Maeve
A quiet hum fills the air as the Nightshade rocks gently in the rocking chair of her baby’s nursery, holding a little bundle in her arms with a shock of dark hair on their crown already forming curls, one tiny fist gripping onto the loose fabric of her nightgown. Maeve smiles as she looks down at them, singing the sweetest lullaby as they rock, candlelight flickering on the walls. That’s the dream she’s having when she wakes from a sudden pain, sharp and bright, a dampness on the sheets beneath her. It takes Maeve more than a few breaths to come to and realize what’s happening.
Panic spears through the pain, overwhelming her senses as she struggles to sit up, Aidon at her side in moments at the feeling of her distress. ”Locke… Go get Locke.” She pants, wincing as she manages to get a pillow behind her back to prop herself up, a hand pressing to her belly.
Aidon sprints from the room, wings already spreading as he jumps off the balcony, streaking through the night sky to find the Attuned in question. In the time he’s gone, Maeve prays. She prays to Safrin and to Vi and Mort and Frey. She prays for their guidance, for their protection, for their strength. She prays that her baby is fine. That nothing is wrong. That it isn’t too early. Gods, don’t let it be too early. She prays and she waits, doing her best to breathe through the contractions, jaw clenched against the pain as it blooms through her nerves.
Her bonded does his job. He finds Locke, willing to drag him to the Halenani with his teeth if he must, anything to get him there. To get him to Maeve. She needs him. Now and forever.
Panic spears through the pain, overwhelming her senses as she struggles to sit up, Aidon at her side in moments at the feeling of her distress. ”Locke… Go get Locke.” She pants, wincing as she manages to get a pillow behind her back to prop herself up, a hand pressing to her belly.
Aidon sprints from the room, wings already spreading as he jumps off the balcony, streaking through the night sky to find the Attuned in question. In the time he’s gone, Maeve prays. She prays to Safrin and to Vi and Mort and Frey. She prays for their guidance, for their protection, for their strength. She prays that her baby is fine. That nothing is wrong. That it isn’t too early. Gods, don’t let it be too early. She prays and she waits, doing her best to breathe through the contractions, jaw clenched against the pain as it blooms through her nerves.
Her bonded does his job. He finds Locke, willing to drag him to the Halenani with his teeth if he must, anything to get him there. To get him to Maeve. She needs him. Now and forever.
Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending
still waiting for her happy ending
