Dacheran
04-18-09, 02:36 PM
Archwin Zvart frowned deeply as he paced through the halls of his small estate. When he was a merchant, he’d always looked forward of the day he’d finally be able to settle down and groom an heir to the fortune he planned to raise. When he’d met Dashiva and she not only proved to be as strong and capable as he could dream, but when she left to pursue his travels with him he was in a whirl of not only burning love, but of the more practical hope for the future. He’d done incredibly better with her there working with him, he had to admit, and it had all been going so well. Now, there was this.
He paused to stare out the window; there was a full moon tonight. The Fool’s Moon was now constantly laughing down at him. What were the villagers going to think? They’d been ecstatic when he’d been settling in and building his house. An individual of such wealth and was sure to bring trade, and to meet there desires the small village began slowly growing since. Money was what made the little cogs in society turn, the larger cogs having more money, having the ability to turn more of smaller cogs. If nothing else, his presence heightened the rate of other peddlers and merchants arrivals.
And so his estate had grown, and so now he paced, for he had no one to pass it all to. When Dashiva and he had been traveling, they had been relieved more than worried when she didn’t seem to take pregnant. After all, it would have been a worry to have to manage an infant when they had so much to do, and they hardly had time to be all that intimate anyways. But now, in the end of the fifth year they’d been settled, they were still childless. There had been a couple false starts that ended rather abruptly, thankfully before the villagers had noticed. This time, however, was already to full term. Things had been going so well, but he could tell from the way the midwives were chattering and the way Granny Nunchag was muttering under her breath that there were complications.
We’d been so close! He mentally screamed his frustrations to the sky. And now he might lose his Dashiva too. With all that, he was sure the villagers would think he was truly cursed. He stood to lose it all in a single night. Everything he had built, everything he had potentially built it for, gone.
As yet another pair of women rushed in from the night to tend to his wife, he trudged outwards. He needed to calm his head. Archwin Zvart was supposed to be a calm man, didn’t let his emotions muddle him up. Some fresh air should help.
Yet as he dragged his feet into the night he could still feel the grinning moon laughing down at his plight, he cursed epithets back up to it. As he reached the crest of the hill just behind his main house, he fell to his knees and wept. He could have screamed, but he refused. He was sure if he did, it would have been a savage bestial thing, the kind that starts hunts for werewolves and the like. Instead, he screamed silently, and beat his fist to the ground. There was a crack of bone, and a feeling of wetness as his nails drove into his palm. The shock shivered up his entire arm and he felt the tension slowly leak out of his wound as his blood dripped onto the grass.
As he lay still, dreams took him. He saw the moon come down from the heavens, smiling still, but no longer laughing at his plight. As he embraced her he cried out again, that all he wanted was a son. Blackness claimed him.
The following morning he stumbled back home in a daze to have his hand set and bandaged, and to hear the heavy news that no doubt awaited him. He braced himself for impact as he entered his wife’s chambers. What greeted him there left him in shock.
Dashiva smiled at him from the bed. “It was close but… We have a son.”
He paused to stare out the window; there was a full moon tonight. The Fool’s Moon was now constantly laughing down at him. What were the villagers going to think? They’d been ecstatic when he’d been settling in and building his house. An individual of such wealth and was sure to bring trade, and to meet there desires the small village began slowly growing since. Money was what made the little cogs in society turn, the larger cogs having more money, having the ability to turn more of smaller cogs. If nothing else, his presence heightened the rate of other peddlers and merchants arrivals.
And so his estate had grown, and so now he paced, for he had no one to pass it all to. When Dashiva and he had been traveling, they had been relieved more than worried when she didn’t seem to take pregnant. After all, it would have been a worry to have to manage an infant when they had so much to do, and they hardly had time to be all that intimate anyways. But now, in the end of the fifth year they’d been settled, they were still childless. There had been a couple false starts that ended rather abruptly, thankfully before the villagers had noticed. This time, however, was already to full term. Things had been going so well, but he could tell from the way the midwives were chattering and the way Granny Nunchag was muttering under her breath that there were complications.
We’d been so close! He mentally screamed his frustrations to the sky. And now he might lose his Dashiva too. With all that, he was sure the villagers would think he was truly cursed. He stood to lose it all in a single night. Everything he had built, everything he had potentially built it for, gone.
As yet another pair of women rushed in from the night to tend to his wife, he trudged outwards. He needed to calm his head. Archwin Zvart was supposed to be a calm man, didn’t let his emotions muddle him up. Some fresh air should help.
Yet as he dragged his feet into the night he could still feel the grinning moon laughing down at his plight, he cursed epithets back up to it. As he reached the crest of the hill just behind his main house, he fell to his knees and wept. He could have screamed, but he refused. He was sure if he did, it would have been a savage bestial thing, the kind that starts hunts for werewolves and the like. Instead, he screamed silently, and beat his fist to the ground. There was a crack of bone, and a feeling of wetness as his nails drove into his palm. The shock shivered up his entire arm and he felt the tension slowly leak out of his wound as his blood dripped onto the grass.
As he lay still, dreams took him. He saw the moon come down from the heavens, smiling still, but no longer laughing at his plight. As he embraced her he cried out again, that all he wanted was a son. Blackness claimed him.
The following morning he stumbled back home in a daze to have his hand set and bandaged, and to hear the heavy news that no doubt awaited him. He braced himself for impact as he entered his wife’s chambers. What greeted him there left him in shock.
Dashiva smiled at him from the bed. “It was close but… We have a son.”