Naiara also allows for an interesting flash-back/flash-forward kind of fiction. Personally, I found it easier to figure out Wildfire Riders role in killing the Lich King by using Naiara.

Naiara ran as fast as she could, away from the University and the bastards that could not keep their gobs shut. She dodged the guards–the one her parents paid to keep her in school–and cut straight to the Canals. It was the long way back home, she knew, but also the least likely way for people to follow.

Half way through the streets, Naiara knew that someone–maybe even the Headmaster himself–would look for her at home. So cut towards Old Town, and took the route her parents taught her. Through Costra territory–flashing enough cant to show she was a Rider–and right to the back alley of the Pig and Whistle.

She meant to run head on to the back door and hide in her uncle’s office. She also meant to be more careful running the streets. Naiara was crying, so she could barely see a few inches past her face. She could barely hear with the blood rushing in her ears. She ran on instinct, counting the steps from her school to her second home.

Naiara thought she was five steps away from the back door of the Pig and Whistle, so she was taken by surprise when she ran head first into a wall. Naiara landed on her arse, then somersaulted backward, just to keep herself safe. As she started to pick herself up, someone grabbed her. She screamed a string of obscenities sure to grab someone’s attention.
“Gitoffme you filthy fuckin’ c–”

“Naiara Bittertongue,” her father said sternly. “Watch yer mouth.”

“Da!” She yelped. Naiara stopped struggling and threw her arms around her father.

“What the hell are yeh doin wee girl? Why aren’t yeh at school?”

Naiara hugged Bricu harder in answer to his question. Bricu shifted the sleeping infant on his shoulder and tried to soothe both children at once.

“Yeh nearly knocked me an’ yer brother inta the canals, love. Now then, yeh ready ta say what’s on yer mind then?”

Naiara, her face burried into her father’s leg, shook her head slightly.

“Did yeh want ta go inside.” Naiara shook again, this time wiping her nose on his pants. Naiara pulled away slowly, her hair covering half of her face. “No, Da,” she whispered. She sat down at the edge of the canal and dangled her feet over the edge. Then Naiara put her head in her hands, and refused to look up.

Bricu sat next to her, still rocking Padraig. He watched Naiara, noting the tell-tale cuts on her knuckles, and waited for her to say what had happened.

“Da, why do yeh call the Lich King the Bwoody Prince?”

“That’s what Northmen call ‘em. Yeh…want ta know ‘bout all that?”

“Because Araduin an’ Catherine an’ Stephen were sayin’ I was a barmy girl fer talkin’ like that. Then they said their da’s were the ones that killed the Lich King. Not the Riders.”

“So yeh ran from school ‘cause someone said somethin’ yeh didn’t like.”

“No.” Naiara said softly.

“Why’d yeh run from school?”

“Because I didn’t want to get yelled at.”

“Who was gonna yell?”

“The Headmaster.”

“Why was Headmaster Caltrains gonna yell?” Bricu asked.

“Because I hit them. Hard. I hurted my hand doing it.” Naiara showed Bricu the cuts on her knuckles. Bricu took her hands and kissed near the cuts. He saw that Naiara had not just hit someone straight in the mouth. Her tiny hands were covered in bruises and cuts, the kind that would have been absorbed by traditional gloves. She took to boxing a little too well.

“I can see that love. Who’d yeh hit?”

“Araduin, Catherin and Stephen. I kicked Stephen too.”

Bricu nodded. “Yer goin’ back ta apologize ta each o’them t’morrow. An’ yer gonna write letters ta them. An’ yer not gettin’ dessert tanight fer yer cursin’.”

“DA!” Naiara said. She pulled her head up from her hands to complain.

“OI.” Bricu said, cutting Naiara off. “Now yer gonna listen ta the truth o’the matter on the Bloody Prince.”

“Did you kill him?” Naiara asked, no longer complaining. She focused on her father, eyes as wide a saucers, and waited to hear the story.

“Love… First, yeh need ta understand somethin’. He was our prince. He was our Chief. Like Uncle Tarq.”

“HE was like Uncle TARK?!”

“A chief like Tarq. A boss. Yeh ken that?”

“Aye. He gave orders and people did their jobs.” Naiara nodded for added emphasis.

“That’s me clever wee girl. Exactly. He did many bad things love. He hurt people. He ruined the Old North. Made it so the flowers couldn’t grow. He hurt the people, the animals an’….” Bricu paused and studied Naiara.

Naiara looked up at her Da, listening to his every word. She filled his pause with a question. “Is it story time, da?”

Story-time, the only sure-fire way to keep Naiara entertained for more than half a minute. He smiled before he continued. “Aye love, its story time.”

“The Bloody Prince was a bad man, a Royal from the Old North. Do yeh ken what that means.”

“He was a Northman. And a shitebird.” Naiara said.

“Exactly. He was the biggest shitebird Azeroth has e’er seen.”

“Worse than…”

Bricu cut her off. “Much worse, love.”

Bricu glanced down at Naiara and looked through her. “The King called the banners fer an assault, led by a good man. Yer mum an’ I decided ta go North, even though yer mum had yeh in her belly. Like yer brother was.”

Naiara shook her head in understanding.

“So we went North ta make sure yeh didn’t have ta grow up in a world with such a bad man in it. It took a year o’fightin’ ‘im ta finally bring him down. An’ we did it, yer family was there. Yer mum. Yer. All yer aunts a’n uncles. The Kings Men were there…”

“Ballacks ta them.” Naiara said.

Bricu held up a finger. “Oi, this was their fight ta love. Even the Horde was there, fightin’ their way ta kill ‘im. When the end came…”

The Val’kyr picked up Threnn in mid prayer. The Light sputtered and failed as she was lifted into the air. She struggled and kicked, but Bricu knew she was held fast. Tarquin was no where near her. White feathered arrows peppered the valkyr, but it hadn’t slowed. Ulthanon kept firing. Bricu called on the Light to stun Arthas’ handmaiden. It slowed enough for him to catch up and slam a mace into its wing, but it was so close to the edge….

“When the end came, we fought his best an’ scariest monsters love. We nearly lost a lot o good people, but we fought as hard as we could.”

“Mum too?”

“Yer Mum fought as hard as any Northman. Yer Uncle Jak would trade off with Uncle Uthas ta keep the Bloody Prince from cu–hurtin’ yer Auntie Yva an’ Annalea. Uncle Shad was in the thick o’the fightin’ ta, helpin’ everyone stand up. That night, Bloody Prince’s throne room was as full as the Pig on a Saturday night.”

“Was Elly there?” Naiara asked.

“No love, Elly wasn’t there. But lots were. Maybe Anduin’s da or Catherine’s mum was there. There were a lot o’people there.”

Another Val’kyr fell from the sky, this time grabbing Bricu under the shoulders. He cursed and swung his mace, called on the Light and the Fox to keep him from harm, but the ledge grew closer. He tried to swing his legs up and over to free himself, but the Val’kyr was too strong. Just at the ledge, the Val’kyr shuddered, stunned by the Light, and was peppered with magic, arrows and bullets. Bricu fell to the ground and slid forward. He watched another body fall of the ledge before turning around and rejoining the fight...

“Da?” Naiara asked.

Bricu came back to the story. “Lots o’us where there. I figured yeh’d be older when yeh wanted ta talk ‘bout what happened that day. In the end…”

…The world went dark. Bricu felt himself pulled in two directions. Towards the warmth of the Light or the cold of Shadow. One beckoned, one pulled and Bricu fought both to stay on Azeroth, with his daughter. Then the Light pushed him back to consciousness. He heard Tirion’s voice…

“Da, is story time o’er?” Naiara asked.

“No love. It’s still story time. In the end, with the Highlord Tirion’s help, we all put him down. It took all o’us ta do it. Riders, Roses, Professor Caltrain’s folk. Orcs, Trolls, Tauren… It was the last time we actually stood shoulder ta shoulder .”

“So why did Araduin say the Riders weren’t there?”

“Sometimes love, folk make up fake stories. Yeh know that. Right?”

“Stephen said that his da had a piece from the Bwoody Prince’s throne room. Is that true?”

Bricu shrugged his shoulders, careful not to disturb the still sleeping Padraig. “Maybe it is love. Maybe it isn’t. Most o’us couldn’t bare ta touch anything there. The Highlord’s soldiers kept a close on folk ta make sure no one stole somethin’ dangerous. Did he say he was gonna bring it in?”

“He said he goin’ ta. Can I bring a sword to school and show them what you killed him with?”

Bricu shook his. “Love, wasn’t just me…an’ yer too young ta have a blade that big. But…” Bricu sighed. “If yeh go inside an’ work on yer apologies an’ take a nap, I’ll give yeh somethin’ yeh can take ta class t’morrow.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

Naiara scooted back from the edge and hugged Bricu, throwing her arms around his chest to keep Padraig asleep. She kissed him on the cheek and walked to the back door of the Pig and Whistle.

“Yeh comin’ in, Da?” Naiara asked.

“Right behind yeh, love,” Bricu said. He watched over his shoulder as Naiara walked into the Pig. Confident she was inside–and not doubling back to spy, as she was wont to do–he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jagged piece of metal, still cool to the touch these years later. It was covered in runes and wards, set in a mithril filigree that was also covered in protective magic, even though the Crusade promised him that this piece was inert.

“Just ta be safe, then, we’ll keep it in holy water ta.”

With that, Padraig stirred. He was not crying, but he was starting to mew and coo. Bricu stood slowly and hummed a lullaby, to keep Padraig soothed for a few minutes more.

–

Naiara snuck out of bed four times–once without the even the hint of a pretext–to pester Bricu about school. During her fourth and final time, she announced that “Good da’s don’t break promises.” To which he responded, “Good girls let da’s finish their promises.”

It was well into the night when he finally finished the charm. Set in a crystal vial, surrounded in holy water, was the inert piece of armor. Even surrounded by the wards, the vial was cool to the touch. He showed to to Threnn, who said it seemed safe enough if she didn’t wear it as a charm. Satisfied it was safe enough, he brought it to Naiara’s room.

He handled the vial and the candle in the same hand as he opened the door to her room. Naiara was sitting straight up in bed, staring right at him.

“I thought I told yeh ta get ta bed,” Bricu said.

“Yeh said yeh’d have somethin’ fer class.” she retorted.

“Oi. Watch it wee girl. I can still add more punishments on ta yer list if yer gonna be mouthy.”

“Da, I want ta see it!” she exclaimed. “Lemme see it.”

“Yeh can see it. T’morrow, when I walk yeh ta school, I’m gonna hand it ta Miss Arliece. She’s gonna hold on ta it till yer teacher lets yeh show it off. Alright?”

“Okay. Can I see it now?” She shifted anxiously, holding a hand out for the vial.

“Here, love. Look at it carefully then give it back.” Bricu handed the vial to her. Naiara nearly snatched it from his hands.

“Thank yeh da, thank yeh thank yeh thank…” As her hands closed around the vial, Naiara’s eyes grew wide. She stopped talking. Bricu set the candle by her bed and sat on her bed.

“Love? Wee Girl? Oi, Naiara!” He said. Naiara said nothing, but he could hear Threnn, with a wailing Padraig, getting closer.

“What is it?” Threnn said.

“She took the vial, then she just stopped…”

“Mum, Da.” Naiara said. Tears filled her eyes, and the vial dropped out of her hand.

“What is it love?” Threnn asked. She sat next to her, holding her close and stroking her hair. Bricu scooped up the vial and sat on the other side of her. He wrapped his arms around Threnn, Naiara and Padraig.

“He’s not going to send the White Ladies with Wings after me? Is he?”

Bricu and Threnn looked at each, as if to comfort each other at what their daughter had seen. They both spoke at once.

“No love.”

“No wee girl. No.”

“I saw them take mum an’ da…an’ I saw the fightin’… He’s gone, isn’t he? Really gone?” The tears came in a torrent.

“Aye love. There’s no more Bloody Prince. We made sure o’that. “

“Your da and I won’t let any monsters get to you. Ever.” Threnn said.

“Puh-puh-promise?” Naiara said.

“Promise.” Her parents said.

Naiara Bittertongue

The usual haze of smoke that hangs in the Pig and Whistle has dissipated. Even the chain smokers are careful to light up outside. Bricu and Threnn Bittertongue are at the front of the table, pouring over a map and sipping mugs of tea. Sitting in between them, in a high-chair built to look like King Llane’s Throne in Old Lordaeron, is chubby, happy baby. She smiles and gurgles, occasionally blurting out a few words that may not be appropriate for mixed company. As you get closer, she stops babbling and starts watching you. She has her father’s eyes–today she has her mother’s face–and if she wasn’t a toddler, she’d look like a card player. She’s all together serious while still discerning another’s cards. Toddlers’ cannot be that clever…

Naiara Bittertongue is the youngest, unofficial, Wildfire Rider and does not have a character model. She certainly has a presence in WFR RP. People interact with her through emotes and whispers. Characters watch their language when she’s around–using the phrase Earmuffs instead of their favorite profanities–and they even spoil her with presents. She’s an example of an NPC without a character model that has a direct effect on game play.

Even before Naiara had a name, before Threnn and I discussed how to handle her as an entity, she had stories. Vague stories to be fair, but they’ve all turned into something relating to the game: Diaper changing, post-partum depression, the drive to become better parents. Each one of these ideas stem from discussions on how Naiara interacts with the game world. Sometimes these interactions are for everyone in the circle. For instance, her kidnapping was a huge plot of 2010. Sometimes we resort to forum fic to show another interaction (like tomorrow’s Friday Fic).

Her future is vaguely defined right now, but right now she can do–or become–anything that the WoW universe would allow.

Its child-rearing in abstract, without the downsides of dirty diapers, sleepless nights and the constant worry that new parents have. She is also a way to expand the game in a way that supports RP without breaking lore or game mechanics.

Does your circle have a character like Naiara? Has your circle addressed children and child birth in game before? Fill us in!

Naiara Bittertongue

Naiara Bittertongue exists as a series of emotes, drawings and exquisitely timed phonetically spelled swear words. She doesn’t have a class. She has no profession. She does not even have an avatar. She does, however, consume a significant amount of RP. In return, she generates more than her fair share of Bricu/Threnn stories, ideas and vignettes. It should be no surprise, then, that Naiara was a huge factor in how the Bittertongues decided to deal with Arthas. This is how the Bricu prepared for war.

Thenia refused to think of her daughters and her son in law. Both daughters, her no good son-in-law and her nearly-perfect granddaughter had arrived to tell her, in person, that the Highlord had called the banners. The Riders were going to war, which meant her daughters were at risk… Instead, she focused on her still limping husband, who was stubbornly insisted on putting their granddaughter to bed.

“Sit and relax Thenia.” Padraig said, “You worked all day. Besides, I usually put her to bed. You can get her ready when she gets up in the morning.”

She noted that Padraig didn’t mention how Naiara did not want to come near her, or how Naiara fussed when he left the room. She was thankful that Padraig didn’t use the words, “phase, stage or fussy.” He just left it alone. Thenia almost smiled at her husbands kindness.

To keep her thoughts from drifting to Dalaran–and worse–Thenia kept herself busy by sorting through Naiara’s bags. Threnn and Bricu left her: sets of clothes, cloth diapers, homemade snacks and more stuffed animals than any little girl really needed. Each bag was meticiulously packed and ordered, and contained far more than what was necessary for “one last battle.”

At the bottom of the biggest bag, she found a large enevlope. It was addressed to Naiara, not to her, in Bricu’s hand writing. Thenia didn’t need instructions on how to take care of her granddaughter, and as clever as Naiara was, she was still years away from learning her letters. Her son-in-law left her a mystery. A mystery she carried with her to the kitchen, where she made herself some tea. As the kettle boiled, she checked to make sure no one in the house was watching her–a useless precaution given that she could hear Padraig reading a story to Naiara–and steamed the envolpe open.

She took out a collection of letters. Some were short notes, others were multiple page affairs. Some were written in Threnn’s handwriting, some in Bricu’s. All of them were dated. Most were dated for Naiara’s birthday, but Thenia found one with today’s date–a long letter written by Bricu–and read it.

My wee girl,

Your Da.

Thenia folded the letter up and put it back into the envelope. She listened for Padraig or Naiara, but neither was making a sound. For the moment, Thenia was completely alone in her home. She sat in her chair and let herself worry about her family, in the North.

A woman led the procession of mourners from the great Cathedral in Stormwind to the back alley of the Pig and Whistle. Some of the mourners, those farther away from the front, wept. Those in the front, all of whom were decked in the Black and Red–even if the edges were torn and the colors faded from age–were as silent as the grave. In between the mourners and the Riders, the occasional Agent of the Crown could be seen, studying the faces of the assembled mourners.

When they reached the back alley, the woman turns to address the crowd. She has auburn hair and northern eyes. She does not cry nor does her voice crack with emotion. She says these words with practiced ease.

My father was a bastard. Some of you, the more forgiving of you, might credit this to his childhood: Growing up on the streets of Lordaeron with the other refugees and orphans. While he was quick to point out that he was an orphan, I would be remiss if I did not remind you all that he was, in his heart, a right bastard.

He was a solider of so loyal to his Prince that he put his own countrymen to the sword and burned down his home. While many men would repent this sin, or follow their prince to the bitter end, my father did neither. He marched his way south, to Northshire Abbey, where he cheated and conned his way into what was left of the Order of the Silver Hand. Maybe he mentioned his liege–a landed knight who lived near Stratholme–or maybe he begged for sanctuary. He never spoke of it to me. He did tell me how he spent his days sneaking out to Goldshire and drinking away his memories. He did tell me how he challenged the faith of his instructors and mentors, how he was punished for heresy–twice–and yet he managed to charm his way into a set of spurs.

What kind of Paladin is a founding member of the Black n’Red? Maybe the Light he worshiped is the light reflected off gold and silver coins that he helped steal.

That’s how he taught me about the Light–A story of how the Fox stole enough the Light to hunt for food for her kits, another to keep her kits warm at night–stories that he swore were told to him by his own parents. This is how I was raised: with the criminals of Old Town, and taught fantastic heresies from the Old North. Only a bastard would raise a child this way.

He was smart enough, to put down his bourbon long enough to see my mother for who she is. Threnody Al’Cair is as beautiful and clever as the day she met my father. Bricu had no chance against her. To his credit, from the day they stood watch at my family’s shop, my father put ahead of everyone else…until I was born.

My father was there to kill the Bloody Prince–the bogeyman that still haunts those who have Northman blood. Then he hosted his wake. My father was there to help the people of Stormwind when Deathwing appeared. Then, once the dust settled, he delivered the Riders’ Bill For Service to the King’s steward.

A good bastard keeps account of who has what coming. No one could do that better than my da.

I’m sure that many of you here, in front of the Pig and Whistle, are part of the King’s Service. The illustrious organization that my father refused to call anything but Seven, or the Bloody Arseholes of Seven. You locked him away before I was born. You took him away from me when I was just a girl. You may even have had something to do with us being here today. So it is for your benefit today that I remind you of how my father, Bricu Bittertongue, was a right bastard.

He wouldn’t mind you lot speaking ill of him–he didn’t have a kind word to say about you either–and he would be offended if you lied about him.

But he was my bastard, and I would rather have a right bastard with me then King or Country behind me.

Good bye Da. I love you. We’ll miss you.

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.

Naiara Bittertongue

Today is Naiara Bittertongue’s Birthday. I don’t think its funny to celebrate the birthday of a fictional character, especially when this particular fictional character is the result of so many fantastic stories. So, in honor of those fantastic stories–and my brilliant RP partner Threnn–I’m sharing the stories and cleaned up chat logs from that night. If you stick with us to the very end, you’ll learn something new about Naiara…

The contractions started at dawn, pulling Threnn out of a sound sleep. It was the first night since they’d returned from Icecrown that she hadn’t dreamed of the fields littered with the dead, or the shadow of a chittering Nerubian Prince, or the cold, dead eyes of the Wordweaver. She lay there in the dim light, wondering if she should wake Bricu. He’d been subdued all week, the horrors they’d witnessed shadowing his eyes even when he was making plans for their daughter’s future.

The pain subsided even as she came awake the rest of the way. It had felt more like a strong cramp than what she imagined true labor pains would be. Anna says this part could last all day. Leave him be. Truth be told, Anna had said this part could last for several days. Best to wait a little longer and try getting back to sleep herself. Threnn pulled the covers up and snuggled closer to her husband.

It seemed that she’d only just drifted off when the second one came, but it had to be longer than a few minutes; the sun was brighter, creeping across the floor towards the bed. She counted to thirty before the pang went away, and gave up on the notion that she’d fall asleep again any time soon.

There was just enough light to read by; Threnn sat up, propping her pillows behind her back, and retrieved one of the books Yva’d brought to her — a study of arcane magic, written for beginning practitioners. It got dry in places, enough that her eyes slipped closed despite her resolve to stay awake. The book fell from her hands.

Sometime later, both Bittertongues awoke to the sounds of a cat and a pengu crashing about the room in a game of chase. Sasha dove under the bed. Tirion launched himself across the top of it — tromping over his master’s and mistress’ legs — to drop down upon her when her beak poked out from the other side.

“Oi!” Bricu’s sleep-thickened voice made both animals pause mid-tumble to peek up at him guiltily. “The two o’yeh cut that out or I’ll ship yeh off ta the gobbers. See if they feed yeh half so well.”

Tirion stopped gnawing on Sasha’s ear and started giving her a bath. For her part, the pengu suffered it in silence.

Bricu grunted and rolled over, reaching for Threnn. “It’s almost as if they understa–Threnny? Yeh been awake long?”

She shook her head. “I was reading for a while, and. Oh. Ow.” Her hand went to her stomach as she felt the cramping begin again.

That got Bricu sitting up, his hand covering hers and filling with the Light. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, love. ‘s what’s supposed to happen.” She took a deep breath. Another. “Half a minute. Last one was maybe an hour ago.”

His eyes widened. “Should we be callin’ Annie an’ Haemon?”

“They’ll tell me to go back to bed. ‘s nowhere near time yet.”

“But it’s today, isn’t it?”

“Today or tomorrow, yeah.”

“An’ they’ll tell us to go back ta sleep? Ballacks.” Bricu let the Light go and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not goin’ ta be able ta…” He looked around their room, as if there might be answers in the gleam of gems on his worktable, or the ashes in the grate. Or on the tea tray from last night. “Breakfast.”

“What?”

“If I’m not goin’ back ta sleep, I’m makin’ breakfast. Can yeh eat?”

“A whole stack of pancakes.”

“Brilliant.” He leaned over and kissed her. When he pulled away, two pairs of eyes were peeking over the edge of the bed, one feline, one birdlike. “An’ yeh lot get tuna. We’re celebratin’.”

—

After breakfast, there was nothing to do but wait. Bricu arranged his jewels and settings on the worktable and made a valiant effort at concentrating on them. Soon enough, he gave that up and moved to his writing desk, sifting through paperwork for the house and the Pig. Threnn, deprived of her blacksmithing tools, sketched out a few designs for a sword she was planning once her sister returned her hammers.

Then a contraction would come, and both Bittertongues would stop what they were doing while Threnn counted off. Bricu had started keeping a list of their length and frequency during breakfast, when a particularly strong one made Threnn drop her fork.

A call to Anna yielded the exact reaction they’d expected: keep count, wait, tell me when they’re closer. Despite that, while she was cautioning her sister and brother-in-law to stay calm, they could hear her rushing around on the other side of the buzzbox, gathering her things. Threnn imagined Anna composing a list in her blocky handwriting, ticking off the items one by one.

They took a walk when the bells tolled half-past ten, making their slow way to the Mage District. Flowers lined the walkways, a colorful contrast to the stark snows of Icecrown. “I’ve never noticed them before,” said Threnn, bending awkwardly to pick a white sprig of yarrow.

“I heard the crown doubled the gardenin’ staff, after the winter we had. Keeps up morale.” He considered the flowerbed they were passing and added a lily to her bouquet.

“Well. ‘s working.”

By the time they meandered back to the Rose, the midday crowd had arrived. Bricu took the flowers and headed into the kitchens to prepare their lunch. Threnn paused halfway up the stairs, her knuckles turning white on the railing as another contraction came. They were definitely coming faster now, their intensity growing. When it passed, she continued her climb, grateful that no one had seen her grimace and offered assistance.

She surveyed the room as she swept inside, hanging her light spring cloak on its hook. Everything was tidy; the bedside tables had been cleared off for Anna and Haemon’s use. They’d borrowed a few chairs from the small sitting room down the hall. Light only knew if they’d be needed, but it was better to be prepared.

Bricu entered a few minutes later with bowls of soup and a loaf of fresh bread. He’d found a vase for the flowers and set them in the middle of the tray.

“Smells delicious.”

“It’s cream o’asparagus.” He put everything down on the desk and waited for Threnn to try her first spoonful before tucking into his own. “Threnny? Don’t yeh like it?”

She’d taken one taste and set the spoon down. “I… It’s fine. I just. I think…” She shifted in the chair.

“Another contraction?” The log wasn’t far from his hand. Bricu waited, pen poised.

Only, Threnn wasn’t counting this time. She stood up, touching the seat of the chair, then the back of her dress. “Think I need to change.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “My water just broke.”
–

Kara Thompson, who refused to run on general principle, bolted out of the door of the Gilded Rose and into the crowded, early morning streets of Stormwind. She was confused, worried and borderline giddy as she ran out of her workplace through her regular early-morning customers.

“Make way!” she screamed in her off-key voice, “MrsBricuishavingthebaby!!” Her words jumbled together as she flew past stunned customers.

Mr. Bricu had given her precise, clear instructions on who to find: Thenia and Padraig, Mrs. Bricu’s parents. She was then supposed to give Morgan Pestle Annie’s list and bring the herbs she needed back. He also mentioned something about being quiet about the birth, but Kara thought that was a stupid idea. Babies and birth were not quiet things. New life was loud, so why try and keep it quiet? But Mr. Bricu’s requests were seldom, and he was such a pleasant man to deal with. She kept her comments to herself.

Kara ran staight and true into Morgan Pestle’s apothecary.

“Morgan! Here! I need these things right away!” Kara cut through the line and handed the list straight to Morgan Pestle. He took the list, examined it briefly, dismissing his patrons with a “hush!” .

“Whose this for, Kara? You already had your…”

“Mrs. Bricu’s having her baby now! Hurry, please!”

“Threnny’s having her baby?” said someone a few steps behind her.

“YES!” she yelled back, “and it’s supposed to be a quiet affair!”

“Wasn’t a quiet affair when I saved her from drowning,” the voice said. “Kara, dear, you give her a message for me.”

“I do not have time to dilly-dally, sir!” Kara spun on her heel and jabbed a finger at Elling Trias. “Oh! Mr. Trias! I’m so sorry!”

Elling simply smiled. “Just tell her to teach her baby to swim. I’ll be by to pay my respects soon. Now then, can I get my tarragon and dill from my friend Morgan here?”

“Oh, certainly!” Kara said meekly. “I’ve got to fetch Mrs. Bricu’s parents!”

“Do you know where their shop is, girl?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, sure I do. They do so much business with Delion Oreweave, they probably have their shop right next to his! Tata!” Kara sprinted out the door, ignoring the yelps and shouts of the crowd in Pestle’s.

The cheesemaker’s brow creased as Morgan measured out sprigs of tarragon, dill, mint and cumin. “Did she just say by Oreweave’s shop?”

“Elling, I wouldn’t worry over it. Bittertongue probably just sent her on a fool’s errand to keep her away from the birth. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s a few ounces short of a pound.” Morgan handed over four wrapped packages. “That’ll be four silvers.”

Elling paid his tab. He shook his head briefly. “If not, Padraig and Thenia will have to claw through the crowd to see their granddaughter. Thanks, mate.” He was halfway out of the shop before he stopped and asked, “Wait, Morgan. Is that list she gave you real?”

Morgan peered at the list while shifting through his stocks of pepper. He paled as he answered. “Oh hell. It is.”

–

“I SAID WHERE ARE PADRAIG AND THENIA AL’CAIR!”

The shout startled him out of his flow. Delion pulled the thread slightly, pulling out the other pearls he had spent hours working on.

“Do you realize,” Delion said, his anger adding venom to his tone, “that you have just ruined hours upon hours of work?”

“I asked nicely three times! Padraig and Thenia, are they here?” Kara crossed her arms and stared at Delion.

“Did the sign outside say ‘Al’Cair’s Fabrics?’ Do I look human to you?”

“You don’t have to get upset.”

“Upset? You ruined hours of work with your inane and foolish prattle! You ask a question where the answer is painfully obvious. Then you ask if I am upset?” Delion studied Kara’s flushed features, “Are you ill or just slow?”

“There is no need to be rude!”

“Dear child, I am not being rude. You are the one who is not following proper decorum. I believe you should leave before I waste more time.”

“But…” Kara stammered.

“Go.” Delion said, scooping up spilled pearls.

“Mrs. Bricu!” She said again

“Go!”

“ishaving!”

“Get out of my store this instant!” Delion said, stamping his foot.

“the baby!”

Delion adjust his jewelers loop. “Mrs. Bricu? Child, did you mean Threnn?”

“Yes!”

Delion paused. He studied Kara’s face as if she had sprouted a third eye. “Why are you telling me this?”

A grin creeped up on Kara’s featuers. “Who’s slow now, huh?”

Delion rolled his eyes. “Oh, just get out of my store.”

“Fine.” Kara stormed out of the store. She slammed the door for good measure.

Delion turned on his buzz box, for good measure, while he started to repair the damage to the dress.

–

The brothers Bell walked from the Stormwind Docks, napsacks over their shoulders, smiles on their faces. They continued their argument that started in Valiance Keep.

“I’m just sayin’ that he didnt’ need to get us the extra wood or the shits from Westfall. We can do this for them with what we have.”

“And I’m just saying who cares! He’s paying us the same rate, with better wood and decent help. What’s the problem Robert?”

“The problem, my knot headed brother, is he’s doing all this for us, while we were doing it all for our Threnny.”

“And he’s just making things safer, and better, for his wife and their baby.”

“Our Threnny. A mother?” Robert asked.

“Our Threnny. A damn fine mother.”

Robert let his brothers word sink before commenting.

“That’s true. And Bricu isn’t that bad.” Robert said.

“In fact, we both approve of him.” William added with a nod.

“Its that Fingold we have to watch out for.”

“Oh, aye. Bricu’s salt of the earth. Edour’s almost–what was Bricu’s term?”

“Proper Northern.”

“Aye, Proper Northern. Can’t trust those folk who don’t have a shady past.”

“Aren’t you the same person who said, ‘never trust a northman who doesn’t drink?’” Robert asked.

“I am.”

“And our Bricu doesn’t drink.”

“He is as sober as a glass of water.”

“And?”

“And he drank enough to build a credit of trustworthiness.” William stated plainly.

“Speaking of drunks, what is her deal?” Robert pointed down the canals, towards a woman running madly across the bridge, stopping every person she saw.

“I’ve bloody clue,” William said, “but she’s coming right for you, brother dear.” He shoved his brother slightly, so Robert was in the lead when the dishevelved, flushed and wild eyed girl grabbed him.

“DO YOU KNOW THENIA AND PADRAIG!”

Robert glared at his brother before smiling sweetly. “We know a Thenia and a Patrick. They love him like a son.”

“Your Bricu’s Brother-in-law?!” Kara exclaimed. “You have got to take me to your parents house. Mrs. Bricu is having her baby!”

“Oh ho, wait a minute friend.” Robert said, putting a hand on Kara’s shoulder. “Our little Threnny is having her baby now?”

“YES! She started labor hours ago! Mr. Bricu asked me to find her parents, deliver messages…They Need me.”

“I’m sure they do luv, I’m sure they do. Now, what’s your name again?” William asked.

“Kara Thompson.” She curtsied out of habit, “I just need to let her parents know!”

“How about this luv. We’ll run home and let Thenia and Padraig know. You just run back to our Threnn and let her know we’re on the way.” Robert said.

“Would you?” As she spoke, Kara visibly relaxed.

“Certainly sweetling. We’ve always taken care of her, we’ll do it now too.” William replied.

“Oh bless you both!”

“We’ll take whatever blessings you have to give, Kara. Now run back to our Threnny, alright?” Robert said with a grin.

Kara smiled and started down the canals, running straight for the trade District. As she ran toward the trade district, Robert took William’s gear.

“Get going.” He said calmly. “I’ll tell da, you tell momma Al’Cair and Padraig. I’ll meet you at the Rose?”

“Quit gabbing, get moving.” William said, bounding off towards old town. “You have to carry the crib we finished! It’s at the shop”

“You’re an asshole William!” Robert yelled after his brother.

“Just like my dear brother.” William shouted back.

Robert, moving slower now, whistled to himself. “Our Threnny, a mother.”

–

Kara rushed back into Pestle’s Apothecary, once again cutting in front of the other customers. “Well Mr. Pestle, is it ready?”

“Kara, dear, Mr. Ilbis was here first.”

“No. I was here first.” She leveled her gaze. “I dropped off a list for Mr. and Mrs. Bittertongue. I am here just to pick up what she needs.”

“Why don’t you wait a moment, eh? Threnody’s labor will last….”

“Mr. Pestle. Please, I know it isn’t going to happen right away, but I need to be there for them.”

“Kara, you’re a sweet girl, but do you really think…”

“If Mr. Bricu didn’t want me there, don’t you think he would tell me–directly–that he didn’t want me there?”

“Well…”

“No. You listen.” She said calmly, “they sent me to get her parents. I found them. I took longer. I got flustered. It makes sense. My friends are having their first child. I am allowed to be a bit absentminded. Maybe you should just get me their package so Mrs. Bricu isn’t going to be screaming bloody murder.”

“But.”

“No buts dearie. Just hand me the package. Okay?”

Morgan grumbled as he handed her package. She balanced it on one hip while she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you Mr. Pestle!”

“Light bless, Kara.” He said, almost cordially.

Kara ducked and weaved through the crowd, not spilling a single item. She rushed back to the Rose, just outside the Bittertongue’s private room, and knocked on the door.

“Mr. Bricu, its all here!”

“Thank yeh lass!” he said from the other side of the door. “Can yeh wait there in case we need yeh for somethin’ else?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You tell Mrs. Bricu that if she needs anything, to just holler.”

“That’s sweet o’yeh lass. I’m sure she’ll be hollerin’ soon.”

Kara did not wait for the shouting. She boiled water for tea, wine for gauze and instruments, and prepared a small sandwhiches for the crowd she knew was coming. It was going to be a long labor–and Kara Thompson was ready for it.

–