Neverwinter Forest The beams of first light [Birth (M)]

Set on the 25th of December <3 @Arrille @Kjalarr BE PREPARED TO BE BORN! The little twin sisters have trouble breathing, and that is probably why they are going to die - and Ondine does not want them to suffer.

She was awoken by pain. A stern, cold pain in her belly. It was so sudden and horrible that it had taken her right out of a wonderful dream. At first, she thought it was nothing. She lay her head back down after checking Maude had not come in and had sunken her teeth in her belly flesh again. Kjalarr was not present in the den (which was probably a good thing knowing how aggressive she had become of everyone that had even tried to bring her food and such). Just as she was about to close her eyes did a wave of pain go through her whole body again. She gasped for air and whimpered, shifting her hind legs to maybe release the pain.

But it honestly only became worse. She now knew why she had never wanted children in the first place. The pain was almost unbearable, and for a moment she thought she was going to die with her children still in her body. She was proven wrong by an urge to push. Breath and push and don't stop. She flopped on her side, sending another wave of pain through her body as she lifted the hind leg that lay atop the other to better position herself for the coming of her children. Their children.

She closed her eyes as the first one was slowly pushed outside. It was a boy, later to be named Arrille (although she did not know this yet) and he was pulled close near his mother. An instinct drove her to remove the slimy sack that surrounded the wriggling, white potato so that it could breath. She did just that and had just enough time to clean him and shove him near her belly before the pain welled up again.

The second came fast, since it was a girl so much smaller than her older brother, and the poor mother had no time to free her from her sack as the third (and luckily last) pup demanded to be pushed out first. Two sacks full of puppy lay before her, and Ondine did not know what to do anymore. Her mind had gone blank, the smell of blood and birth making her thoughts fuzzy. She moved to free also the boy's sisters, but it became apparent she had perhaps waited too long. Or maybe, as second and third born, they were destined to have trouble breathing. She could not explain it and could only hope they would make it till the end of the day. One boy, two unhealthy girls. She was overjoyed she had created them, and yet felt bad for the two girls. They wriggled, but cried little, and their tiny mouths gasped for air frequently. upon cleaning every single one of them thoroughly, she discovered something quite amazing. The firstborn boy carried the tawny feet of his father, and Ondine cried a little when she saw it. They had done good. She had done good.

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Kjalarr had went about his morning patrols as normal, trying to avoid his wife’s aggression when he dropped the plump rabbits at the mouth of the den letting out a low chuff to announce breakfast before he had retreated. He deigned to give her, her space, though he could not help but think about how claustrophobic she might feel being cooped up in the birthing den as the days ticked by slowly: like the ache of blood beneath a bruise. He was on edge as he walked his patrol though there was no apparent reason for it. The winds were calm and the borders were fortified, empty except for those who patrolled them, like him. Yet, he was anxious, nervous, the yearning to be by Ondine’s side powerful. After a few minutes of this heightened anxiety he marked where his patrol ended and abruptly moved deeper into the forest, his movements swift with purpose. His hackles bristled with unease as the pungent scent of blood writhed around the birth den’s entrance. His first thought was of Maude, that she had attacked Ondine while his wife slumbered. For a moment, the viking hesitated and would he have been human might have paled significantly. Yet, the pirate’s scent was no where to be found around the den and another horrible scenario filled Kjalarr’s mind as he stood, frozen with imagined terror, staring blankly at the dark, yawning mouth of the den.

Yet, when the Norseman strained to hear past the rapid and loud beat of his heart within it’s prison of flesh and bone he heard signs of life. Ondine’s breathing, the soft sound of suckling and quick, rapid breaths. Not usual, that. He knew it in the marrow of his bones with a dread that dropped like the weight of an iron stone in his belly. Slowly, Kjalarr’s muscles thawed and the viking became animate once more, striding the rest of the way, shrugging his way into the den without invitation. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the den easily, for he’d always been able to see in the shadows better. His gaze fell upon Ondine first, noting that she lay on her side before it flickered to the small blob: white against the dark floor of the den though for a second the child: their son almost blended in with Ondine. Except for the sand colored feet that to Kjalarr’s monochromacy looked grey. Though it did not seem like it should be possible: Kjalarr loved the boy: his boy already.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth, as his gaze slid to the girls whom nestled beside their brother. They did not suckle as his son did, instead concentrated their feeble energy on drawing breaths which were short, shallow. Labored. His ears fell back upon his skull and a soft whimper left the viking’s lips. They were unwell. Suffering.

It broke the young father’s heart.

His instincts begged for him to draw forth, to take the girls in his mouth and end their misery. They would not live long, anyway. Though he was not sure how he knew it, he just did. The same way he knew when he was ill, or when prey was a prime target because it was sickly or elderly or weaker than the others. It was just…instinct. “Ondine,” He tore his eyes away from the girls, struggling against the lump of emotion lodged in the strong column of his throat. He wanted to praise her, wanted to tell her that their son was beautiful; but he couldn’t. Not yet. First, he had to address their dying daughters. “They will not survive.” Kjalarr stated gently, accented voice raw and choked with pain. “I will make it quick and painless,” He soldiered on, pleading for her permission. He wanted to say more but found that he could not. It was bizarre to feel joy at the birth of his son: healthy and full of life but to feel sorrow and pain for his sickly daughters that would not survive the week, if even the day.

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The boy wanted out. When muscles in the body he was in started moving, he moved with them in the darkness. The newborn was pushed out from the body onto the ground in a mess that needed to be cleaned. He was pulled close to the mother, and then the mother began cleaning.

Time went by as his unseen siblings came. Out came the little cries from his tiny mouth as he searched for something to fill his little tummy. He needed something to satisfy this feeling he had. The boy found it, something to grip with his mouth. Then he began to suck, earning himself fresh milk to fill his hungry belly.

He did not hear nor see the father come in, as neither sense at developed as of yet. And he did not sense him either. All there was in the world to the boy was his mother and the milk she gave.

Her breaths were slow - drug out with a slight peep as she placed her head softly unto the bedding of the den. She had survived childbirth - all three of her pups had has well, even if two would certainly die. It made her sad to think of Kjalarr - perhaps he would claim she had failed to deliver. But she hadn't. She had brought him a healthy son - one so like his father that it was astonishing. Ondine wondered if her little snowflake had the blue eyes of his father as well, and could only pray that he had no black eyes. She would love him regardless, she knew, but her black eye had caused her so much trouble and she did not want her son to go through it as well.

Her caring mate soon showed up, as if he had sensed that something was happening. How lucky she had been with Kjalarr by her side - how lucky she was with their darling son. She lifted her head weakly, bi-colored eyes looking at the bunch and then back to her mate. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, both of happiness and sadness. She softly gave both girls a lick over their heads as Kjalarr's words reached her very core. They would indeed not survive, and they were suffering. She pulled both girls closer and snuggled them against her chest. mommy loves you... she whispered to them sweetly before shoving them carefully toward Kjalarr.

Tears streamed down her face as the last touch between daughters and mother vanished - and she moved to look away and instead to her only son. He seemed so strong - a warrior, like his father perhaps. She ran her tongue over her child's head as it drunk her milk, trying not to think too much of her daughters that would never experience the joy of living. 

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: death

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Kjalarr watched as Ondine drew the gasping, struggling, dying girls close to her, his ears slicking back his skull, his throat working furiously as he tried to stifle the swell of sorrow and grief at what he knew he had to do, at what his instincts were telling him to do. Letting them live was not a kindness and he knew it. They would suffer with each breath they drew and there was a chance their sickly dispositions could attract unwanted attention to the den and put their son, despite his health, at risk. Her whispered words was like the crack of a whip against the Viking’s heart but his resolve was strong and when Ondine shoved them — with gentleness he noted — towards them Kjalarr scooped one up, gently between his jaws feeling her fragility and lain her gently against the snow outside before he returned for the second. Once outside he took them one at a time a bit away, secluded. He stared down at the shivering bodies rasping their final, painful breaths before him. His salmon pink tongue drew across his lips.

“You fight bravely for your lives little ones,” Kjalarr spoke to them, knowing that they were deaf and could not hear him but his words were fore Freyja, Frigga and Odin just as they were for his dying daughters. “but it is not a fight you can win and I cannot allow you to suffer. It is an honorable death and Odin’s Valkyries will take you to Valhalla where you will grow strong and fierce under the guidance of the great Allfather and your grandfather, Ragnar.” He choked a bit on the words. He ended their lives quickly, as he promised Ondine. It hadn’t taken much. A bit of pressure and he felt the snap of their fragile bones. The sound was a familiar one but somehow knowing it was his own daughters made it sickening to him.

With a ragged breath he began to dig, heaving up chunks of frozen earth. It was unyielding beneath his claws but still he dug a sizable hole that he thought might be deep enough to keep predators from sniffing them out before he placed them in their grave and covered the hole, pressing the weight of his paws against the mound to press it down an pack the earth tight. He grabbed the nearest rock of a decent size he could find and place it over the grave. With shoulders sagged with the weight of the lives he had ended (despite that he knew it was the right thing to do) he returned to the den, settling against the mouth, using his bulk to block the chill and keep out unwanted guests, deigning to give the mother and newborn space.

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*barges in*

The moment she smelled the blood, she knew what was happening, and the pirate brightened with glee. She waited, listening, watching, for any sign of something going wrong for Ondine. She really didn't care much for the pups, only hoping that one of them got stuck in her womb and poisoned her.

She didn't get her wish, to her disappointment, but, as if to recompense, there was something wrong with two of her girls. It would have brought a cackle to her lips had it not been for Kjalarr's defeated and broken expression. She kept quick, lingering in the shadows as he gave the gift of mercy to his children. When he began to dig the hole, Maude approached, whining softly and nuzzling Kjalarr, before digging with him, tearing up the cold soil in order to bury his children. They meant nothing to her — she would have eaten them had Kjalarr not been there — but it was his expressions that made her heart twinge with some warped form of sympathy.

She was unsure of what to do next when he sat in front of the den, protecting his wife and child from the elements. She chuffed to him, silently asking what he wanted from her.

Arrille knew not of what had happened to his siblings, for all there was around him was darkness and silence. Touch was his best sense of everything around him, and all he could feel was the ground, the air and his mother that he drank from. Every now and then, he removed his mouth to mew or make some other little cry before suckling again and again. Then, after his belly was full, he let go and went to sleep.

The mother held her firstborn close to her stomach - curling to protect him and only him. She did not want to hear the cries of her daughters as the father showed them the mercy Ondine could not provide. She could do nothing but wait for the father's return and rejoice at the birth of their first male. He seemed so strong... How did he do it? By just not knowing what was happening? Not hearing, seeing or understanding? Ondine tried to think of her time as a defenceless pup, but it was no use. Those days had been eaten by time, as if she had traded them for knowledge of greater importance.

The scent of blood and pirate found a way inside the den and the mother frowned. She let out a weak whine for Kjalarr - to come and support her instead of conversing with Maude. Ondine did not even question how the pirate had come here. She was too tired to care, too weak to do anything but let her firstborn suckle and sleep.

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In grief Kjalarr was numb to many things but surprise, as it turned out, was not one of them. He felt it when he caught the movement of Maude emerging out of the shadows out of the corner of his eye. His first instinct was to chase her away with a curl of his lip and a snarl, afraid for a moment that she might go for the fragile bodies of his daughters their life snuffed out by his own jaws. Yet, she did not and Kjalarr did not. He was still as the pirate whined and nuzzled him, receptive but he did not return it. To his (further) surprise Maude helped him dig their grave and though the viking wished to tell her that this was his burden: to dig the grave and bury his daughters he did not do that, either. He didn’t think Maude would listen, anyway and thus deigned not to waste his breath.

It was as he settled against the mouth of the den and turned his icy gaze to Maude’s lingering form that he heard Ondine’s weak whine for him. His ear twitched towards the den he blocked with his flesh and bone, only to slick back against his skull when Maude chuffed at him. It was almost ironic how in that moment he felt torn, a physical representation of many of his feelings. “I’ll join you in a moment, Ondine.” The viking promised his wife glimpsing over a broad shoulder to the mouth of the den before he turned back to Maude. “Thank you.” Kjalarr offered Maude sincerely, his ears slicking back against his skull. As for what else he was meant to say: he didn’t know.

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To her surprise she was not pushed away by Kjalarr, nor snarled and cursed at by Ondine. It was a solemn task, though Maude had no love lost from seeing the small newborns hidden under frozen earth, she knew that Kjalarr was hurting and that was what mattered. She would do anything she could to comfort him, even getting this close to Ondine after birth. The sight of her, bloodied and weak, pleased the wench internally, but she knew she could not let it show. Especially not now, as the two girls disappeared and Kjalarr settled in front of the den. 

Ondine whined for him, but she was made to wait, something that made the pirate smile inside. He thanked her, and Maude responded with a gesture instead of words. She stepped forward, nuzzling the junction between his neck and his shoulder, gently licking for a moment before she stepping back, wanting to linger and steal away at the same time.

Cypress, in his grief, had made no effort to meet his brother’s mate. In truth, he had made no attempt to interact with any of the wolves newly come to the pack — not even Amari, about whom his feelings were conflicted and frightening. He was too preoccupied with actively avoiding his cousins and his aunt to really focus on anything else. What could he possibly say to them? He had already written off his uncle as dead, along with Scimitar, Eshe, Lucy — and Rannoch. The raven had long forgotten what it was to hope.

The heavy scent of blood lured him, with a morbid sense of curiosity, to his brother’s den — a place he had seen in passing but never purposefully visited. The wraith paused before entering the hallowed clearing, fully expecting a litter of cubs that looked like Rannoch to be bumbling about, covered in fur, with open eyes and erect ears. After all, the turquoise-eyed little tin soldier he remembered with such painful fondness was his only reference to draw upon. Kaskara and Kieran’s children had been older, walking and talking before Scimitar and Eshe’s boys had taken their first breaths. With sudden, breathtaking clarity, Cypress knew that Kjalarr’s children, female or male, would steal away the only things he felt he could count on: his last vestiges of importance to the forest and, more importantly, Kjalarr’s affection. Scimitar and Eshe’s deaths had given Cypress a new word to add to his vocabulary and identity: orphan. Kjalarr’s cubs, on the other hand, could war with Cypress’ cousins for royal status. They were Neverwinter Forest’s princes and princesses now.

The thought, while sobering, did not necessarily trouble Cypress — although he was uncertain about his new standing in Kjalarr’s life, the alluring dance of hierarchy and dominance had evaded him thus far. The first tendrils of it gripped him as he came upon a strange scene: Kjalarr, blocking the denmouth like a sentinel carved of starsilver, his Caribbean eyes darkened by emotion that Cypress did not yet have the life experience to read fluently. A ragged creature in ratty brown tatters trespassed upon the forest alpha’s person, nuzzling the crux of neck and shoulder. Cypress watched, his eerie yellow eyes impassive even as the seadog’s tongue slipped from betwixt yellowed canines to caress and comfort — and suddenly the gesture reminded him of Eshe, welcoming Scimitar home after a long hunt. The phantom wasn’t near enough to catch Maude’s scent, and his first impression of the pirate was a rather inconvenient mistake.

It was on the tip of his tongue: “You must be Ondine. Where are your children?” The raven couldn’t muster the breath to put voice to the query, though, and he merely watched from a distance, taking in the freshly turned soil. “Kjalarr,” he said, the words sticking in his throat, “d-did — are they — ” His thoughts tumbled rapidly about — “Are Kjalarr’s cubs dead? Did anybody bother to bury my parents? Is this really Ondine? Why isn’t she fat? Where are her puppies? Do they look like Rannoch? Where will I belong now?” — and he drew a breath to steady himself. He felt awkward and out of place and was suddenly eager to be gone from this place. “You — are you Ondine?” he asked of the unkempt pirate, tall ears flattening in confusion.

Ondine was put on hold - despite having just lost her first two girls, and a sting of pain shot through her heart instead of her stomach. Cold - yes, she was cold. That was all. Surely she would not be as selfish and rude as to steal away her mate from a pirate that had always hated her and had even tried to kill their children. No - it made too much sense to be angry. Scratch that - it did anger the tired mother, but she was too weakened from placing lives on the earth to get out there in the cold and pull Kjalarr inside. Or push - whatever worked. Their - No, it was hers if the father did not come inside anymore - child had gone to sleep, but she gave the little boy one last lick before placing her own head down.

But the voice of a young boy cut through the silence in the den, and her head shot up immediately. Truly - who was he mistaking for her? What other woman was out there? Surely he was smart enough to scent the pirate was a boy - whether he wanted to be or not. Her brow furrowed. What was going on? She gently nudged the firstborn closer, but moved them both a little closer to the opening of the den. Her black, wet nose poked out, but could not see anything except the bulky frame of her mate. I am here - I am alive. Who is out there, Kjalarr? Maude? Her voice was weak and muffled, but could be understood if the others did not find them far away from the den.

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Maude drew towards him and though it brought with it some guilt he did not chase her away as she nuzzled the junction between his shoulders, her tongue soothing against his flesh. He should not have allowed it, especially knowing Maude’s feelings for him and his unknown stance on his own feelings for her but he did not have the energy to chase her off. His grief for his daughters was fresh, shadowing his joy for his surviving son. He stared out at a random tree, unseeing wondering if Odinn welcomed them to the hall of Valhalla where under Ragnar’s guidance they would grow tall and strong. Live the life in Valhalla they did not get the chance to live in Midgard. It only seemed fair: it only seemed right. One day, he would be reunited with those he had lost but a day far from now. He was young and his saga was a long one, surely, for there had been numerous times already it could have been brought to it’s end.

“Torgeir,” Kjalarr called to his younger brother, using the name he had bestowed upon the young Frostfur at his request, his pulling him from the shadows of his monochrome world. “Only one survives. A boy. My son.” There was a pull of Kjalarr’s terse lips: a phantom of a smile that did not even really resemble one. “My daughters are…they are in Valhalla now.” He had to convince himself that he had, indeed, made the right decision. That there was no healer in the Wilds that could have aided them. They would have died on their own and suffered all the while. Taking their lives had been a kindness. Before Kjalarr could speak, Ondine answered having neared the mouth of the den and he shifted slightly, giving her room to exit if she wished though he cast a forlorn and worried look at his son who without their warmth would succumb to the cold. “Torgeir,” Kjalarr responded to her question. “my brother,” He did not wish to call Cypress by his given name anymore and only hoped that Ondine would be able to put two and two together for Kjalarr hadn’t spoken of his and Cypress’ talk out of respect for the boy’s privacy. “This is Maude. She helped me bury my daughters, she’s a …friend.” Though he wasn’t sure that was the correct word for Maude, but their relationship was so confusing to Kjalarr that he struggled to find a correct word to use to call what Maude was to him. “Would you like to meet your nephew?” Kjalarr asked the dark Frostfur hoping that if he agreed Ondine would not mind.

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Kjalarr didn't jerk away. She should have known that it had something to do with just burying his daughters, but Maude could not surpress the leap of glee her heart did in her chest at the contact. She lingered there, unwilling to move away from his bulky presence, her head only shifting to glance at the dark-furred wolf that approached. 

The pirate wench stifled a cackle at the thought of being mistaken for Ondine of all wolves. No, she was no water-witch, though there were times when....no. She wouldn't think of that now. All she did was swivel her head to beam at the weakened form of the witch in question, a slightly please smirk on her face as she absorbed the sight of her exhaustion. It would take some coaxing to push her away from Kja' now, but she knew the gravity of the situation, even if it mattered little to her. She backed away, letting Kjalarr guide his brother (how many did he have?!) to see the little potato that was Kjalarr's son, lingering for a few more moments before slipping away. She had seen all she needed.

A voice arose from the den, but the syllables were too muffled for Cypress to hear. He stood well away from Kjalarr and Maude, well away from the hollow mouth whose cavernous gut sheltered the new prince of the forest. “Torgeir,” Kjalarr called, and it strengthened the boy — straightened him. He stood a little taller, shuffling his uncertain, gangly limbs and gathering them into some semblance of dignity. “Are they valkyrja now?” he asked, trying out the new word. “Will they appear in your son’s dreams?”

He watched expressionlessly as the wolf Kjalarr had called “Maude” backed away and seemed to melt into the shadows — but he could not bring himself to draw any nearer himself. “Nephew,” he repeated hesitantly, a sway of one ear betraying his unease. He was younger than Kieran had been, but he thought he remembered the ruddy behemoth — until he was reunited with his uncle, Kieran would probably always seem impossibly large, though not as large as Scimitar — and Cypress was stricken by the thought that Kjalarr’s son would have such a poor example of an uncle in comparison. “Can I visit you all another day?” the eidolon hedged. It was simply too much to process for the boy in man’s clothing.

“I just wanted to wish you — and him — and your mate well.”

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“No,” Kjalarr replied softly, swiping his tongue across his lips. “but someday they may become valkyrja when they are grown.” And Kjalarr drew comfort from that, from the knowledge that Odinn and his own father Ragnar would not allow them to be alone and frightened when they reached the gates of Valhalla. “Perhaps they will. It is too soon to tell.” Kjalarr answered Cypress’ inquiries as best he could but found that he did not have all the answers. He wasn’t even sure why Ragnar sometimes appeared in his own, if his daughters would follow in their grandfather’s wake, or if his son would bear the same …gift as him. Kjalarr noted Cypress’ hesitation and he let out a soft breath when his younger brother asked if he could visit another day. “Of course, you can visit any time you’d like.” Kjalarr responded, opening the invitation and allowing it to be open for Cypress, barely realizing that Maude had left until he realized it. “Thank you, Torgier.” Kjalarr offered the raven coated boy with a soft smile though he was unable to craft it to reach his eyes, still burdened with the sorrow of killing and burying his daughters. He waited until Cypress departed before he returned to the den where Ondine waited to look upon his mate and their newborn son, eager to see the child that looked like a mini mixture between the two of them.

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Gonna wrap this up with a short post - thanks for participating everyone <3

Not very interested in their continuing conversation, Ondine turned and went to her firstborn. A name, she still had to come up with - but she wanted it to be something to look up to. Not to fear, not to worship; something gentle and meaningful on its own. She wanted him to grow up not thinking he was the best, as so many did, and instead wanted him to learn and appreciate. She knew it was hard for a child to do that, but she would try and motivate him nonetheless. Her child would not turn out like her or his father, for that matter. He needed to be something whole all on his own.

When Kjalarr returned, she was curled around the white hump of life that they had created, eyes still glimmering from the tears she had shed for his sisters. She invited her mate to do the same; mourn and yet celebrate the coming of her due-date.