"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
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
In the days that have followed from Ellyse’s good news, his life in general had greatly improved. He was going to be a father and that alone brightened his aura. Even the bear was less grumbly, he would willingly shift and roll in the snow, letting it sparkle and dampen his long snowy coat. His hard work (really busy work, distracting him from the unpleasant business of the past year) had paid off, he had been promoted. For the first time he was an actual functioning part of a kingdom, no longer just a lurker that stood on the sidelines. He had watched Magnus long enough to have the importance of doing a job well done rubbed off on him, he was loathe to let any of them down. Most importantly, her.
Every day the soft curve of her barrel extended a little more, showing the signs of life within her. He had kept his promise, sticking closer to her as much as he was able to. Knowing she was fully capable of taking care of herself but unable to release the fierce protection he feels for them. Needing to know that mother and child were ok. His mind was quieter, sleep came easy when he was curled against her with his head resting on her swollen belly. Feeling the movement of their child within. The nightmares unable to cross into the threshold of his happiness. The most startling change though was his appearance. In Tephra, the winter was never so harsh as it was elsewhere. Grass remained, easy to seek. The skeletal man had almost disappeared, fat having filled out the hollows of his bones and lean muscle rippling beneath the scarred chestnut fur.
He was happy. It still doesn’t feel real, that this was his life.
That he deserved this.
He is in his bear form today, all claws and long snout on the sands of the beach, just out of reach of the waves. Shifting for her amusement as he falls back on his haunches in a comical sitting position, grasping at a large conch shell before him with his claws. ”What should we call him? Her? What do you think we are having?” A broad grin breaking along his lips, pulling back to expose sharp teeth as he looks down at the shell, rolling it over in his paws. ”Something original I think, nothing so generic as Shell or Ash or…Something.”
I have the tendency of getting very physical, so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
It would never be enough.
Her tired and weary bones were never at ease –
Her heart had been broken, splintered and left to fall away into dust, and it felt like an impossible feat to accept that she deserved anything more than that. Though her heart pined and ached for him, beneath the warmth and inevitable giddiness that love brought, there was a layer of doubt, seeping into her mind and plaguing the memories of his fervent kiss along her neck and the weight of his body on her own. It was fleeting, she knew. He would tire of her, he would taste the brine of the salty sea on the hollow cheek of another while a heat grew in his loin – he would look upon her with disdain, with disgust, and he would leave.
She knew it; she felt it in her bones.
She had once tasted the remnants of another’s scent lingering on his skin, long ago.
No caress or whispered sweet nothing could chase the worry away.
And yet, every now and then, there is a gentle reminder that not all is wicked and wrong with the world. When her swollen belly is stirring with life, one to the left, and one to the right, she can hardly suppress the warmth of a hidden smile. Her heart aches, though – she had carried two before – Canaan had been a multiple, but the sweet buckskin filly that had been born shortly after him had never even taken her first breath. Yet, there is still a small sliver of hope that shines through the darkness that perhaps, it would not be as it was.
A soft sigh emerges from the shallow capacity of her lungs – she is broad and heavy, with each feathered wing tucked uncomfortably around her swelling barrel. She has not slept well as of late, wrought with worry, irritability and discomfort digging in between the ridge of her rounded rib cage. Even beside him, she is uneasy – happiness has never come easily to her.
A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth – a sight rarely seen alight upon her feminine but wholly grim and indifferent features. He is not himself, preoccupied with the scattering of broken and fragmented shells surrounding him along the sandy shoreline – he is not in his element; how unusual a polar bear looked on the beach of a volcanic isle. Gently, her teeth bury themselves within the thickness of his lush, ivory fur, pulling gently at the skin of his neck, before pressing her cheek along his shoulder.
”I think it is a boy, and a girl,” she murmurs softly, merely guessing, whuffing warm air into the plushness of his coat. ”and I’ll have you know, Smoak was a name that I suggested.” She chides softly with a low and rumbling chuckle, her pale mouth upturned with a smirk. ”Tell me. What do you think we should name them?”
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
He is blind to her doubt, to the worry that lingers just beyond her amber gaze. He is riding on cloud nine, his high was beyond the heavens. He never wants to come down. The shell rolls in his paws, awkward and foreign feelings but pleasant. Just as he feels on the inside, facing this new role as a father. Her muzzle buries beneath his thick fur, teeth seeking flesh and he looks to her with pure glee. ”You think… two?” He looks back to his fossil as her breath warms his cheek, the thought never crossing his mind. That there could possibly be two.
He suppresses the grin that threatens to expose his gentle mocking. Instead he drops the shell and with a sigh, shifts back to himself. A brazen look on his face as his mouth finds hers, trailing lips along the soft fur of her neck only to stop at her withers and pluck the skin there gently. For a moment he briefly thinks of another who had once sought to steal his tension in such a way. But Spark was only a friend and no line had ever been crossed even when he was grasping for air, drowning in his pain from the Head of War.
The memory is fleeting, escaping from him as quickly as it had come. He doesn’t like to dwell on those dark days, when he was without her. Now they were a family, connected in blood and flesh forever with the child (or children) growing within her. His joy subsides as he finally notices the tired lines around her face, the way her body sags. ”I think you have excellent taste in names.” He quietly huffs into the thickness of her mane. ”You are tired.” He was aware of her sleepless nights, the way she tossed and turned beside him. Chalking it up to pregnancy, not thinking it could be anything else.
Gently, he pulls her down to the warm sand. To have her off her feet as his muzzle soothingly rubs against her enlarged barrel in soft gentle strokes, teeth nibbling lightly with affection. ”A boy and a girl huh?” He ponders a loud, gazing at her extended side as if he could see the secrets within. ”Well if it’s a girl……Something fun. Joplin?” Unique, eccentric. ”Since you’re so good with boy names..” A gentle tease as he reaches for her, pulling her into his embrace. Never once thinking that this may be the best it will ever get.
I have the tendency of getting very physical, so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
”I will know when I see him,” she muses softly, as her heavy lashes fall over her darkening hazel eyes. The doubt has still found a way to harbor itself within her tired and weary mind, but it is soon soothed by the way he pulls her near to him and onto the soft and supple sand, with familiar teeth raking across her gilded skin and over the swell of her expectant belly. She so deeply loathed pregnancy – it was tiring – a constant drain on her energy reserves, and she felt fickle, weak, and without worth. It often had its way with her emotions too, rife and restless, as tumultuous and unpredictable as the ravenous sea.
She often swept her own insecurities away during such times; she was most vulnerable when feeling as utterly hopeless as she was and she knew it all too well. ”Joplin,” she murmurs against the warmth of his skin, as her teeth grip and tug at the entanglement of knots nearing the base of his nape, preening the pale tresses that lay haphazardly over his neck. ”I like it.” Her teeth grip his withers as her tongue laves across his russet skin – it reminded her so of a carefree summer spent surrounded by dry, swaying grain, lazily caressing the length of her long but heavily muscled legs.
It reminded her of what used to be, of what had been – but most importantly –
It reminded her of his body entangled with her own; it reminded her of the unbridled passion that could often wait for the sunlight to wane nor for the sun to set. She longed for the burden of gravidity to be behind her – she yearned to be nestled beside him, skin to skin, without the stirring of another inside of her to wake her or keep her from finding the place she had come to know so well beneath his jaw and along the column of his neck that made him groan with need against her skin.
A grimace stirs her from her reverie, as a limb presses out from within – her wing rises up along her side, revealing the gentle thrumming of movement under her pale, golden skin – where not one, but two spindly foals dance, healthy - thriving.
Her doubt is shadowed by the warmth stirring inside the tightness of her chest. She so loathed the process of it all – but so deeply loved the result.
”It won’t be long now,” she murmurs softly, her gaze imploringly searching the darkened amber of his, quietly admiring the deep scarring that had left him disfigured so long ago. ”Ledger – tell me, what happened to you? How did you lose your eye?”
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
”Are you nervous?” His question genuine, not fully understanding the trauma her body took with each pregnancy. He was aware that she had birthed children before (children that were also half siblings to him so he tried not to think about it at all, pushed it far back into the darkest recesses of his mind) and simply thought the process would be easy for her. A typical male who can’t fully comprehend.
The way her teeth grips his skin, sends his nerves on a warpath. His need for her was greater than ever but he dares not take her in such a condition. All he can do is wait, wait for the day she was free of the fragile package she carried. In the meantime, his own sleep becomes fitful with dreams he cannot act out in reality. His soft caress against her stomach slips lower, a mischievous glint in the flecks of gold.
She was more beautiful in his eye then ever. Her pregnancy only added to her appeal, made her softer around the edges, only made him want her more.
”I can’t wait.” His mouth murmurs, tantalizing breath that lingers over her skin, as he presses his lips back to the hollow of her neck. He can’t wait to be a father. He can’t wait to have a family. He can’t wait to feel her, taste her, consume her again.
Her question is unexpected in the heat of such things and the mischief quickly fades. Her gaze lingers on the scarred empty socket and he suddenly feels extremely exposed. He is quiet for a moment, lipping at her forelock as he thinks. He had shared his story, from beginning to end with Spark. There had been something about the fire girl that had managed to pry open the heavy locks, a task no other had been able to do.
It was odd how he felt so shut down when with her, when he had been so forthcoming with the medicine girl. Yet he owed her that, didn’t he? The mother of his child, still not sure that twins lurked within, should know everything about him. Her opinion mattered most which was perhaps why he was so loathed to share it, share those terrible secrets. What if it changed everything, what if it changed him in her eyes?
”I was taken by a Dark God.” He finally manages, the words slow. Thoughtful. Hesitant. ”He trapped me in a cavern. Tortured me. Made me do things I never thought I was capable of doing.” It all rushes back, the ghosts within him coming to the surface to haunt freely. ”He took me to a wasteland of snow. He killed me with ice and brought me back to life, alive but not. I fought a polar bear…” Here he grimaces, glad that he was no longer in that form. Suddenly feeling ashamed for wearing the bear’s skin. ”The bear took my eye. Carnage left his mark.” It’s as if he can feel the brand burning into his flesh all over again, can feel the moment the bear took hold of his life.
Casually, he plays with a strand of her briny lock, looking into her endless gaze. ”Why do you ask now?”
I have the tendency of getting very physical, so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
”I am always nervous,” she confesses against his skin, burying her pale lips beneath a sea of ivory tangles, inhaling the scent of sulfur and sea that lingered there. It is a revelation that is difficult for her swallow, and even harder for her to admit – that she, the Head of War, had such a feeble weakness beneath the hardened, iron-fortified façade she so often wore. She remembered too well the grief of losing a daughter that had never even broken the tender sac that had sustained her within her womb; she remembered how she felt, bleeding and broken, after her last birth – the weakness that had followed; the vertigo and infection that had come with hemorrhaging after her son had emerged wide-eyed and curious beneath the pale, waning moonlight.
She had felt herself fading away then, cradled against Ledger, covered in sweat, in blood, in amniotic fluid that dried up along the length of her uneasy legs – while he glowered with resentment, with envy and bitterness, while Dahmer savored the fleeting moment of his gilded son coiling up against the blackened hearth of his chest, she had teetered along the edge of death, with no one any the wiser. She had swallowed her agony, her frailty and fragility – as she so often had; as she always would.
It would be her downfall.
As his caress delves lower, she is brought away from her reverie, from the fright and uncertainty she had once felt, as a warmth spreads over the surface of her skin, stirring her finely preened feathers into a bristling fever. A soft gasp is elicited from her throat as her attention is drawn to him, and only to him – oh, time had been fleeting – he is filling out, carved with lean muscle and fat where hollowed spaces used to be – her heart thrums vibrantly within her chest, and for a moment, she had forgotten her fear, her doubt – seeing only him, before her.
Seeing what she had shied away from for so long.
I can’t wait, he murmurs over her skin, his warm breath lingering over her skin and weaving in between the feathers along the hollowed bones – the heat and desire that had been kept at bay so long stir with a fervent intensity, as his mouth presses to the hollow of her throat, drawing out a deep moan from its depth. Quiet, softly, ”Neither can I. It won’t be long,” she says again. A promise.
(Promises are too often broken, she thinks to herself) –
– but the thought of nestling against him once more, of feeling his blood surging through his veins with ferocity, of feeling him stiffen and groan while her teeth graze the tender column of his neck are enough to keep her tethered. It is enough to give her something to look forward to after the fear and the agony were gone, returning her ability to reason without infectious hormones and giving she and Ledger a precious love of their own to nurture and love.
His secret is heavy, burdening him with the weight of an anguish and misery driven far back into the recesses of his mind – but he indulges her, telling her the grave and terrible truth of his loss, of his gift, and gently her pale lips press against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead – brushing a lock of ivory away from the scarred socket that remain empty; chasing away the shame and the suffering he had endured.
Why do you ask now?
Quietly, softly – her own words shameful, as her hazel gaze searches his, imploringly.
”I bear your child, Ledger – your children,” she murmurs with certainty. ”I love you,” she whispers, the word trembling still – she has never been articulate, preferring action to word. She had shown him time and time again how she felt, she had sowed the seed, and now it had blossomed, stirring still beneath the surface – but she had said it, only once. ”but at times, I fear that I know nothing of you, and you know nothing of me.”
She pauses then, her gaze averting to the subtle movement of her unborn children rousing to and fro, extending her swollen belly. ”I wonder if either of them – I wonder if they might be given your gift,”a curse, he had called it once, and now she understood why. Gently, a kiss is placed between the empty socket and his gleaming amber eye, before pressing her own forehead to his. ”You are not alone, come what may – and neither are they.”
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
”I don’t believe that for a second” He breathes softly into the supple curve of her neck. She was always so composed, even in anger. To think she could even feel such an emotion as fear is almost laughable. Even when her guard is down (in those midnight hours when she is gasping and quivering at his touch) she still has some sense of control. What would it be like if she fully collapsed her wall? A thought of what it would be like to explore her, undiscovered territory, in that state. Petals open, exposed.
Inside he quivers with need for her. To feel her once again. Her promise so inviting but seems so far away (So much further then he realizes).
If only he knew what was in store for them all. That he should not take these precious moments for granted. Instead he is comfortable, thinking that the long dark days are far behind him. That they have forever. Every breath, every embrace, every murmur of affection should be cherished. Held close to their hearts. Instead they are experienced and then forgotten. Fools, all of them.
Although the memory is loathe to be unearthed, he gives it to her. She is right as usual and her words weigh on him heavily. For the thoughts she speaks mirror his own. A thoughtful broodiness falls over him as his lips travel the familiar paths along the slope of her spine. ”Ask me anything, I promise to be honest.” As honest as he can. ”Tell me everything about you, those things I do not know.”
His face darkens when she suggests that “the gift” could be passed down. Something he had never considered. As the suggestion settles, his guilt increases. What if the child did inherit their own bear? He had not asked for this power (gift? curse?) and to think that unknowingly his past could suddenly be their burden…. A shudder runs through his body, suddenly filled with dread. ”Ellyse… What if they do have it?” He should have thought this through before, been more responsible.
Even her sweet breath of a kiss on his forehead can’t dissuade him from the consuming emotion that tries to drag him under. They were innocent, what if he had doomed them before they were even born?
