Arrow Lake ❝—by my blood & bone.❞ (lbr.)

It seemed to be eons ago when the far-seer had risen with the evening star, sent Vonnaruil running for Mahler, for Olive, and parted from sleep and Vercingetorix with a quivering kiss. Between the inscrutible hours of twilight and dawn, their children would arrive. I will live to see them, were the thoughts of Aurëwen, children restless in her belly, for it is all I may give. Yet she felt so faint, so far-away already.

Breath heavy, the silver had straggled to her thicket, a wetness on her thighs. Though she knew no answers would come, Aure had given her eyes to the heavens; given her faith to what Rhaesuial considered Eä; instilled it, even, into Olive's gods she'd never followed. Five months since, she would peer into the waters, gaunt and wraithlike, and had never let herself wish to be enraptured, to mother. Never let herself wonder if she were deserving enough of either.

Yet, here she was: with agony seizing her each moment she tried to rouse from her side. Fading from herself and flushing to life with each deep, laborous strain through her ivory being. She felt her heart ebbing within her, everywhere. She convulsed in her own arms as the pain took her again, and again, and again, as if her children had grown fangs and meant to tear their way from her.

I must live. And it must have been a thought; there was no wisping from between her scarred lips. These children of the sea and sky kicked within her gut like wild hares. What did the water give me? With a tremulous lowing of distress, fear — the only plea she would ever make — and with the beat of her heart filling the world, Aurëwen wilted, withered.

As the dark fever ensnared her, she thinks she saw bleak shadows in the guise of Mahler — or Olive? Both? As she fell from herself, she thinks her first child left her; she thinks she felt it thrash at her hocks, but Aure could not rise to pull at that filmy veil. What did the water give me? The breath had gone from her; it was all she could do to gasp.

What did the water give me?

Dated for 4/1st. @Mahler @Olive @Dragomir @Vercingetorix @Isilmë

Olive was not busy when the call came that Aure was in labor.  She, actually, maintained an abundance of free time due to her pregnancy, giving her babes space to grow and relax within her. She also liked to be available should any of her new mothers need her, where it be for a check-in, a pep-talk, a kind word or the actual event of delivery. These things did not follow a schedule; no, that was the gods’ work.

She was taken by the woman’s scarred twin to the mountains of Diaspora and they made great haste with it — she watched closely for Stigmata, not truly enjoying the experience of being within the man’s domain, but knowing it was necessary to ensure the safe delivery of her friend’s litter. There was a reason they were here now, and not on Drageda’s cliffs as they always were, but the druid did not care for it now. It was a necessary evil; she only hoped that she would not run into the warrior general, who made her experience so many conflicting things at once.

When she reached Aure’s whelping location, the sight she beheld was not the one she wished to see. The woman was hovering in and out of consciousness, with a pup having already been born — and promptly ignored, but not by any fault of the mother. Without a word, and with a distinct lack of panic, the midwife swept forward and took Aure’s side. Gently, with her nose, she tried to nudge her back to wakefulness.

“Aure, you can rest, but now is not the time. You are a mother now — your children need you here.” Olive glanced down at the struggling, mewling infant. She would give Aure the chance to welcome her baby to the world, but in a moment, Olive would take the responsibility of cleaning and coaxing the child upon herself. Certain that Aure could internalize her words some sort of way, she continued.

“Don’t struggle against the pain. Lets it wash you; cleanse you. After experiencing the fires of childbirth, both you and your cubs will be born anew.” Olive reached down and moved the child, ultra-warm from birth, closer to Aure’s belly so that it might prompt one of those incredible motherly endorphin responses. As weak as she was, Aure needed to imbibe the nutrients that the process of cleaning and nurturing her babe would provide. Quietly she murmured, to both mother and child “Here, here, greet your baby…”

He emerged into the realm of mortals without much fanfare. There would be no slew of puns and pop culture references to herald his coming, and he wouldn't tumble out in a dramatic gush of effusion meant to make the readers gasp and squirm. He wouldn't arrive folded in half or comically misshapen. He would be born quite normally, with the usual headfirst dive for the floor, after which he was grasped 'round his midsection by someone that wasn't his mother, and placed at his labouring dam's side. According to nature's instructions, he latched and suckled greedily, heedless of Aure's suffering.

Maybe it was a little anticlimactic for the firstborn son of Vercingetorix kom Trikru and Aurëwen of Rhaesuial to be born in such an ordinary fashion (the wavering of his mother notwithstanding), with nothing but a squall to announce his first breath and few noises thereafter. But ordinary though his coming may be, extraordinary things awaited him in this life whether his mundane advent was met with the roar of applause or not. A prosaic birth was A-okay with him, and he accepted it with a squeaking yawn before drifting off to sleep.

to be invited to the first whelping in diaspora was a great honour for mahler, and gathered to himself a stiff skin loosely wrapped around such herbs he thought would be useful to her midwife. in the early hours of the morning, he arrived at the birthsite and lowered himself toward the entrance.
the man's hard gaze soon adjusted to the dim light; the woman aurëwen lay curled limply upon the den's floor, and almost as soon as mahler had arrived, a child made its way from her body into the world. beneath the clinging fragrance of birth that clung in a sharp tang to the air, the man frowned, for the new mother seemed altogether too weak to move her pup to her breast.
it was in the next series of moments that the she-wolf olive of elysium, grown gravid with her own pups, soon arrived, the scarred vonn in tow, and mahler moved to offer her room. soft words soon touched his listening ears, though the gargoyle found them intimate and attempted not to listen.
"olive," he murmured then, lying his bundle along the doorway and unfolding it to reveal milk thistle, valerian, mosses, anything the hebamme might need in these next hours. he himself was content to act as assistant and would not move forward to offer aid unless instructed.
it was not long after that the long muscles of aurëwen's thighs tightened; he heard her sounds, the catch of her breath, and around olive's protective hover, beheld the secondborn child be thrust into the world, as pale as its sibling had been dark. the sight of it overwhelmed the shadow for a long moment, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, mahler felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids.

and she was thrust into the world, and in that act traded all she had known for a chance at life. for a moment her mind was blank, unwritten in totality, and she was still and silent. she wavered a moment on the threshold between existence and the lack of it, and then with a sudden surge her limbs kicked out in tandem. instinct whispered, told her to seek what all pups before her and all those after her would too; warmth and sustenance and comfort. she obeyed this instruction to her full ability, and yet something was off. like her sibling she was silent in her arrival, and yet her movements were slow, lacking. her searching maw found her own forepaw, and she latched and stilled. the paw yielded nothing and yet oh, how tired she was. birth was a strenuous for all involved, and maw still stuck fast to the unrewarding forepaw, and so she fell motionless, and was quiet in her dissatisfaction.

It was water, not winter, that froze the fever of her dreams. She tread beneath the spires of Rhaesuial once more, without purpose for where she roam.

What did the water give me?

She was never meant to look behind her; never meant to return to how her soul bled. If she looked back, she would be forever lost. Ahead of her was some faraway, salted hearth. She tread with purpose, now, and her frail paws left snow-smattered prints on obsidian.

What did the water give me?

She was dazed, she was dazzled at the shriek of sunlight on Drageda's sea. She found herself whispering not of her Eä, but of Home; so Vercingetorix arrived, as evening tends to do. And he cradled her in those arms-of-eve, how the night of him is meant to, and made such love to her in a luminous cave, their blood forever murmuring anothers’ names.

... did the water give me?

The face of her father-king was misery enlivened, and Kiomaralis stood before her, fury come to life, and she was screaming screaming screaming, ever-ruinous. Vonnaruil was fading from her, not for the first time; even as red, wrathful red, daubbed his lips, his throat, his breast.

... did the water give ...

That faraway hearth was so very far-away, and the her haven's death shivered at her spine. So she ran from the dark frost of that desolation, because she was never meant to look back. Could not.

... the water give ...

She could feel a flame that shivered so cold that it burned within her womb, and had felt so for what seemed like a century. Felt it, how the heavens feel eons; how she felt the blood of all those ancients wreathing through her. Those beholders were silver, luminously star-silver, with eyes even silver still, entreating her to run and run and run. The blood of Them would rivel the veins of her children her children her children, of eve, of gleam — and another babe spilt from her,

... the water ...

And Aure saw the place of her drowned innocence, where the sun shrieked as bright as she remembered. Her brother's voice wisped, ever so faint, glimmering red. Aure crept to where the Dread Wolf once cleft red scripture. He turned to her. The face within was her own.

That ancient frost made itself known in her lungs, gobbling at all of her. Took the fever; took everything from within her. Then, listless within her own dark, she only knew the whispering of her stars.

---

Once she'd roused from delirium, she woke to everything of the world dimmed by springtime shadow. The morning frost in the heaths melted earlier and earlier, now thawing as the splay of the sun’s pale fingers pressed against the the Sunspire's peaks. But the world itself was still heady, still suspended in hushed gloam, and the scent of healing was all around her.

She remembered her male of evening and his eyes of sea, and didn't know his name in this moment, but whimpered for Verx all the same; her heart thrummed a staccato of drag-o-stea drag-o-stea drag-o-stea. Tearful with an unforgiving bleariness, Aure shied from the sound of her own breathing, shivery and softened and raw as a wound.

There was a deep ache between her thighs, but she was able to blink through them; trembling incessantly as she began to bathe her children, coax and usher them to suckle. She fell into the kindness that Olive and Mahler provided without hesitation, tears of fatigue and utter devotion whetting the red of her cheeks.

The waters had given her a promise, and the tug of sweet mouths at her belly was there; the sonority of suckling was with it, and she knew what she had birthed. They were Verx's, and hers, by blood and bone. Her throat was so strained, aching, wisping: "Dr.. Dra...gomir," their creations thrumming at her belly, as she kissed the dark and light brows, "Isi-..ilmë—"

The hubbub of activity surrounding the place Aure had chosen to whelp was undoubtedly because, well, she was whelping. A woman from Elysium came, as did the man from the other day, with the accent, who was also helping. Which was fine. That was fine. Many paws made light work, right? Heh, right?

Vercingetorix paced nearby. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was a selfish mixture of "I hope Aure and the kids will be all right" and "Oh my fucking GOD I can't go back from this." Seriously, once those kids hit the ground, he was a father. Forever. And although he was more than likely already a father, he was always able to IGNORE it.

But not now. Not now.

He heard some wails, some coos, and raced to the entrance of the whelping place, breathing hard. Are they fine? he rasped to either of the two midwives, eyes flashing between them. How many? Boys? Girls? He burst into a coughing fit, a sound like ripping paper up his throat. Goddamn. Are they okay? Can I-- See them?

Did he want to? Because that would make it really fucking real, and he wasn't sure if he wanted that just yet.

At first, the midwife almost didn’t see Mahler — the man had a calming, rock-solid presence and when she noticed him, looking up from Aure’s body as she hovered, she felt relieved to have another expert here. She recognized him from the fertility festival and appreciated his support them, and she saw how he gave her room to work now, and her gratitude was multiplied. Then, he unrolled a small bundle by the entrance to the den and, giving the pup’s nose and mouth a lick or two — it was doing just fine — she swept towards the offering to see what was there. The druid touched her nose to the herbs and inhaled deeply, then looked to the Doctor and smiled. Aure would have been in fine hands, whether or not she had been there.

It was then that Aure began to labor once more and she fluttered close, leaving room for Mahler to be nearer, if he wished. Olive cradled the woman’s head as her body brought forth another child. Just as Mahler’s eyes became misted, so did her own.

At this, the new mother seemed to rouse and, very quickly, took to the tasks of motherhood. She cleaned the children and led them both to suckle, and then began to cry, as most new mothers do. It was one of the most intense things that a wolf, woman or man, could endure; and olive hadn’t lied. Aure was now made anew because of it. The father, Olive assumed, attempted to enter. She turned to him, radiating joy — for this was the most joyful of occasions. “Two children, one boy and one girl,” the woman admired fondly. She answered him, but it was Aure's prerogative whether or not he was welcome inside. “Dragomir and Isilmë.” Somewhere deep inside her, even though it was far too early to feel anything of the sort, Olive swore she felt her own children move and kick. 

​

mahler stole closer as olive began to work over aurëwen, drawn by the little cries of the newborns. for the first time, he himself was transported to a place where the death of his own brood did not hurt him so badly. how small they had been! how aglow marigold was in the full flush of first motherhood! how he had felt such love for the new bodies at her side, and even now something like that first protectiveness rose in him again.
the pale mother's tears began to flow then, and while mahler himself would not experience childbirth, he was not unmoved by the gentle whispers of the two women, the way that the scarred she-wolf tenderly took to bathing her infants and bestowing names upon them.
the father arrived then, frenzied, and the gargoyle felt a brief concern for the lacerations of the other's throat. olive moved to soothe the wounded man then, granting him peace and the titles of his children, and mahler gave a quick half-smile in the gloom. "your vife is very strong," he added after the midwife's soft address, deciding then to vacate the growing smallness of the whelping den so that the dark sire might take his place at aurëwen's side.

sorry for the wait, didn’t realize the post order ;a;
i’m fine with this being aur’s last post, unless you guys want another round??

Verx wouldn’t find her in picturesque poise of a new mother crooning over her children. No, her springy ribs quivered as she heaved to catch her breath; from the stutter and shock her body had gone through. Even reaching to kiss her children had proved exhausting. Her deliverers were there, poring over her and the little souls given life, and then they were gone, taking their murmurings with them.

In actuality, the midwives had taken the few strides away to greet the new father; but to the new mother, they felt a whole world away. He felt a whole world away — and as Mahler was the first to vacate, it took everything within Aure to reach for her frenzied beloved.

There’d been something about ”strong” and ”wife”, neither of which the silver had ever felt in her life at all; she felt so weak, so spent, and everything may’ve been vestiges of her fever. But she reached for Verx all the same, scarred snout wobbling in the heady air; inviting, needing, giving Olive a warble of admission to let her suitor pass. ”Dragă...” He needed to see the lives they’d made; who they’d brought into this world.

The woman gave him the names Aure had told him before, and the relief, the joy, that overcame him was so powerful, he didn't bother to correct Mahler's error. No, he slipped past them both, looking into the den, the two opposite-hued babies nestled at Aure's belly. He stared for a long time at them, eyes wide, before looking to the woman who'd brought them into the world.

Oh, Aure, Vercingetorix said, his voice filled with a tenderness he scarcely used. He sucked in a breath and found that it was a sob, and then more sobs came, and then the tears, too. They're so beautiful. They're so perfect. Oh my God.

This can't be real. But the negative connotations of that thought were gone. Now, all he felt was a surreal sort of jubilation that spread throughout his body, buzzing even in the tips of his toes. He laid down, looking at his—their—children while weeping silently, staying until he had exhausted himself, emotionally and physically, enough to doze off.

The new father and mother seemed to take well to the task — Olive was no longer worried about the mother, or the pups, or the father with his gruesome wounds. Mahler took his leave and though Olive did truly love relishing the post-birth endorphin glow, she knew this moment was to be enjoyed privately by the new family. Though she was certain no one was listening, the druid mindfully mentioned “We will not be far,” as she bowed her head and made to exit the den, suddenly much more crowded with two new lives. “Enjoy the beauty that is this new part of your life,” still, she could not resist murmuring these sentimentalities as she left and made to follow Mahler, seeking information on his herbal wares and seeking feedback on her particular method of birth coaching. It wasn’t always that she had a fellow expert in the room, and she wished to glean his every insight.

looming distantly against the high ground and in part concealed by the hunched figure of a gloomy hillock, stigmata paused to observe the activity thrumming at the mouth of aurëwen's birthing den, and all at once he knew life had taken root in diaspora. he took more pride in the moment than he should have - perhaps taking false credit for the small family's continued survival - but mostly he just felt an overwhelming sense of contentment; able to forget for once the shadows constantly eating away at him...

he perked up as two figures emerged, prepared to approach and ask for news, but the hunter general, for all his proposed omniscience, nearly imploded when he realized that it was olive there beside mahler - her belly taut with a beginning roundness. it was the first time his mind went utterly blank. no cogs turned; no clever insinuations about the situation occurred. in fact, the only thing that even managed to occur to him afterwards was a visceral flesh memory he felt down to his very skeleton: the feeling of her beneath him, and a burst of passion he could not describe or replicate.

an intense wave of guilt washed over him next - and he thought that his stomach would curl up so tightly he could never eat again. his shame turned quickly to indignant anger, and were he a younger wolf, his temper would have stolen him before the tactician's more sound processes had had a chance to return. as quickly as he'd come, stigmata crept away from the scene, silent and disturbed; unwilling yet to face any consequences until he absolutely had to. 

cameoooooo