"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
You've got a heart as loud as lions, so why let your voice be tamed?
There’s really, really no need to dwell on the getting here part. It hurt, it sucked, it was scary as hell, and I didn’t have a healer around to patch me up in case something went wrong. But I had my Rhory, and I...maybe sometimes I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. And my body was built for this. Countless women before me have done it, and countless ones after me will do it too. Hell, I’ve done it before, just not without backup by way of people who could fix anything I might fuck up.
Nothing went wrong.
It wasn’t as bad as the first time. Went faster, and there was only the one, thank god. And as the baby slipped out with a gush of fluids that was frankly pretty gross, all the awful bits faded away and light played around us in entrancing little auroras, welcoming our little one into the world. The birth sac broke in the process, revealing solid dark fur, the color of which wasn’t exactly distinguishable beneath the wet and the dark. Little moonbeam had picked a cold damn night to show up, so even if I don’t get up right away, give myself a minute to catch my breath, I still scoot over and pull our little bundle of gook and bodily fluids and twinkling light close and start cleaning it off.
Fuck, it’s a cute little thing, too. Flailed into an upright position right away, big blue eyes - its daddy’s summer sky blue eyes, oh, if that doesn’t melt my heart all by itself - wide with shock at the coooold and the sudden dramatic changes surrounding it. My light bathes its little body, shimmering in the air around us as I lick its sticky coat clean. Mousy grey that I’m guessing will shed to black, and when it’s clean it’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Nothing like a baby coat, and good thing, too, This one’s going to need it, coming as late in the year as it did.
Okay, okay, I can’t wait anymore.
She. Ohhh she’s a soft, squishy little moonbeam of a girl, shivering in the cold night air and squirming closer to my warmth. Ha. Just like your momma. But slowly, I get her cleaned off, and as she nestles up against me and nuzzles my shoulder, I look over at Rhory with a smile almost as soft as her fuzzy baby coat. “Come meet your daughter, honey.”
You've got the light to fight the shadows, so stop hiding it away.
Oh good heavens it is cold out here. Maybe I should have stayed put a bit longer; inside was nice and cozy, and I kind of miss the lovely, soothing drumming sound of heartbeats and the way everything else was muffled and muted and soft. Still, the breath in my lungs feels good, and the oh so warm and cozy, much larger from the outside form of my momma smells so safe and right and wonderful, and goodness but sounds are so much more than I thought they’d be! Bigger and clearer and brighter and oh look at the pretty lights! I stare as colors play in the air around us, dancing with just as much delight as is washing through me. I reach out to touch them, but there’s nothing to feel, just the shifting patterns coming to dance on my nose and making my eyes cross trying to see them.
“They’re auroras, my tiny little moonbeam,” Momma murmurs, rubbing the very softest part of her nose along my shoulder as the light follows her movement and trails down the crest of my neck, my withers, the line of my shoulder.
“‘Rora?” I ask, wrapping my lips and tongue around what is fast becoming my favorite word, the sound of magic in the air and on our skin and lighting the world around us. Momma’s eyes light up and she glows just a little bit, a soft sparkly new radiance that I want to bathe in, to burrow into, to rub up against until it clings to me too. She pulls in a soft, shaky little breath, almost a gasp, as the not-quite-word shimmers in the air around us too.
“Rora,” she says with a smile brighter than anything I’ve seen yet, and she reaches out and touches her nose to mine. “Oh, that’s perfect, isn’t it, Rhory? Our little Rora.” Ohhh that’s what she wants to call me? It makes my chest all warm and happy, like those magic lights are dancing inside where I can’t see them but I can feel them. And I smile too and nod, my eyes wide with delight and--wait.
Ohh wait.
Momma was talking to--ohhh goodness goodness, I turn to look, and a slow, lazy little half-grin makes my lips curve open when I see blue eyes full of awe looking down at me. And where a moment ago I was perfectly happy lying next to Momma forever and ever even if my tummy was getting a little rumbly and poking at me to move, well now I just need to be up, up, up! Lips pursed, brow furrowed, I look down at my legs and try to puzzle them out now that they’ve got sooooo much space to stretch and move and go every which way they want.
It takes a few tries. More than I know how to count, which doesn’t take much since...well, since I don’t know how to count. But eventually, with a teensy bit of help from Momma steadying me with a touch of her nose to my side, I finally make it to my feet! ‘Course, I sort of forgot that I don’t know how to make them work properly yet, and it turns out that’s an important to step to figure out. Launching myself at my daddy without taking the time to learn that part miiight be why I quickly wind up back on the ground, grunting as I get caught up in a heap of tangled limbs.
Oops.
Okay. That’s alright. I can do this! I try again, and the getting up part is easier now that I’ve done it once. Also this time Momma’s standing next to me and keeping a steady guiding touch on my shoulder, making it easier for me to sort out how to make my feet go in the right order to move me forward. THEN I’m cuddling my daddy, all wriggling joy and merry smiles. “Rora,” I tell him, because that’s me now and I want him to know forever and always, and I snuggle as close as I can get. Ohhh and then Momma’s on my other side and I’m almost as cozy as I was before this whole adventure started, so I rub my face against each of them and wiggle happily.
Ohhh and then my tummy rumbles much, much bigger than before, and Momma breathes out a happy, quiet little laugh and nudges me toward food. Warm, creamy, delicious food that fills my belly with sparkly cozy delightful quiet that makes the rumbling go away. And makes me sleeeeepy. As soon as my belly is full of warmth, my eyelids get so heavy it’s hard to keep them open, even though I want to look around at the whole wide world and see everything and be awake and get all the cuddles from my momma and my daddy and oh everybody warm and snuggly and happy. Momma laughs again, a sound I already love, and snuggles me up in a cozy warm ball of light and cuddles surrounded by her and Daddy. Mmm, that whole wide world part might maybe need to wait a teensy bit though. Just a little. Til I...can...
I have died every day waiting for you.
Darling, don't be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years.
God he’s so nervous.
He’s been watching the swelling of Arrya’s belly with growing trepidation. Before Arrya’s news last spring he’d honestly never thought he’d be a father. For his entire life, his only love had been Arrya, and for most of his life, Arrya’s only love had been Gendry. He’d never thought that he’d have a chance.
Arrya’s attempts to comfort him have soothed, but not completely assuaged his fears. He knows his own background, he knows his where he came from. While he knows he will never be as terrible a parent as his own mother (it would be pretty hard for him to be that terrible), he still worries that some, small part of Syntyche might have still rubbed off on him.
He still worries on the morning that Arrya slips away to give birth.
He paces as she labours, then finally steps away for a moment to try and give her space, try and give her privacy (he doesn’t want his endless anxiety to rub off on her). But, when he cannot stand waiting any longer, he slips back into the hollow to join her. And the moment he does he’s frozen, staring.
Arrya stands in amongst the mess of birth, and at her side stands a beautiful little dark filly. Their child. Their daughter.
Arrya motions to him, and his halting feet carry him forward until he’s staring right down at the tiny little girl. He exhales as she reaches out to Arrya’s lights dancing about them. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
A light laugh slips out as she tries to repeat her mother’s words, and his eyes widen as Arrya latches upon the the girl’s speech. Rora. Their little Rora.
Then suddenly Rora is looking at him with a tiny pair of beautiful blue eyes, and the girl launches herself across the grass … only to land in a tangled heap. He grins as she stands and Arrya guides her forward, and his heart melts all over again when she cuddles up to his side, all warm and wiggly.
He watches, awed, as she makes her way back to Arrya, drinks her fill, then turns to look at them both with sleepy little eyes. Rhory steps forward to nuzzle at her, then looks up at Arrya to meet her eyes. “She’s beautiful.”
