Damian always knew he’d die young. He’d been a weak child, gasping and wheezing at the slightest exertion, turning to books and poetry for the freedom he could not find running and playing with the other children. The doctors didn’t expect he’d make it to his eighteenth birthday, so it’s a miracle when he makes it to his twenty-first.
There was only thing he wished for, but it was a selfish desire. To marry her, to marry Sarai, would condemn her to a life as a widow when she was still in the bloom of her youth. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t burden her, shackle her. He loved her too much.
Yet she asked him to marry her anyway.
The fear returns when he learns she’s expecting. What if his child, his little miracle, is born with his lungs? Sarai says she can only hope they are born his heart.
Damian dies when he is twenty-five, and Sarai is left a widow. But even with his final, painful breath, he cannot regret loving her. He cannot regret Callum.
Perhaps one day he will bring to the world the light he brought to his father’s life.
WOW ‘If I Should Die’ is SO good <3 Just got done rereading it as I make my way through the s5 section of the zine and…OMG. The imagery! The angst! I die!!! No, but really—Rayla, go 5 seconds without being traumatized challenge?? love love loved it!
If we work hard, stay focused, and believe in ourselves, we can make sure Rayla never goes longer than TWO seconds without being traumatized!!!
So I wrote this in October 2022, before season 4, but never finished it. It doesn’t really align with canon anymore, and it’s just been sitting in my drafts unfinished. I didn’t want to delete, and I don’t want to finish it, so here it is.
TW: Childbirth
“Please sit down, Your Highness. Your worrying is not helping the princess.”
Callum wiped the sweat from his brow, barely acknowledging Opeli’s suggestion as she brushed by him into the bedroom. He attempted to follow her, only to have the door promptly shut in his face.
“She’s in the best possible hands, Callum,” Ezran assured. He moved the aging glowtoad asleep on the red velvet couch beside him onto his lap, gesturing for Callum to sit. “Everything is going to be all right.”
Callum glanced at his king, who offered him a sympathetic smile. Ezran had excused himself from the court hours ago, ready to stand vigil at his brother’s side. At sixteen, he was already taller than Callum, and far more composed and mature than the brooding mess his elder brother had been at that age.
“I know, I know, it’s just…. stuff can happen, stuff they can’t do anything about, and…” Callum bit his lip and resumed pacing, as he’d been since the moment Rayla was whisked from his sight, wearing a path into the plush carpet of the suite’s sitting room. It was impossible not to worry. His wife, his princess, was the love of his life, his everything, and even with the most skilled of assistance, women still died in childbirth. He remembered a classmate whose mother had died delivering his baby sister. Though the memories were vague (he only went to school for one year after all, educated only by private tutors once his mother wed the king), he would always remember the empty, reddened eyes of his playmate’s father each day when he came to collect his son from the schoolhouse. It was if he would never stop crying. Callum then became convinced the same would happen to Sarai, and howled for hours into Harrow’s tunic when the time came for Ezran to arrive.
He fancied himself more rational now, of course, but the fear remained. Ezran had summoned the most skilled midwives from throughout the Pentarchy to attend his sister-in-law’s labor, joined by several women from the Silvergrove, including Rayla’s own mother. Callum knew a more capable team couldn’t possibly exist than the one aiding his wife. But none of them had ever delivered a halfling child.
Rayla’s pregnancy had been smooth, for the most part. They’d scarcely been married three months when Rayla began to awake sick to her stomach, rousing Callum as she hurried to the bathroom despite her best efforts to remain discrete. He would kneel beside her, gently holding back her silver hair as she hunched over the chamber pot. He insisted his Rayla see the palace physician, and after several miserable mornings spent on the cold marble floor, she relented. Callum shared with the doctor his theory that some elf-hating kitchen worker was poisoning his new bride’s food, and nearly collapsed when the woman instead laughed warmly and informed the couple that the princess was not only perfectly well, she was with child. It was the happiest and most terrifying moment of their lives. They were both so young, still learning to live as husband and wife, and now they were about to be parents. They cried together, both in fear and utter joy, and immediately began squabbling over names.
As far as the doctors and midwives could tell, the baby was growing healthy and strong, and Rayla seemed her usual vibrant self. But no one really knew what to expect. Neglecting his high mage duties, Callum spent many long hours in the royal library, scouring for information on halflings. Surely such children existed, but records were few and far between, and those that did exist spoke either of wretched abominations forsaken by humanity and the arcanums alike or of pitiful little waifs born too soon and dead before their first sunrise. He sought out information from many in the humans kingdoms and Xadia alike, to little success. A Skywing mercenary told him that he once traveled alongside an Earthblood companion with rounded ears and small horns, clumsily attributed to a poor diet as a youngster. An elderly shopkeeper from the Del Bar capital city recalled an infant born in her girlhood village, with four fingers and pale blue skin. The townsfolk shunned mother and baby, and both passed away during the winter. The story made Callum sick, and he felt useless to his wife and unborn child.
He’d scarely left Rayla’s side for the past week, except for when she ordered him out of the room because couldn’t he hear how annoying his breathing was? But elf pregnancies last eight months, humans nine, and she was right in between the two. There was no way he was leaving her when she could labor at any moment.
She’d woken him early that morning, just after the sun rose, grabbing his arm and whispering that something felt different.
“Different like… you want the moon berries inside the jelly tart this time?” he mumbled sleepily. Barius may well bludgeon him to death with his rolling pin if he bothered him again about the consistency of his crusts making Rayla nauseous.
“No, ye’ big dummy,” her violet eyes were big and excited and a touch frightened. “Different like… I think I’m havin’ the baby today.”
Callum shot up right, flinging the duvet onto the floor. “Wait, really? Right now? You’re sure? Okay, don’t panic, you stay right here, I—I’ll go get the doctor! It’s gonna be okay!”
He sprinted out the door, before scrambling back in and planting an enormous kiss on his wife’s forehead. “I love you!” Rayla could only shake her head as he charged back into the hallway, screaming for a maid.
That had been hours ago.
The couple spent the morning in the kitchen with Ezran, munching on pastries and fresh moonberries, before roaming the long palace corridors, Rayla holding Callum’s arm as she walked through the cramps. After her waters came away, her midwifes settled her in her bedchamber, and the pains began in earnest.
At first, the midwives allowed Callum to stay with her. He rubbed Rayla’s back, wiped her forehead with a cool cloth, lifted a glass of water to her lips—before spilling it all over her thanks to his shaking hands. She was in good spirits, all things considered. Certainly handling the whole ordeal better than he was.
“Would ya quit your frettin,’ ya big oaf,” she’d scolded fondly after he apologized for the tenth time over spilling the drink. “Ya’d think you were the one laborin’ with how badly you’re sweatin.’”
The pangs intensified in the afternoon, and Callum found himself wanting to cry at the sight of Rayla’s face, pinched and contorted with pain as she bravely breathed through it. Once the pains came consistently every few minutes, the head midwife checked her and, with a stern expression, ordered Callum from the chamber.
“It isn’t personal, Prince Callum,” Opeli assured with a kind smile as she guided him into the sitting room. “It’s simply the way things are done. King Harrow was not with your mother when Ezran was born either.”
“I know,” Callum stole one last look at his princess, recalling how he clung to his stepfather with all the strength in his little hands as he listened to his mother’s howls echo through the palace halls. “But… but he wanted to, didn’t he?”
Opeli smiled again. “You are like him in many ways.”
It seemed like an eternity had passed since Callum was shut outside the door. Except for Opeli checking in, and the occasional maid fetching fresh supplies, no one had left the room.
A pained grunt from within the bedchamber sent Callum to the door yet again. “Is everything all right?? Rayla, are you okay!?”
A young Moonshadow woman answered a few moments later, shooting the prince a dirty look. “You’re disturbin’ your wife.”
“She—she’s in pain. I just need to know she’s okay. Just—just let me check on her.”
“Childbirth is painful, Highness. She’s doin’ fine. Now sit back down, we’ll let ya know when your bairn arrives.”
Ezran stood up to put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “She’s okay, Callum. You know how strong she is. And if something goes wrong, they’ll know what to do.”
Another cry tore through the room, and Callum felt the young king’s grip tighten, a flash of fear in his wide blue eyes. A stab of guilt prodded at his heart. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the kid was only sixteen. His little brother. It was Callum’s job to be strong for him.
“Hey… you’re right…” he smiled weakly, returning Ezran’s embrace and internally scolding himself for acting like a fool in front of his brother. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Ezran dropped his head down to Callum’s shoulder. “You love her so much. I know it’s awful to hear her in pain and not be able to do anything about it.”
Callum straightened the boy’s crown and repeated the mantra he’d be telling himself all day. “It’ll be over soon.”
Staying strong for Ezran lasted all of ten minutes. Rayla’s moans grew to agonized wails, so long and miserable that Callum feared she wasn’t even able to get in a breath.
“Callum… are you okay?” Ezran asked softly, lightly touching his brother’s hand. Even Bait appeared concerned, his skin a purplish green. It was then Callum realized he had tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I’ve—I’ve never heard her… scream like that before…” the mage’s voice wobbled, his throat thick. “It sounds like… like she’s—”
“Oh, Callum! Help me!”
Before Ezran could react, Callum was on his feet, nearly throwing the door off its hinges. “Rayla!” Two maids and the stern-faced Moonshadow woman hurried to stop him, almost knocked to the floor by the frantic young man.
“Callum, please, where are you!?” Rayla sobbed. “It hurts… Callum, it hurts!”
“Your Highness, you cannot be in here!” Opeli rushed to help the other women evict Callum from chambers.
“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, fighting to reach his wife’s side.
“Callum!” Rayla gasped, her eyes finally locking with his. Her face was flushed and streaked with tears, eyes wild with pain. The thin white nightgown that usually hung so loosely around her nimble frame now clung to her skin, soaked through with sweat. But what scared Callum the most was the blood that stained the sheets around her legs. “Callum, help me!”
“Rayla!”
“Out. Now!”
“Callum, no! Come back, please!”
“No, wait—!” Callum grasped at his hair as the door was once again slammed in his face while his princess continued to scream his name.
“I’m coming, Rayla!” Pausing for a moment, Callum suddenly threw off his outer cloak and charged for the stairwell.
“Callum—”
“Stay there, Ez!”
The high mage barreled down the stairs and into the hallway, narrowly avoiding several collisions with mystified staff members, before sprinting across the inner courtyard to the base of the wide tower holding his study and personal chambers. Even so far below, he could hear his wife's cries, but now her ragged voice offered a glimmer of hope. The sight of the drapes flicking out above him in the evening breeze confirmed his suspicion.
The window was open.
"Manus. Pluma. Volantis."
It took only two powerful strokes to launch Callum up the full height of the tower. Tucking his wings to his side, the prince skillfully swooped into the bedchamber, striking them out again to balance himself as he landed on one knee, his sudden entrance prompting startled shrieks from at least half of Rayla's attendants.
"What is the meaning of this!?" the lead midwife gasped indignantly.
"Callum!" Rayla screamed, reaching out toward her husband. "Callum, ya came!"
In an instant, Callum was at his wife's side, clutching her hand and pressing kisses to her temple. "I'm here, love, I'm here... it's okay, I've got you..."
The midwife attempted to speak. "Prince Callum—"
"Ach, just let him stay, for pity's sake!" Tiadrin barked from her vigil at the opposite side of Rayla's bed, venom in her glare. "Muh poor lass is sufferin' enough without ya draggin' her husband away like a criminal!"
The woman swallowed and glanced back at Opeli, who only shook her head permissively. "Very well. His Highness may stay with the princess so long as he does not interfere with our work."
"I won’t, I swear. I just need to be here with her."
"Oh Callum," Rayla whimpered, a sob escaping her as she gripped his hand with all her strength. "I can't do it, Callum, I—I'm so tired, I think—I think I'm goin' tae die..."
"Shhhh... you're not gonna die, love, you're doing such a good job," Callum assured, tucking a loose strand of her shimmering silver hair behind her ear. "Just hang on a bit longer. It's almost done."
"Baby's head is nearly born, my lady," the midwife announced. "I need you to push with this next pang."
"Callum, I can't!" Rayla bawled, collapsing back against her pillow. "I can't!"
"Yes, yes you can, Rayla! I know you can!" Callum wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her upright, squeezing her hand as if he could share his strength with her. "You're so close, Rayla!"
The princess screamed as the pain ripped through her body, bracing down and grasping her husband's hand.
"The head is born, my lady! One more push with the next pain, and your baby will be here."
"You hear that, my love?" Callum kissed Rayla's hand. "Just one more. You're so close." She could only sob in response, turning her head against him and gasping for breath.
Writhing on the deck, rigid muscles spasming, teeth grit and wide eyes crying for him as blood-curdling screams tear from her throat. Bound, gagged, strung up like a hunk of meat, dangled over a sea churning with flesh-eating beasts, ready to flay her alive, to drag her to a watery grave as she's lowered down to their jaws.
"Rayla!" he screams. "Rayla! No, no please! Please!"
"You can save her, lad," Finnegrin taunts, cold eyes glistening with anticipation. "Look at her. You know you can."
"Let her go!" he screams, desperately fighting against his chains. "I've already told you what you want!"
The pirate only grins as he turns away, drawing his cutlass and cutting the rope suspending Rayla above her doom. She screams something that must be Callum's name and plunges to her death.
"No!"
He can't let her die.
He can't.
He'd do anything for her.
Anything.
He feels the grub crawling over his hands. It'd been there all along, as much as he strove to ignore it.
He chooses his own path. He writes his own destiny.
But what would his destiny be without her?
Callum crushes his fist around the grub, its innards oozing from between his fingers. "Dnibnu leets gnirehtils."
The chains falls away. He saves her.
And then it starts again.
Rayla screaming. Rayla bound and gagged. Rayla falling to her death. Every time the same. Every time two options. Dark magic.
Or let her die.
He hates this. He always will. It makes him sick. Dirty. Powerless.
The pirate has his arm looped around Rayla’s throat. “Give it up, sky mage,” he orders, his barnacle-encrusted hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her protests. There’s an ocean rune drawn in front of him, though whether it’s meant for her or for Callum, the prince isn’t sure.
But it doesn’t matter.
“Let her go,” he demands, ignoring how his voice breaks. “Let us both go.“
Raucous laughter sounds about him, culminating in a mocking guffaw from the Tidebound captain. “Oh ho, or what, boy? You wanna go another round?”
Callum swallows hard, reflexive tears still leaking from his swollen eye, his jaw stiff and sore. “Let her go. Or die.”
The pirate laughs yet again. “I must’ve scrambled your brains, huh, pup? ‘Cause in case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have your staff. Now…” he gives Rayla a shake. “Let’s see if she can swim.”
They think he needs his staff. They’re just like everyone else. Callum locks eyes with Rayla, smiling assuringly as she blinks in terror. He won’t let them hurt her.
The woods were quiet, the only sounds that of the mounts’ gentle breathing and the crackles of the dying fire, its embers now too dim to rival the light of the stars. Rayla’s eyes sought them out, settling on Leola’s Last Wish. She blinked sleepily, thoroughly exhausted by the day’s journey. But she wanted to stay awake just a wee bit longer, to cling to this moment for as long as she could.
Maybe there was some wishing power in the stars after all. Because merely a week or so before, she’d been camped out on a nice patch of hard-packed dirt, with only wee Stella to keep her warm. And now she was back with him.
Callum.
She’d been wondering from the moment she saw him again how it would feel to rest her head on his wonderfully broad shoulders, and it was… oh, it was more lovely than she could’ve dreamed. He’d set his sketchbook aside and slipped his arm under the small of her back before falling asleep, his head still leaning against hers. He was heavy, and warm, and sweaty, and quite possibly drooling into her hair.
And Rayla couldn’t have been more overcome with joy.
How she loved him. How her feelings had grown only more intense, in new and almost frightening ways, in their time apart. And he’d grown. Taller, sharper, angrier. More handsome. But he was still her Callum. Tonight more than ever she knew that much to be true, in the way his green eyes sparkled and his voice quipped as he joked with her. She felt so small, and so very, completely safe in his embrace. Feeling rather bold, she brought her hand to his chest, resting it against his heart.
She knew she’d hurt him. She’s wounded him so deeply. And she would spend the rest of her life making it up to him if she had to, cherishing his dear heart the way he deserved. Because she never wished to leave his side again.
Rayla’s eyes found the star again. Yes, that would be her wish. To be here forever with Callum, where all was right with the world. Where even those three awful coins tucked away in her pocket didn’t seem so far gone. Where she was filled only with love and hope.
No, nothing could take her away from him. Not again.
Callum stomps away from the camp, abandoning Soren to build the fire alone. The storm gathering in the darkening afternoon sky pales in comparison to the one in his heart. His throat is still hoarse from the shouting match with Rayla, nearly a week's worth of suppressed emotions (two years, if he's honest) finally bubbling over at the worst possible time. She'd disappeared into the surrounding woods, that stupid cuddle monkey at her heels, mumbling something about scouting out the area as hot tears slipped from her annoyingly pretty violet eyes.
That was nearly an hour ago.
"Rayla! Come on, where are you?" his voice wavers as he calls, the brush snapping back in his face as he swats it aside.
He's still angry. Of course he's still angry. And he wants her to know it. He wants her to understand how deeply she'd wounded him. It doesn't matter that she did it out of love. He didn't feel loved. All he felt was misery.
But worry is beginning to creep in. It doesn't take an hour to scout a perimeter. If she'd found something amiss, she would've alerted the group.
She wouldn't do it again. She wouldn't leave.
She promised.
He's angry, but he doesn't want her to go. No, in fact, he never wants to be away from her side ever again. The only reason he can even let himself be angry is because she's here, with him, alive and whole. He can be angry because he knows a time will come when he isn't, when they've built their life together, when all this heartache is behind them.
She wouldn't leave him. Not again.
"Rayla!"
This is his fault. He shouldn't have raised his voice. He shouldn't have called her selfish. He should've told her how much he loved her instead of just how much she'd hurt him. "Rayla! Rayla, please, I—I didn't mean it!"
His anxiety gives away to wild panic. "Rayla! Rayla, where are you!? Please, please don't leave me again!"
Callum breaks into a run as he enters a clearing. He could never catch up with her on foot, so he skids to a halt and stretches his arms in front of him. "Manus. Pluma. Volan—”
A glint catches his eye, and his blood turns to ice.
He knows in an instant what it is, even if his heart refuses to accept it. His legs are leaden as he slowly approaches the sword.
Its blade is stuck in the earth, pinning a roll of parchment. Its companion, unfurled as well, lies a few feet away, slick with blood. Callum crumples to his knees before them.
Her blades. Her beautiful blades. Callum recalls her telling him that, save for that night in the Midnight Desert, she'd never been parted from them. A piece of her soul was forged into her swords, a sacred bond so deep that dark mages could use the weapon of a fallen Moonshadow warrior to summon their shadow from the beyond.
Rayla would never abandon her blades.
His skin crawls at the thought of their hands on the hilt of Rayla's sword (of their hands on Rayla) as they drove the note into the ground for him to find. His vision is so blurred, he can barely make out the words. But it confirms his worst nightmare.
She has her.
He has her.
"Rayla!" Callum tries to scream, but only a sob escapes. He cradles the blade against his chest and wails. They took her. They have her.
Ezran, Soren, and the others are approaching from the woods. Camp is so close they could hear him crying, Callum realizes. She was so close when they took her. Why didn't he hear her? He could've stopped them. He could've saved her.
His lips gently touch the hilt, the kiss he should've given her the moment she was in his reach again. A pressure builds in his chest, tangible in the air around him.
Rayla. His Rayla. Gone again.
Stolen from him.
And it's his fault.
A desperation unlike any he's known wells within him. A determination. A darkness. Whatever they demand—whatever he demands—they can have it. It doesn't matter. Whatever he has to do, he will do it. For her.
Callum rocks back and forth, clutching her blades against him. He ignores his companions, unable to answer his brother’s frightened questions even when he feels his arms around him.
"Claudia," Callum hisses the name he once held dear as if it's poison on his tongue.
"What?" Soren's face goes white. "Why?"
Callum crumples the note in his fist. "He told her to."
"Who?"
Callum can't respond. The words—the cursed name—die in his throat. Him. He should've known how dangerous he was. But he was so starved for answers, for power, driven half-mad by loneliness and heartbreak, that he let that monster into his life. Into her life.
And now he has her.
"Just— just hold on, Rayla..." he mumbles, too low for anyone else to hear. "I'm coming. I promise I'm coming. Please hang on..."
Callum finally pulls himself to his feet, tucking her precious blades into his satchel and swiping the tears from his eyes. There's no time for crying now. Not with Rayla's life on the line. He already failed to protect her. He cannot fail her again.
"I'll save her…." Callum whispers. "I'll save her, I—I have to save her," his voice grows stronger as he speaks, and Ezran shudders at the darkness in his brother's eyes. "No one's taking her away from me. I will not lose her again."
The young mage turns his back to his companions, facing the cold wind, and sketches a blue rune against the sky. "Susurrus Distans... Rayla... wait for me. I'm coming."
