[Captain's Hall] Birthing Pangs

[Tabarnac]

9th Spring, 512 A.V. near midnight The curfew was in full effect, but certain soldiers were sent from building to building with news or tasks deemed important enough to leave safety, and none of them went alone. So it was two soldiers showed up at the Opal Clinic and, not finding Cian Noc, settled for hustling Caelum with a hastily assembled kit to the Captain's Hall. They didn't want to tell him much, but it was important he know what he was walking into, better prepared, so he knew the Captain was in labor. But little was said as they walked the empty streets, windows shuttered against whatever terrors of which the night was full. There were guards at the door, but they were let in without a word, the square in front of the Hall lit by many torches. This was the safe spot if it came to it. There were people sleeping in the main hall, some guards, some people who didn't feel secure where they lived beyond the town proper. They led him up the stairs to where the Captain's offices and apartments were, past more guards, past a nervously pacing Ethaefal whose day form was the father of the child. Caelum had hardly a moment to acknowledge Sitkanis before being ushered into the room, kept warm with braziers, and inside was the Captain's aide, the blonde Silmeria, and Master Jarret, who sat to the side looking terribly old. When his eyes lit on Caelum in his disreputable, Drykas shape, he frowned. "Where is Cian Noc? I sent you for him." "House call, Master Jarret," said Perras, who had safely brought the next best healer. "Well, Master Caelum, have you ever delivered a breech birth?"

[Caelum]

"Cut one out," came the confession none of them wanted to hear. "It didn't go well." The Sunsinger was an unremarkable figure, abbreviated by Leth's light striking eldrich but clear throughout the embattled outpost. His kit was clung to by worn fingers, burnished by Syna but to none of the shine his day form delivered; and he was littered in riddles of ink, old signs sloping down the curve of muscles in his forearms as he stepped closer to the bed. His eyes bounced from Silmeria to Jarret to come to rest upon Captain Astrid. Bed ridden. It was an interesting juxtaposition to the sword-forged and stalwart leader who had stood in front and strong for all the Denvali these past months of ravage. His kit dropped with a thud to the floor and the candles on the tables burned, wax dripping in serpentine bubbles down the sides as he eased out of his jacket. It was tossed across the back of a chair and allowed him the bow of head and shoulders that was something like a salute. "Sorry," he added with a cut of eyes toward Jarret. By the look in them, it seemed he genuinely was. "Noc's gone. He'll come, no doubt, and fast; but that'll depend on Dira and Old Man Miguelo." Frayed, linen sleeves were shoved further up and he sank to a crouch at the bedside. A bottle of carobolic was unearthed from the organized jumble within and he began the process of wiping down his hands up to his elbows. The glimmer of Rak'keli's favor caught candlelight upon the back of his right hand. "But I'm here," he said with all the low breath of him sighing out. "I'm willing. What can I do, sir?"

[Tabarnac]

"Cheer up, Master Caelum. It's your chance to do good in the world." He pointed to a bag beside Astrid's bed. "There's my bag. You'll find what you need if you don't have it already." The most notable thing therein would be a pair of silver shoe-horns. Caelum was not going to like what those were for. Silmeria gingerly pressed a cool, wet cloth to Astrid's brow, her cheeks, her neck, her chest where it was showing over the damp shirt she wore. The woman leaned down to kiss her mistress, whispered something to her, then extricated her hand from Astrid's and came over to wash her hands as well. "I will assist you," she told Caelum, matter-of-fact. "I'm really only trained in first aid, but I can follow direction and I am not squeamish." They were strong, these women of Denval. Though clearly in pain, Astrid did not cry out, and her secretary was certainly a soldier too if the calluses on her hands were any indication. Memories life before his ascendance bubbled up, and he remembered flying above the world as if he were the sun himself, seeing Denval from above with the Champion's Inavalti. The fortress was gone, but the blood was strong. Denval was still a city of soldiers, for better or for worse.

[Caelum]

"Opportunity is boundless of late," Caelum mumbled at Jarret out of the corner of his mouth, charmingly companionable in his sarcasm. A better smile buoyed up for the soldier's sake, transforming an otherwise unremarkable visage into a haunt of his day form's beauty. He shoved to his feet and stepped over the bag of Jarret's supplies to the head of the bed so that he might peer down into the captain's strained face. "Captain Astrid," he murmured with a grave but abrupt certainty. It was a subtle transformation from the bitter gloom of his posture and countenance when his patient was at hand, the goal clear before him while looking into the courage housed in her eyes. "This will be a brutal campaign, but it will be brief in comparison to the long war you have fought for Denval. I may not be Denvali, but I've come here to fight at your side in more ways than one." He bent down and whispered, pulled by the rustle of Nikali's chain, a kiss to Astrid's brow. Peace. "And I won't leave it until your child is in your arms." Gently extracting himself, he moved to the foot of the bed. "Jarret, Silmeria, I don't doubt your help will be greatly appreciated," he muttered while lowering a knee to the mattress. He caught the hem of the bedsheet and lifted his head to proffer the captain a surprisingly gamine smile. "If you'll allow me." Had Denval even known him long enough to note the grand scale of change in him?

[Tabarnac]

Cian might have noticed, but Cian was busy elsewhere. In a pinch, many women could deliver without undue consequence, following the course laid out by nature. Other injuries were not so easily handled, and perhaps more than one of them were praying Cian would finish with other things in time to assist if things went ill for the pregnant captain. "Master Caelum," she managed, sounding a little worn around the edges, but still strong as steel. Whatever flesh she had gained during her pregnancy didn't show for gravity, with her looking up at the world from her back. She nodded at his request, and when he lifted the sheet, he could see quite clearly two things: the baby had dropped, and the baby had not turned its head toward the birthing canal. Or at least that faint bump down low looked more like the kick of a little foot than the punch of a struggling arm. Jarret struggled to his feet and waddled over, gout or rheumatism slowing him down. "Don't know that it can be massaged around," he murmured. "Might have to operate and hope they can drag Cian up her before she bleeds out."