There was always excitement when one of the girls waltzed into Lidget's with a child swaddled in her arms.  Ethel remembered the vivid glow glistening behind their maternal eyes as they looked down upon the small face curled in her arms.  Even the patrons would break from their dance to come and see what the hens were so delighted about.  She was one of the few who did not swarm the new mother with coos and awes - she was content to stand back and admire from a distance, offering her congratulations once the swarm had dissipated.  Truthfully, there was a deep seeded fear that took root in her heart when it came to the small, frail bodies of newborns and holding them to her chest as she saw so many others do.  It wasn't that Ethel disliked children and babes; contrary, she adored them.  Their youthful innocence, watching as they explored the world around them.  She loved watching them learn things that seemed simple and mundane to adults like drinking from a mug or putting on one's shirt. Perhaps it was the knowledge that such a frail creature could perish at any given second, even without warning.  To imagine that she had been the cause simply from holding it... Ethel shook her head as she watched the steam rise from the gold-lined rim of her tea cup.  Unkempt tresses swung against her back with the movement, more so when she glanced over her shoulder towards the bulwark features of her husband.  Since learning of the child in her womb, he'd been like velcro - not that she minded.  It was nice having him back and helping with the chores that she was now far too large to do on her own.  Kindling the flame of the furnace, assisting with the wash and various tasks.  "Thank you."  She offered him gratitude for the cup of tea before taking a small sip. Mid-swallow Ethel flinched when another strong cramp rippled throughout her abdomen.  This one was unlike those she'd experienced in the past few weeks.  False alarms, the midwife claimed.  Her body was preparing for the tedious process of birth and as the days passed and her stomach grew, an anxiousness swelled until it threatened to devour her fluttering heart and churning stomach.  There was another cramp that had her reaching for the mound of her belly where the child thrived, a groan muffled by clenched teeth followed in its wake, a sound metamorphosed into a guttural hiss as the pain began to wane.  "I-I think we need the midwife."  Her voice was nearly a whisper, a soft tone as she tried to stand.

 
The morning was relatively quiet. She'd mentioned the cramps, the constricting, and he had done what he could to soothe her. Which currently consisted of making her tea. His mouth wove into a light frown as he poured the boiling water over the basket holding the mixture of her various leaves. The aroma changed almost instantly, from plain to robust in comparison, albeit the color of the steaming liquid was quite light.

He had just turned and set it down upon the table for her before his attention passed back to the stove. Feeding it another log to continue keeping the room warm. "Would you-" Her sudden groan caught him off guard and he would lapse his sight to her. He fell quiet, giving her her peace as his lips gently brushed over the top of her wild locks. "I-I think we need the midwife." He offered her a nod, his own heart beginning to accelerate. Gently, he would squeeze her shoulder, a comfort as he sought to help her stand.

"Alright. I'll help you to the bedroom, then I'll send for her." Despite his calm intonation, there was a light shiver to his hand as he aided her (carrying her if she wished it). Adrenaline. Excitement. Slight trepidation. It all bled into his veins and he had had such little rime to prepare for this grand undertaking. She had written him, but alas, he had had no way to read her words. A fellow soldier had offered once, only to get sharply reprimanded as he had made light of something she had said. Since then, his knuckles had healed, but his trust in another to translate for him had not. He didn't know.

He didn't know he was going to be a father.

Hasty apologies had fled his lips, bitten back woes that he could not have been present for her longer. Their home leave was somewhat extensive, but even if it wasn't, no.man would drag him from her side in the moment. The flats, thankfully, had a desk of management downstairs, and he was quick to take them two and three at a time. "The midwife. Please." He beckoned the woman sleepily leaning across the desk scribbling in a leather bound tome. She shut it sharply, her features lighting quickly into a flushed smile. "Oh! Already! Yes! Yes, sir, at once!"

With his message delivered, he was quick to arrive back at her bedside, wrapping her delicate hand between the two of his as he had to swallow his heart to speak. "Is there anything I can get you? Cold rag? Lift your legs? Anything?"

The carping whine of a languidly rocking futtock announced their arrival here in Klewyth, their boat making landfall along the docks of Odersten.  Here in this foreign place that immovable monument offered himself as a pillar of unrestrained strength as they adjusted.  A well of resolution that she may drink from liberally and unrestrained.  Most of all, he gave her the freedom of self.  Freedom to dance in the fires of impassioned wanton until her feet grew tired, freedom to swim in the sea without guard or reason.  He asked for little in return, small favours, little decencies that to him were as large as the briny deeps.  That's why she accepted the offer of his strength now when the merciless talons of pain warred against the growing ache in her womb. As quickly as they'd made it to the bedroom, he was gone.  Ethel attempted to find comfort in the pillowed comforter, and the sheets, each earning itself an unceremonious toss to the floor in frustration until all that sat upon it was herself and the pillows.  Still, she tossed around, attempting to find some position that would offer relief from the growing pressure that threatened to rip her in half. Dimitris returned, the broad warmth of his calloused hands holding hers, that blue eye dressed with concern.  Ethel leaned back into the pillow, ivory teeth sinking into the painted curve of her scarlet lip as she bit back another wave of pain and the accompanying groan that threatened to escape with it.  When it subdued she sighed, a heaving breath of relief, of a hushed joy that she wouldn't have to go this alone.  Like all their tribulations and trials thus far, he was there, ever the supportive man she'd known him to be in their growing time as husband and wife.  Ethel shook her head slowly at his questions, that string of vocal worries.  "I'm alright."  An attempt to put his mind at ease - or perhaps a ploy to calm hers.  "Imagine..."  She gave his hand a soft squeeze.  "The old hen's faces when we go back to Sanctuary."

He, of course, knew nothing of child birth, but as she bit her lip and held tight to the air within her lungs, he would shake his head. The motion was meant to be calming, placating as he spoke, "Breathe. Whatever you can breathe through hurts less." A poor explanation, but a lesson he had learned well over his years and the various scars that had decorated them. The deeper, the better. Though he wasn't quite sure of anything else to aid her with, that at least he knew for certain.

"I'm alright." She murmured softly after the spell had passed. Placating, gentle, as she ever was. It was odd to him, unnerving even that soon he would have his own small family. Not just the two of them any longer, but another. Another mouth to feed. Another to care for. Another to run their halls and keep her company when he couldn't. There was a twinge in his chest, unfamiliar and distracting. Would they have a son? A daughter? Would they dance like their mother or play swords with her? How much could he be there? How long would the draft keep him from the odd tranquility he had found under the roof he shared with her?

Would they remember him when he returned?

"Imagine..." she pulled him from the maelstrom of musings that encircled his thoughts now that the uncertainty had finally settled deep into his bones. Her hand squeezed his tightly, delicate, soft. "The old hen's faces when we go back to Sanctuary." The corner of his lips lifted slightly in the ghost of a half smile. "Mmm, that you should've gotten married?" Though the inflection was somewhat absent, he would taunt her all the same. Sanctuary, the tiny refuge that it was, was a mill of constantly churning rumors. Each and every one of the residents, though he found the elderly to be the most outspoken of such affairs, had an opinion about everyone else there. Tongues wagged like the tails of the hounds they raised. Most attempted secrecy, but every now and then the whispers were much louder than they were meant to be, not to mention the heightened sense of hearing that picked them up regardless. This was especially true when it came to matters concerning the woman who had instructed dancing and as far as many eyes were concerned her star pupil. "Or that the child will look nothing like Mr. Reade, your intended?"

He pulled her hand towards him with the final remark, a quiet spark of humor reflected within his gaze, as the sound of footfalls collected like droplets of rain on the window panes before spilling over into the flat. A myriad of voices cooing in hushed tones that were barely audible from the privacy of their room. His lips passed softly over her knuckles as he heard them coming towards them and the open door he had left for their entrance. Towels, water, the other necessities and what luxuries could be afforded during such a precious time. They set about the place as if it was there very own, an announced plan of how things would proceed, granted everything went accordingly. A dark inkling that had him holding her petite digits slightly tighter.