Noctisardor Bypass geburtshilfe

for any/everyone tagged! <3

with the permission of @Laurel, mahler had begun to come by the den with treatments for the colic suffered by @Abel Redleaf. 
today was one such occasion. mahler sat just outside the door, mincing mintleaf and a bit of black currant into a swallowable paste. today, however, his eye wandered to @Indra III, but he was careful to take no interest in either babe for long. laurel watched him, and carefully.

Last times they'd talked it wasn't like Mahler and Laurel had left on very good terms. He was trying, but the problem was that Laurel didn't know what exactly it was that he was trying and was therefore suspicious. Was he trying to use her as a pet project to save his own soul? Were any of his words genuine at all? And if so, what did they even mean? Mahler was a puzzle that she couldn't figure out right now, and so for now, Laurel ignored him and all of Rivenwood and focused on her two babies first and foremost.

Oh, Mahler, she greeted stiffly when he arrived and she watched him as he started to do something with plants just outside of the den. She wondered if it would really help to cure Abel — so far nothing seemed to help — but she wanted to give anything a chance for everyone's well-being.

the medicine was finished and set down. mahler cleared his throat, and would have made for the colicky child, had not laurel addressed him. "good morning."
the man understood she did not wish to speak with him. the fact she had agreed to his medical visits was a marvel. "vould you like me to show you how to mix this?" he asked all the same, the implication, of course, that mahler was willing to train laurel for the sole purpose of the thrumming tension. 
the faster she learned the tinctures, the sooner he could leave her in the peace she wanted from his presence. it did not sit well with him that he had so angered and hurt her, and he felt certain in his assumption.

Mahler greeted her with a good morning, although he managed to ruin any good will this might have put on Laurel in the next moment when he said that he could also show her how to mix it. Seems like your job to me, she said, a little snappily; clearly, the lack of sleep and being sucked dry by her children did not do her mood much good. She wasn't a herbalist and she had never mixed anything in her life.

Besides, she felt that asking her to learn about it meant that he was really saying I don't want to be here. He wanted to limit visits to her as much as he could, which made total sense to Laurel. Once upon a time she thought that perhaps Mahler could see some good inside of herself, some beauty, that even she could not see. Now, though, she realised that he saw her for what she was.

And we both know — It takes a special sort of wolf to love you despite all that you are, dearest.

The only mystery that she hadn't solved yet was why he kept trying to be civil to her and care for her. Was it purely out of guilt? She imagined that there was only so much putting up with someone like her that anyone could do out of guilt. She couldn't imagine that was the only reason. There had to be something else.

her words found their mark. like wylla, laurel possessed the singular ability to harm mahler where it most dragged upon him. the man visibly winced, but recovered quickly, and nodded agreeably instead. if she wanted him to visit once a day with a different remedy each time, then this he would do.
"have you noticed any change in his condition?" the man asked carefully, quietly, facing forward as his jaws started to work once more, smoothing lumps and edges from the thick material.
perhaps laurel only wanted to keep him here and torment him for what had gone on between them. it was not something undeserved, mahler felt, and went on in quiet with his work, waiting for the woman's answer.

She could tell that she got to him, but he didn't show very much of it, quick to hide behind a professional nod. Laurel just didn't know where she had him, and that irked her more than anything. She just couldn't find a way into his mind, couldn't figure out where she had him, and more importantly — where he had her. He'd been tempted, she knew that, but was it only because of her scent, because of her heat? Was she a friend to him at all, or was she just a charity case, someone he wanted to take care of because he saw how broken she was?

She hated the thought that she was just a charity case in his books. A means to his redemption. It was one of the biggest causes of her irritation towards him now, apart from the fact that he just didn't talk about it at all. He acted as though they were complete strangers one moment, and as though he was a caring friend the very next, and she never knew where she had him. She didn't know what he saw her as, and honestly, she wasn't too sure what she saw him as, either. It was hard to tell when he changed all the time and gave her so little of himself.

No. But it's hard to notice exactly how much sleep you're missing with a crying child like that. Her tone was annoyed, and she remained guarded in her body language.

A million things lay on the tip of her tongue, but she did not dare say any of them, so she kept her frustration with him bottled up, for now.

mahler looked at laurel when her peevish tone sounded again. she did wear the tiredness of any new mother; it lay across her pretty features as a pall. and he had not seen her small looks of wonder or direct nature so long that he thought she might be beneath some malady of her own.
and that it might be his presence.
in front of him was a new-plucked leaf. mahler ladled his medicine into it and swallowed the tasteless bits still lodged beneath his tongue. "i began to vatch the other children here vhen they vere about a month old. i offer you the same: time to yourself, to sleep, to hunt, to vander, and assistance vith veaning."
when had they become so formal?
mahler's eyes traveled tentatively to her own. he was graf of rivenwood, but here, he was a subordinate to a watchful mother. "i vant to mend vhat has happened between us, laurel. please speak to me."

The formality in his words made Laurel want to cringe, but she couldn't afford to let her façade crack in front of him. He couldn't know that he had any sort of effect on her in any way; she needed to show that he didn't get to her at all. He offered to watch the children, and Laurel felt mixed. She wanted to get away for some time, to have some rest, but she also didn't feel entirely safe or good leaving them with Mahler. She didn't trust him, after all; not anymore.

Nonetheless, she answered, Yes, well — thank you for the offer. Her own tone was equally nails-across-the-chalkboard-frustratingly formal, but she could not help it. She could not let her guard down around him.

Eventually Mahler was the one who spoke again, saying he wanted to fix what happened. Laurel knew from experience that you couldn't just fix what happened. All you could do was move on, and sometimes things fixed themselves. But most of the time, they never did. She frowned and looked away, showing a sliver of fragility for the first time since his appearance today. Being tired from all of Abel's crying did not help. What do you want me to say? she asked, her tone laced with frustration. You have your Wylla here now, even though Laurel did not entirely understand where she'd come from or why she'd been away or what the status between her and Mahler was; all she knew was that she meant a great deal more to Mahler than she ever could, and you've made it perfectly clear that that means there is no space for me here. And I haven't even met her, so she's made it perfectly clear, too. How am I supposed to feel welcome here? Being allowed around out of guilt or pity or whatever it is just isn't enough to live, Mahler. How am I supposed to feel — She swallowed thickly, trying to find the words. — loved or wanted in any way after what happened? How could she ever forget how he did not give her the safety that she needed at the time? It wasn't about love or romance, even, not right now (everything, of course, had been different in the light of her heat). Laurel wasn't sure she ever wanted to try that again after Xan ran out on her. But he was the only one who could've given her a safe pregnancy, and instead he had thrown her out of the borders of his pack. Now, he seemed to only keep her around because he felt too guilty to throw her out. Being unloved was bad enough, but being a pity case..? Now that was unbearable.

mahler listened and did not interject. he had rejected her and ordered her away, putting cruelty where he had only meant firmness. yet in his fierce resistance the gargoyle had gone too far, and wounded laurel's already delicate and bruised heart.
for a long moment he did not speak, and when he did it was with a voice that hung heavy in the threat of grief. "i am sorry that i have led you to believe that you are some sort of — charity," he said, unknowingly perhaps echoing the woman's own thoughts. "do you remember that you helped me to build rivenvood?" mahler began again, more steadily, seeking and holding her gaze if she would allow.
"you came to me vhen i vas still at the broken boulder. and you followed me here. you helped me to claim the bypass from those who vere vonce there. and you have been here since, in spite of my — cowvardice."
mahler paused, took a breath, lifted his chin. "you are here because you belong here, laurel. this place is — should be — vas meant to be;"
staggering before he so many times,
"— a home, to all of us. and no more to anyvone else than you, laurel."
"it seems i have — i know now that i have harmed so many. in these moments, remaining graf feels unethical. an unearned thing that must be rectified."
a long pause. he turned his gaze over her children. "all three of you belong here. i have alvays felt that, laurel. you are not here because i allow it to be so. you are here because you earned the same right to this land as i."

The first words he said stung, perhaps because they rang so true. That he should pick that precise word made Laurel think all the more that perhaps it was true. He said that she had helped him build Rivenwood, spoke of how she had come with him to take this place from the broken boulder, spoke of how she had been here since then despite what he had done.

Yet through it all Laurel felt that there was an unwillingness to make it right. As though he was too afraid to get too close. As though it was easier to just stay away. As though she was a pack mate who deserved to be here; not even a friend, much less anything else. He spoke like her Alpha, not her friend.

Before she could interject he went on to say that perhaps he should step down as Graf. That it seemed unethical to stay as such. It made Laurel's blood boil because it was just another act of cowardice in her eyes. And then what? What would that change? she asked — spat venomously — not allowing the pause to settle between them after he finished speaking. How would that make a difference for me in any way? What does it even matter whether you're my leader? You really don't understand anything, Mahler. She said it derisively — moreso than she intended — as she glared at him. Did he really think any of this was about him being her Alpha? And now, he, the only man that she somewhat trusted in this world, thought he should step down to make space for another, possibly worse? It was never about him being a leader, and honestly, she didn't really care whether her leaders were 'ethical'.

If he thought he had failed her as a leader with every word he had said, then he truly knew nothing. No leader could have ever forced Laurel Redleaf to leave her pack in heat and seek out someone she didn't even know. No leader; only a friend.

laurel lashed him again, her words studded with a dozen thorns.
mahler listened, stiffness traveling the length of his hackles, but did not come undone before her.
confusion warred with the frustrating way that he and she seemed to tangle back onto themselves. 
when the lavender gaze lifted to her own, it was with finality. she pronounced him ignorant and he had no response. "i suppose i am."
the words ground with the raggedness she had bitten into him at last.
mahler rose. 
"i vill be back tomorrow, if you vill have me."
he did not know what he had said; what he had not said. he knew only that he had no idea, no conception. this new failing drove him into hiding. he wanted little more than to escape laurel's seething presence and reflect in a silent place all the words they had shared, until understanding came to him.

He accepted her words with defeat. He didn't even try to understand. He just looked at her, defeated, unwilling to go to any lengths for her. Unwilling to figure it out, unwilling to learn. All he wanted was to leave; that much was clear. Inside of Laurel's mind battled the pain and frustration this caused with the anger that he was so defeatist. Perhaps he was not worthy of being their leader after all.

This time it was her who spoke up when it seemed words between them were only unspoken. That's it? You're just going to give up and walk away? she snapped at him, her voice derisive but also laced with disbelief and a stark, raw pain hidden beneath it all as the final layer; echoed on her features. Laurel did not physically get up to stop him. She waited with bated breath to see what he would do next.

"every time i open my mouth, laurel, i say the wrong thing. not only to you. to everyvone. my vords come, and they are hurtful."
he slowly turned round, determined to take the brunt of her eyes now that she had called him back from his cowardice. lavender sought the hazelwood of her own. "i thought my sin against you, laurel, vas that i vould not — take you in those moments. that i turned you avay." his mouth twitched and soured, but mahler did not take his stare from her own.
"i vanted to call you back, but i did not vant to — insinuate that it might yet be me."
"and i thought if i showed you i did not mean to lie, that i meant to be here for your children —" his voice trailed off and away and mahler still did not glance aside.
it felt he scarcely breathed.
he wanted to tell her and yet he did not.
"i do not know how to — make happiness for you, or even vhat vas before. something that is not misery. and it hurts me as a man and it hurts me as your — companion. and so it hurts my vanity, and so you see its root is selfishness."
laurel did not need his company.

He spoke again, prompted by her sharp words. Said that he said the wrong things, not just to her but to everyone. Finally, she got some insight into his part of what had happened between them. It could not be fixed now, and she knew that, but it would always sting.

The root of everything was always selfishness, and so she felt that it was funny in some way that he said that he had been selfish as though that was a shameful offence. As though that was what he had done wrong. If anything, Laurel felt he was not selfish enough: choosing a life of pain and suffering holding on for this Wylla wolf. She'd come eventually, apparently, but at what cost? The respect of his own wolves for him. Living in longing and misery for the time it took her to come to him. If anything, it was his selflessness that had cost him. He'd learned the hard way that you cannot make everybody else happy all at once. Funny that he should learn it so late in his life.

Laurel was silent for a time, though the angry frown had fallen off her face now, replaced by contemplation. Companion, she repeated eventually. What does that mean? What... She frowned again, thoughtful, clearly guarded and afraid of what its answer would be, Are we? Am I to you? Laurel glanced back at Mahler, waiting with bated breath for his answer; it would determine so much. More than was fair to him. Even Iliksis was silent, now; perhaps also waiting with bated breath.

"you are somevone for who i care very much, laurel, and alvays have. not as a — graf, nor only a healer."
not for the first time did he think that the renewal between he and wylla had only made things worse for his beloved.
but that melancholy was not something laurel must carry. "please," mahler said, clearing his throat. his tongue tasted of medicine. "let me go, laurel, before i misstep again. i care for you. let it be that."
he turned and stepped away again, but this time the gargoyle looked back. not with melancholy nor unrequited love, only a smooth blurred blend of many things upon his mouth and countenance.
mahler departed then.

He didn't elaborate; not entirely. He didn't put words to their relations, or to his feelings for Laurel. He only said that he cared for her much, not only as a leader or as a healer. He didn't call her a friend. Laurel felt a weird twist in her gut. Perhaps it was the mystery of it all. She had hoped that he would say something... decisive. She'd hoped that he called her a friend so they could put all the misery of the heat behind them and move on as friends.

But in the end, he only kept the mystery of it all alive and he did not answer her. At least, not directly. The fact that he did not call her a friend made her feel a little uneasy, although by now she knew that she could trust Mahler not to touch her. He was the only man that she trusted enough for that.

He asked her to let him go, afraid to misstep. It filled Laurel with a burning feeling of rejection that he was so desperate to leave her. It didn't seem like it was for her own interests; it seemed like that was only an excuse. Just like everyone before him, dearest. It'd been a while. Laurel looked at Mahler and said, Alright. Have a good day. She looked away, then, biting her lip, but keeping the burning feeling of rejection complacent for now. Only when he was far out of sight would she dare to cry, even though she was hardly sure what she was crying for this time. Perhaps simply the not understanding any of it.