the_lioness | (no subject)

Jon's face is pale as he paces back and forth. He knows it is silly and worse, typical, of expectant fathers to be this nervous, but he had no idea of the depths of the terror he would be feeling. Not just for Thayet, but also for himself.

Jon looks at Alanna in consternation. "Alanna. I'm not ready. I don't know anything about children." He is suddenly rooted to the spot, his panic keeping him still, his face getting even paler.

"You could borrow one of mine for practice," she suggests helpfully. "We've only just put them down."

Her expression softens.

Quietly, she continues, "You'll be surprised how quickly you learn. Your son or daughter will be very lucky to have you as a father."

Alanna bites her lip. Somehow, thinking of Jon as a father is even more strange than thinking of herself as a mother.

Jon feels like he is about to pass out, or throw up, or both. He manages to move enough to collapse into a chair near the window, turning towards the door to better stare at it.

He glances at Alanna, still pale. "But how do you know that? Maybe I won't learn. 'Lanna, I've never been around children. They...they," his voice lowers to a hoarse whisper. "They frighten me."

Only another knight would know how much that admission cost him. Frowning, Alanna crouches before him and rests her hands on his knees.

"I know. I barely knew how to be a child, let alone rear one. But I think we're doing well enough," there's a note of uncertainty, "and you have to remember you aren't in this alone. Thayet is infinitely capable, and I think you will find that a great deal comes naturally."

And if all else fails, there's always the staff of the royal nursery.

Jon nods uncertainly, his head automatically turning towards the door as an audible whimper of pain leaks through. His face twists.

"Oh Mithros, Alanna, how much longer is going to go through this?"

The whimper becomes an unmistakable shout of fury. Alanna bites her lip again to keep herself from smiling.

"I'm not sure." A slight wince. "Since they cut the triplets out, my own labor was relatively quick.

"Sometimes the first one can take quite a while," she admits.

Jon's face goes even whiter at the words "cut the triplets out", if that is even possible.

He jumps up and resumes pacing. "You, you are fine. You had three and you are fine. Fine." It's like his mantra.

"I'm fantastic," Alanna tells herself under her breath, rocking back on her heels when he stands.

She follows, managing to plant herself in front of him when he turns. The resulting collision almost topples them over, but she steadies him.

"They'll both be fine, Jon. The healers would have called me in if there was a problem," she points out. It's not boasting, just a simple fact. She has a lot of power, and would be a very useful... battery, of sorts. "Can you believe this?" she asks, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "If someone went back and told us that day we met that this would be our future, I'd put frogs in his bed."

Jon surprises himself with a small laugh. "I know." He runs a hand through his hair. "I can always count on you and frogs."

He takes her hand and squeezes it hard.

The gesture makes his hair stand up, and Alanna, ever a dutiful Champion, pats it down so his new child doesn't suffer a fright.

"Look at it this way -- if it's a boy, the council can stop harassing you for an heir. Won't that be nice?"

"That is true." Jon manages to get himself back into his chair.

"I never thought I would sympathize with Adam on anything," he says wearily.

Alanna snorts.

"Don't tell him that," she suggests. "You'll never hear the end of it."

It's said fondly.

Walking to the window, she frowns at a heavy drapery and pushes it aside so she can see the city.

"I'm glad to be home. I'm glad to be here today, of all days, even if you won't let me name the youngster."

Jon looks up from his gaze at door to look at her and smile. "I'm glad you're here. I'm not sure I could make it through this without you," he says honestly.

He snorts at her last comment. "You are terrible at naming things - I can only believe that Adam had a large hand in the naming of your little ones."

"He had them named while I was unconscious," she grumbles, but her lips twitch at the end. "But at least Lilly has reaped the benefits of two of the names I proposed."

Beaming, she looks very proud.

Another cry echoes from the bedchamber, and a healer exits hurriedly, bows and heads out of the suite. Alanna starts chewing on her lip again, watching Jon.

"I promise this is normal."

Jon has paled again. You wouldn't think it would be possible and his insides are not appreciating his rocketing emotions.

He clenches his fists. "I wish they would let me in there," he mutters.

"They will eventually," she soothes. Alanna considers him for a moment, then asks, "Care to clear some room and practice Shang... or wrestle?"

Hey, it would help pass the time.

Jon just stares at her.

Arms folded, Alanna gives him her best obstinate scowl.

"Well, it's better than wringing your hands and making yourself sick with worry!"

The door opens and shuts several times in rapid succession, but she resists the urge to look over her shoulder, preferring to pin Jon with her belligerent stare.

Jon hesistates a moment, then says, "Okay," in a tone that suggests he has no idea how to get out of this situation.

"As long as we don't go to far away," he quickly adds, glancing over at the door.

She flashes a triumphant, deceptively sweet smile, and sets about pushing furniture out of the way.

"Trust me, you'll feel better."

The center of the sitting area is soon clear, and Alanna rolls up her sleeves, watching him expectantly.

"Okay, then." She quirks an eyebrow. "Attack me."

Jon had not had the fortune of studying with a Shang master like Alanna. His knowledge of hand-to-hand combat is the basics he learned back as a squire, but he's determined not to look like a fool.

He moves forward quickly, swinging an arm at Alanna's head.

George is as much to blame as Liam for the way she easily ducks under his arm. However, Alanna is prepared to be generous, and the punch she directs at his ribs lacks her usual speed.

She won't purposely throw the fight, not even to Jon, but she might not put her whole back into it, either.

"For your own good," she grunts as she swings.

"Oof!" Jon grunts as the punch lands home. He does manage to turn and grab her arm as she draws back, swinging her arm and attempting to sweep her leg with his.

Poor Jon. He has no idea what is coming next.

A low growl works its way up Alanna's throat, making her sound like a feral animal, and she twists to shift her center of balance. It's a struggle to stay upright, but it's a struggle she wins, and they're momentarily locked into place, each pushing the other.

Thayet shouts something behind the closed door, but both King and Champion are distracted, ears buzzing with their own effort and determination.

Finally, Alanna leans away and throws Jon over her hip.

Jon slams to the floor, all the air leaving his body with a grunt, but he recovers magnificently. And by magnificently meaning that Jon manages not to throw up and grabs Alanna's leg, tugging it and basically forcing her to the ground with him.

He twists to try to get her into a headlock, but only manages to snag part of her sleeve.

That's because he pulls her to one knee, but with the help of the other and downward momentum, she shoves him onto his stomach and twists his arm behind his back. Not painfully, but enough to help impede a counterattack.

It's not an entirely fair move, Alanna would admit, though it's clearly worth it; Jon no longer looks like a ghost in danger of being sick.

Now he just looks like a king in danger of being sick.

Panting, Alanna snickers and tickles his side, preparing herself to be thrown on the floor in retaliation, when the door opens... and doesn't shut again.

Someone clears her throat.

Jon looks up from trying in vain to escape Alanna's trap to see the main healer in charge of the queen looking down at him with a bemused expression on her face.

"You Highness, I am happy to announce that you are the proud father of a healthy baby boy. You can come in now and see him, unless you are otherwise occupied." She winks at him as Jon attempts to leap to his feet, but is seriously impeded by Alanna's weight on his back.

Jon manages to roll and dump Alanna on her back and is trying to untangle his limbs from hers, but his haste is only making it worse.

"Alanna! Ouch! I have a son!"

Saying a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess, Alanna grins and, rather than aid his efforts, pulls him closer, holds his head steady and plants an exuberant kiss on his lips.

"Congratulations, Jon. Don't ever tell Adam I did that," she orders, rolling sideways and using a chair to help her stand. Seconds later, she's racing out the door to go collect said husband and triplets, calling over her shoulder: "I'll be back soon! Remember to tell Thayet she looks beautiful!"

Jon's head is spinning, from the excitement, the blood rushing from his head after being supine for so long, and the kiss. He manages to make it to his feet with the help of the healer who has taken pity on him and rushes to the door.

He pauses in the doorway, his nerves of earlier suddenly flooding back as he catches the first glimpse of his new son.

Thayet is lying in bed, looking sweaty and exhausted, but is beaming at him, a small bundle of blankets in her arms. A shock of black hair is sticking out of the top, above a tiny scrunched face.

Jon takes a small step inside, making his way slowly towards the bed, his eyes not moving from the tiny form.

The arrival of the royal heir is never a private occasion, and the many healers, maids and courtiers that seem to have materialized out of the woodwork do not depart when Jon enters. They do go quiet, bowing and curtsying with sincere respect, and smile as they watch the King's face for his reaction.

"Your son, my lord, is eager to meet his father," the Queen announces from her bed, still breathless from exertion and the surge of happiness she experienced upon seeing her son; and, perhaps, from the look on Jon's face.

Jon looks at her and a wave of tenderness sweeps through him. He finally makes it to the bedside and sinks down carefully beside her. He looks down at his son, his son, he thinks, partly still dazed.

"And I'm eager to meet him." he says, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. He leans forward and moves the blanket back, getting his first real glimpse of his son's face. The face is red and scrunched, serious even in sleep. Jon reaches out, hesitantly, and touches his son's cheek, stroking it gently with a forefinger that seems far too large and clumsy.

Jon looks up at Thayet, the stunned look still on his face. "He's so small."

Easy for Jon to say.

Thayet smiles gently and agrees, "Yes, he is," while brushing the blanket back from the tiny head so Jon can get a better look. A whisper from the corner reminds her that they are not alone, and she leans closer to her husband. In a low voice: "I think they are waiting for you to announce his name."

Jon's befuddled brain realizes that yes, he is still the king and for all he wishes it wasn't, this is still a royal and political moment.

He stands and clears his throat, and announces the name that he and Thayet had agreed on.

"Ladies and gentleman, may I present the heir to the throne of Tortall, Prince Roald of Conte."

He looks back at Thayet with a huge smile as the courtiers cheer for the small boy named after his grandfather.

He moves back to his place and leans over, giving Thayet a soft kiss. "You look so beautiful," he says softly, managing to remember at least one piece of Alanna's advice.

Thayet closes her eyes and savors the kiss, trying not to smile too much at the comment; the Lioness does not yell in dulcet tones. As the queen had requested earlier, Lissa, her most loyal maid, draws the heavy bed curtain and shields them from view. Breathing a sigh of relief, Thayet murmurs her thanks and again kisses her husband.

A succession of visitors and formal presentations will come later; this time is for them.

"You look... disheveled, my love." She wrinkles her strong nose, and asks, encouragingly, "Would you like to hold him?"

Jon flushes slightly, and puts a hand up to smooth his hair, but halts halfway there as Thayet's question reaches his brain.

He looks at her and nods, while his brain screams, "No!! I'll crush him! I'm not ready!"

Jon sits stiff, barely moving as Thayet moves Roald into his arms. Roald squirms a bit and Jon goes even stiffer, terrifed. But he can't take his eyes off the small form in his arms, his son, his heir.

He's so stiff that Thayet fears he'll forget to breathe, and she reaches up to massage the back of his neck with cool, elegant fingers, crooning softly to father and son.

Watching them, she is struck by an unexpected pang of sadness that her mother hadn't lived long enough to see this, and she suspects Jon might soon be missing his own parents in ways he hasn't for quite some time. There's something about an addition to the family, she thinks, that makes you reflect on those members no longer there.

"He's perfect," she sighs, smiling happily. "Already he looks like you. Very handsome."

Jon finally manages to tear his eyes away from his son and looks up to Thayet. "I think he looks like you," he murmurs then slowly, very carefully, leans over and kisses her again, lingering against her lips.

He turns back to his son and shakes his head in wonder. "I hope I don't mess up to badly with you."

Thayet simply smiles; it's hard to say yet if Roald will inherit the strong features of the Wilima house. Gently tracing his tiny nose, she hopes his eyes, at least, will be Conte blue.

The vulnerable look on Jon's face, the exhaustion and whatever the healers had forced her to drink soon has Thayet resting her head on his shoulder.

"We'll do the best we can. That's all anyone could ask of us," she replies. It's a reasonable response, but she'd be a liar if she said she wasn't nervous. Simply: "We'll love him."

And hopefully their crowns won't get in the way.

"We will."

Jon has relaxed slightly, but each tiny movement Roald makes is makes him nervous. Thayet's weight on his shoulder boosts his confidence somewhat. His wife wouldn't relax if she thought their son was in danger.

"At least he'll have three built-in playmates, if Alanna has anything to say about it."

"She often does," Thayet gives a throaty laugh. "Have much to say, that is. And there may come a time when I doubt the wisdom of saying this, but I'm glad Thom, Grace and Jamie will be there for him, as you had Alanna, Gary and Raoul."

And she had Buri. Speaking of:

"Someone should find Buri and reassure her that I'm not dead. She's undoubtedly in the stables," Thayet mumbles, brow wrinkling in a delicate frown. Her hazel eyes drift slowly closed, then open again as she struggles to stay awake.

Jon can hear the exhaustion in her voice and he calls for Lissa to come and help him put Roald into the nearby cradle.

As Thayet settles down into the blankets, Jon smoothes her hair back. He settles next to her and as her eyes close, he whispers "I love you," softly to her.

As her breath deepens and slows, Jon looks over to the cradle. There are fears and discoveries and nerves to come, but in this moment, he can only feel happiness. He has a family. Things are finally starting to feel complete.