, once upon a time, willing to let them figure it out as the candles burned lower and lower.  But it had been so long since she’d had to to that at all, she was surprised to find herself contemplating throwing out some verbal directions.

Fin would have known.

He would have known that when she gasped like –this– he was getting something very right, and shouldn’t stop.  Or that when she moved –so– it was her way of telling him to slow down, to give her a moment to catch up to him, because they moved together so beautifully, so perfectly when one was right there with the other, when their breaths came in ragged sync and every move was harmony.  Fin had learned those things even during their first awkward night together, when they were still shyly learning the nuances of each touch.  He’d picked up on it and never forgotten.  And she could get there now, she could, if he’d only slow down a moment, if he’d just hold back a few more seconds, if he’d just wait, if he’d just slow down, if he’d just

“…wait, wait, please…”  But it wasn’t Fin straining away above her, tonight.  He took her whispers for encouragement and upped his pace.  He groaned into the curve of her neck, shuddered, and lay still as she ached beneath him.

—

The second try was better.  She took what she wanted, sparing little notice for the things she’d recognized the first time around that signalled his pleasure, concentrating solely on her own.  She set her own rhythm as she moved atop him, let her fingers roam to wherever felt best.  Her cheeks colored with the wantonness, the pure carnality of her actions.

But her bedmate didn’t seem to care; in fact, it only spurred him on.  She finished seconds before he did, but none of the hoped-for consonance came with it.  They were two people who had finished similar tasks at a similar time, nothing more.

He gathered her into his arms after, nuzzling at her neck and asking quiet questions as their breathing slowed.  She answered politely, pretending she hadn’t had this same conversation with a hundred men before him.

(A hundred men save one.)

(Shut up.)

Her replies slid from her tongue like a song she’d memorized long ago, one that had faded in her memory, but one she could never fully forget.

It all came back so easily.

—

She drew her knees up to her chest in the pre-dawn light, wondering why she felt so cold despite the blankets that covered them both, despite the warm body at her side.  She thought about waking him up again, for one more fuck before the sun rose.

But it would be just as fruitless as the first two times.  Fin had gotten under her skin — she’d let him get there, let him dig down through her muscles and settle deep into her bones.  No matter how hard or fast or deep the man beside her might thrust, it wouldn’t drive out love, or hurt, or loneliness.

And she knew, even though she didn’t dare face it yet, that when she got home, no matter how hard she scrubbed at her skin, she’d find she’d done the irrevocable.  No amount of soap would wash away this betrayal.

We’re over.  I went to him and said as much, and in the end, he let me go.  I can bed whoever I want, and so can he.

I hope he’s fucking a camp follower, right now.

I hope he’s fucking some woman from the Silver Hand, or the Kirin Tor, or whoever else he takes a fancy to.

It was a lie, but she repeated it to herself anyway.  She pictured it, too, for good measure, conjured up women both real and imagined writhing above him, and pretended it didn’t bother her.

“Fuck,” she muttered, and threw the covers off.  She dressed hastily; they hadn’t bothered with a fire last night, so now her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she yanked her dress over her head.  Something else had come back, too, the mantra that rattled around in her head at times like this:  men leave.

Men left.  Even Fin, with all his good intentions, had left her behind.  She had no delusions that this time would be any different.  So she did what she’d taught herself to do long ago:  she gathered up her lute and her cloak, found her underthings, and started for the door.

“We were good together,” he said from behind her.  She paused at the door, but didn’t turn.

We were, Fin and I.  But that’s over now.

“I could make you happy.” As though she hadn’t heard that before, either.

“No,” she said, gently as she could.  “You couldn’t.”

Annalea crawled out of the tent as the first hints of dawn tinged the sky. It wasn’t so much light as it was a lightening — the mountains became a darker spot on an already dark background; some of the stars winked out, while others had time yet to shine.

She wasn’t the first one awake. Just beyond the entrance to their camp, a match flared as whoever was on watch lit a cigarette. Someone was smoking closer by, too — northern leaf, its scent curling around her on the pre-dawn wind. She turned to her right and saw her brother-in-law, building the fire back up and tossing some herbs into a pot. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she made her way over to him.

“Yer up early.” He glanced up at her, then back down to a list at his side. It had been folded and refolded, probably twice a day at least since she’d given it to him — all the things Threnn would need to keep herself and the baby healthy.

“So are you. Is Threnny still sleeping?” She eased herself down beside him and held her hands out to the fire, trying to coax the ache out of her fingers. Weeks of harvesting followed by days and days of grinding away with her mortar and pestle, she was amazed her hands hadn’t bent themselves permanently into claws. And wouldn’t that be a fine bit of payback for Aumery Fane? Wouldn’t he just laugh at that? She shoved that thought away. There were things far more fearsome coming in the next few hours.

“Aye, but fitfully. She’ll be up an’ about once she hears more o’us walkin’ around.” He gave the pot a stir. “Fin still out cold?”

“Yeah. It was a long day. Longer one ahead. I didn’t want to wake him.”

They sat for a while, while he tended to the pot, occasionally tossing in another handful of herbs. “Yeh still look like shite,” he said at last. “Better than last time, but yer still on the fuckin’ potions, aren’t yeh?” He pitched the butt of his cigarette into the snow. Before it hissed out, he had his tobacco pouch out and was rolling another with a long-practiced motion.

Anna eyed it. “Um. Could I…?”

“Och, they’re shite fer singers.” But he passed it over anyway, flicking a match as she raised it to her lips. He seemed only mildly surprised when she didn’t explode into a coughing fit. “Since when do yeh smoke?”

“Off and on since I was seventeen. It’s a bit early for a shot of whiskey to go with it.”

He chuckled and rolled one for himself. “Yeh didn’t answer me question.”

She attempted a smoke ring that ended up more of a smoke oblong. It wobbled its way into the sky while she mulled over her response. “It’s a different formula, now. And I don’t take it when he’s home on leave.”

“I’m rattin’ yeh out ta both o’them when this is done. Fin an’ yer sister. It’s gotta stop, Annie.”

“When all this is done, it might not matter.”

His teeth ground together, audible evidence of keeping his temper in check. “Annie. No one’s dyin’ today.” There was hollowness beneath the anger; he wasn’t convinced of it himself.

“Well. I’m not.”

Something in the way she said it gave him pause. “Yeh’ve seen it, then?”

“In a sense.”

“That shite with Chromie an’ the Bronze?”

“Yeah. I live long enough to start going grey, at the very least. But when I asked about Fin…” She shrugged and took another drag.

“No answer? Strewth. Annie, yer future self’s a bitch.”

“Act surprised.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.”

“You two are safe. Stonemantle saw Naiara. That means Threnny lives. And she’s not going to let you fall.”

“Fin can take care o’himself. He’ll be watchin’ yeh, same as Threnny’ll be watchin’ me. An’ if he gets in trouble, she’ll be watchin’ him, too. Yeh’ll be unlivable if she doesn’t.” He nudged her when she didn’t smile. “Fer a priestess, yer faith is shite.”

“That assumes I ever had any.”

“In yer sister? Yeh’d fuckin’ better.”

“Mmph.” But he was right. The gods might have their eyes on the heart of the battle today, but it didn’t matter. Riders watched out for Riders, the gods be damned. She took one last drag and pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to go catch a little more rest. Thanks for the smoke, brother-mine.”

“Aye,” he said. “Go on back ta Fin.” His caught her hand as she turned. “An’ Annie.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t yeh fuckin’ dare be goin’ back there ta say goodbye.”

She looked at him for a long moment in the firelight. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“Deal,” he said, and turned his grip into a handshake. “Now piss off. I’m bringin’ breakfast ta yer sister.”

A few of the others were stirring as she retreated back to the tent she and Fin shared. People murmurred to one another inside their own canvas walls, packing up bedrolls, changing clothes. The slow rasp of a whetstone on a blade came from Jolstraer’s tent, a husky laugh from inside Ilanna and Chryste’s. The mountains stood out, distinct now from the sky behind them, but when she let the flap close behind her, darkness reigned once more.

Fin swam awake as she shed her cloak and crawled in beside him. “Light, Anna, you’re freezing.”

“I went for a walk. It’s early yet. Go back to sleep.”

His arms snaked around her, hands rubbing at her back to speed up the warmth. “Are you all right?”

“Fin?” She wriggled in closer as he nuzzled at her sleepily.

“Aye?”

“Shut up and hold me.”

“Aye.”