[private] the meetings of the waters just below the ribs; birthing

[leliana]

It has been so long since she first gave birth to Adna that she almost forgets how peaceful it can be.

So many of the births in between have been marked by sorrow and despair; so many of them have been done either alone in the middle of winter or swallowed by a magic she could not contain. She forgets what it is like to feel it come in soft waves and then dangerous bites. She forgets what it is like to feel the swelling of it overtake her—completely natural except for the gentle way her magic curbs it.

It is spring and so much of Tephra has regrown.

She stands in one of her favorite spots, the flowers draping heavily in the arch above her, and she tips her head back, the corners of her crimson lips curving into a gentle smile. The breeze that winds around her is soft and sweet and carries the fragrance of the plants that now invade her volcanic home.

It is then that she feels the pressure in her belly.

She arches her neck slightly, letting the sensation ride through her, and she smiles again—so pleased to know that she had a chance to do this again. Like the first time, she lowers herself to the ground (this time on Tephran soil instead of Loessian rock) and, like the first time, she calls out for Vulgaris.

But this time, it is silent.

She lets her voice ride through the wind and gently curve around his jaw.

She beckons him forth to her nook of privacy within Tephra where she is settled on the ground. When he arrives, she angles her head so that her curled forelock slides to the side, her hazel eyes calm and steady. And then she says nothing. She simply gives into the natural ebbs and flow of life as it beckons. Her magic does not overtake her this time. Instead, it is sweet and subdued. She heals herself as she goes, blanketing the moment in serenity so that her neck is only barely damp when the second slips free.

An exhale breaks the silence and she rises, feeling none of the fatigue. Curving around her, she begins to clean the children—the only part of her not elated being the dull ache in her chest when she thinks of her other children and wonders where they are. She sends out a ripple of power toward them (not the first and certainly not the last)—a gentle reminder of her love and her concern. Her apology for all of her failings.

And then she looks up to Vulgaris.

“Twins again,” her laugh is silver bells as she rolls a shoulder. “They are beautiful.”

They are.

It doesn’t matter that they carry none of her or Vulgaris’ coloring like the other children. They are as bright as gems and she sees the shape of her husband in the barely formed curve of their cheek. She smiles, a tear softly falling down her cheek as she presses a kiss to each of their forehead’s.

“Saint,” she whispers into the fuzz of the girl and her eyes flick to Vulgaris.

Waiting for him to name the other.

As it has always been.

it's only you and me there until the darkness calls
let's face the dawn together; we'll brave whatever comes

@[vulgaris] | @[Lyr] | @[phaetra]