Welcome to Gaia! ::

When Detraeus opened his eyes, he knew not what woke him. Araceli slept soundly beside him, tucked close into his embrace. The wind outside moaned to the pace of midnight, but that was not unusual. Under his fingers, where they lay loosely over Ara’s belly, the twins, too, stirred restlessly. Wide awake, he supposed, if infants slept and woke? Perhaps one had inherited an especially high amount of oblivionite blood and with it, a tendency towards a nocturnal schedule.

He held himself still, attempting to will his body back to sleep, but between the twin’s stirring under his fingers and his own active mind, Detraeus found it near impossible and sighed, his mind wandering instead to the happenings of late. Casseth and Lithian, as a precautionary measure, had come to spend live-in time in their house, largely so that Lithian could continue to monitor Ara’s as she neared the final month of her pregnancy. It was some time, yet, before they anticipated the actual birth, but with twins in particular, complications were not wholly uncommon, and they wanted all the chances of a smooth progression on their side.

Detraeus’ brow furrowed, an unwanted knot of anxiety twisting in his gut. Generally, he tried not to let himself think of the risks. He knew they existed, of course, but even the thought—

He grit his teeth and shut his eyes. No matter how he tried to will them away, though, the closer she came to term, the more stubbornly they plagued him. And no matter how much he loved his children already, no matter what he told himself, he knew already with cold certainty: if it came to his mate or his offspring, he wanted Araceli. Biting his lip, he forced his eyes shut, and laid his palm flat.

“Sleep, little one,” he murmured to the still-stirring infant. “Your mother needs her rest…”

Detraeus blinked. ‘Time…?’

Then, as the word sank in, he stiffened.

“Time?” He pushed up in bed, pulse already stuttering up, up his throat; he swallowed it back down and shook his head. “No, it—they…it’s early. It’s over a full passing of the moon—isn’t it dangerous if they come early?” At the look on Ara’s face, though, Detraeus forced his words to stopper off. Go. Go, go go. He scrambled out of bed, but then hesitated again, glancing back to her. If she was—

He didn’t want to just leave her—

But when her face contorted in another spasm of pain, Detraeus’ heart threw itself against the back of his throat, and he was out of the room and into the main hall in an instant. Seconds later, he was banging on the door of the spare bedroom, demanding the inhabitants rise immediately in none-too-gentle terms.

Inside, Lithian groaned and tucked his face against Cas’ chest, mumbling irritably. “Go…” He yawned, looping his arm over his lover’s chest, “…away…I—”

“—giving birth, and so help me,” Detraeus was snarling, “if you don’t wake up, I will break this door—”

Lithian swore, and scrambled, half falling out of the bed in the process of attempting to untangle himself from Cas. At least, he thought as he cast a lighting spell and fumbled for clothes, he was now wide awake. “I’m coming! I’m coming—” Banging his toe on the bed, Lithian degenerated into swearing for a brief moment before whining. “I’m coming!” he snapped louder. “Don’t…break your own…door down…” he muttered. “********. Cas?” Even as he said the name and glanced over, he was halfway on his way to the door. When he made it there and opened it, he pursed his lips. “Good to know what you look like at—what time is it?”

“Go,” Detraeus bit out, “she—”

“—won’t be giving birth immediately, gods protect,” Lithian responded, but moved nonetheless, and shortly thereafter, he was stepping into Detraeus and Araceli’s bedroom, activating the lighting spells therein and moving over to Ara’s bedside. “Someone,” he said, reaching out to touch her forehead and begin an instinctive check of all her functions, “has gently informed me that your big moment has arrived…how are you feeling?”

At Casseth’s words and his subsequent touch, Detraeus flushed, a tiny fragment of his tension easing back, and he followed without struggle at Cas’ guidance. He didn’t need to be told twice.

Inside, Lithian had already pulled up a chair beside Ara — though he wasn’t sitting in it — and he looked as though he had already entered ‘healer’ mode: attention focused, hands precise and careful, and expression neutral, but gentle.

“I know,” he murmured at her talk of pain. “I know, but you’re handling marvelously, and you’ve nothing to be afraid of…we’re all here with you.”

He ran his hands over her belly as he spoke, sending gentle pulses of magic into her to ebb back the sharpest of her pains, though he knew he wanted to save the bulk of his magic in reserve, in case things took a turn for the worse later on. He hadn’t planned to deliver the infants himself, and certainly not this soon — he had never even witnessed a birth before, let alone handled one — but Ara’s mother had nonetheless instructed him on it in case of an ‘emergency’ scenario, and as the saying went, there were only a limited number of things that simply could not wait, and births and sunrises were among them.

“They are early,” he admitted, “…and they are very small. But they are healthy, and there is no reason to worry as much as you might think. Twins often come sooner than single births, and provided all goes well, they can be born perfectly normal, even a month or more early…they’re just impatient, mm?” He reached forward, running a hand gently over her forehead and smiling as he settled back. “They’re going to be beautiful, Ara. They’re strong and lively…they want to be a part of this world, and together, we’re going to bring them into it, alright? Have you picked out names for them?”

When Ara reached out, Detraeus immediately moved in, catching her hand and squeezing gently, willing his own not to shake. As he stepped forward, he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Akara,” he said. “Annila. Ataya. And Atteu.”

Lithian smiled, his expression shifting in a strange way as he watched Detraeus, but after a moment, he shook his thoughts aside. “They are beautiful names.”

Unfortunately for the sleep of everyone involved, but worst so for Araceli, her contractions continued, on and off, without ever truly ramping up, for the better part of what Lithian guessed to be three hours. Detraeus remained vigilantly by her side, as did Lithian, leaving only Casseth to fetch the occasional pick-me-up of warm drink or food as they passed the hours.

Then, as relatively uneventful as all the leadup had been, the pace abruptly picked up. Araceli’s pain intensified, contractions coming quicker and sharper. Her breathing quickened, fragmented by choked sobs, and the occasional grit-teethed scream.

And then she began to bleed.

At first — though it triggered Detraeus into a mild panic — Lithian was not wholly worried. Some bleeding was normal. Thus:

“It’s alright,” he said, keeping his voice at a schooled calm. “This can happen. It doesn’t mean anything has gone wrong. Breathe with me, Ara. How is your head feeling? Can you see me clearly?”

When Araceli’s hand went limp, Detraeus’ world broke.

Many things then happened at once.

Detraeus was snarling, panic launched into overload as he rounded on Lithian. “What happened to her? What happened to her?”

“Give me space—” Lithian was already moving, his eyes all over Ara at once and his magic panning out. Unconscious, she was just unconscious, but her body was still going forward with the contractions, blood continuing to pool beneath her. If he could just—

“—or I’ll kill you,” Detraeus was booming at him. “If it’s her or them, you save her, and you bring her back to me or I swear to all the gods—”

“Give me space,” Lithian snapped, half angry, half pleading as he pushed his magic into Ara, trying to concentrate on the convoluted inner workings of her body. “Come on,” he begged her. “Ara, I need you awake, please…”

“You lied to me, you lied—you save her—” Detraeus’ voice was all that filled the room, coarse, snarling, and brittle at the edges, like bloodied glass.

“Cas,” Lithian bit out and shut his eyes. “Please.”

Detraeus shook his head at Cas’ first warning. “No.” At his move to touch him, he yanked away. “No—no, don’t touch me—no!” he snarled. “I’m not leaving her—I’m not leaving her—Ara—ARA!”

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room instantly quieting — though his muffled snarls and shouts could still be heard from the opposite side — Lithian relaxed, and pooled his focus. On the opposite side of the door, Detraeus’ world was fragmenting at the edges, blurring, and breaking. He fought Casseth at first, trying to get back into the room, but part of him, even through the haze of his panic, recognized that the best thing he could do for Ara was to keep clear of her only healer.

As the weight of that sank in, though, along with everything else, he began to shake in earnest, his fight petering out, and then coming back in bursts. He slammed his fists into the nearest wall, spitting out curses.

“I swear—I swear, I swear if he let’s her d—” Detraeus’ words choked in his throat, his chest seizing up, and the next sound he made was closer to a sob than anything else. Then he was screaming again. “I can’t live without her! Do you understand? Not anymore…I need—I need…she’s everything I have! She’s everything…she’s…everything…” This time, when Detraeus’ voice died out, it did not come back. His breath was shaking as much or more than his limbs, and his throat felt too tight to force words through it. “I can’t…be…without her…”

Then, somewhere in the interim of his silence, a small, foreign cry sounded out. Garbled at first and soft, almost as though startled, but then louder and breathier, to the full, unmistakable volume of a new infant.

Detraeus’ breath stilled in his throat.

He was a father.

Detraeus’ breath shuddered out.

Tiny. Goddess, she was tiny. But when she squirmed in Cas’ arms, stretching her hands up aimlessly and making a fussing, gurgling sound, Detraeus gave a fractured sound of his own and was over in an instant, accepting the offered bundle. His eyes stung as he took her — so small — into the cradle of his embrace, but when he sobbed, he was smiling.

“Good morning, sweet princess,” he whispered to her through a hoarse throat. When he shut his eyes, blinking back the bleariness, tears rolled down his cheeks, but he barely noticed them. All his world, in that moment, revolved around the tiny, murmuring little girl tucked into his arms. His daughter. His first child. He leaned down, and pressed a trembling kiss to her forehead. “Akara…you have no idea how happy I am to meet you…”

Detraeus flushed, relaxing further at Cas’ reassurances about Ara and, for the first time since taking her into his arms, he glanced away from his daughter and up, to the door again. “Can I…see her yet?” he asked. “I want to see her…please? I’ll…not shout…I just want to see her…”

Though wary at first, Lithian gave his permissions for Detraeus to enter in fairly short order, and as he stepped through the door, Akara tucked against his chest, a plethora of emotions swelled in him at the sight of Ara: relief, pride, joy, hope, gratitude. And love. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, eyes for no one but Ara, and moved in. Nesting Akara snugly into one arm to free up a hand, he reached out, taking Ara’s back into his and lifting it again to his lips, eyes squeezed shut in the moment that he kissed it.

“I love you,” he whispered to her. “More than the air I breathe.” Glancing down and resituating Akara — surprisingly cooperative and quiet, all things considered — he fit his pinky into her grip and lifted her knuckles, too, to his lips, though her entire hand was hardly bigger than his mouth. “Come, little one,” he murmured. “I think your mother would benefit from your company…tell her your daddy loves you,” he said, and pressed another, gentle kiss to Akara’s forehead before passing her carefully back towards Ara. When his gaze finally broke from his family, to Lithian, Detraeus laid an uncertain hand on Ara’s belly. “The second?”

“Lazy,” Lithian said. “But coming soon enough. Twins don’t always come in immediate succession. This one, I think, is enjoying the warmth of their mother’s belly for as long as they can stick it out for. Now that she’s out, though, you should have your second half in the lesser part of a half hour. Dawn at the latest, at this rate…” He raised a hand over his mouth, unsuccessfully attempting to mask a yawn.