Musical Inspiration: Love Unconditionally
The package from one of the somewhat newer Dawnmenders, Emberward Vynarah Lightbinder ( @lil-lightbinder ), had finally arrived. It had been mislaid with several other holiday gifts from relatively unknown people due a mistake between the House Blackwood Steward, and various other servants.
Thankfully for the sake of those involved, the Greenseer was no longer heavily pregnant, and merely tired from the recent delivery of her identical twin sons. The tongue lashing had been incredibly brief in comparison to the last near year. Two footmen had gotten off with a mere two days of assisting the maidservants with stitch work and herb gathering. Boring, to be sure, but nothing like the other horrible tasks some of those had been set to that had managed to annoy the woman.
Such as collecting kelp from the ocean side at high tide, or counting the number of parchments received by the entire estate proper, backward. The relieve was palpable enough that no one dared to make a comment otherwise. With the familiar dark green paper carefully folded around the usual brownies and a tiny bit of a charming twist: apple flavoured, with walnuts and a dusting of confectioner’s sugar over top like snowflakes, the gift caused the Lady Blackwood to break into a peal of low, warm laughter, her contralto voice truly amused. It had been the first sound of actual mirth from that quarter of the estate in many, many years. Both of the nannies were present, along with the scribe that stood by for her to respond. She had been carried to a soft, pillow covered couch near to the window for a little sunlight.
That had been one of many remedies thus far that the visit by the elder Druid that she had spoken to regarding her condition: plenty of sunlight, and rarely permitted being completely alone. It had the woman slightly frazzled to be forced to have a maidservant or a guard on duty every single hour of the day, but thus far, she recognised the likelihood the vigilance, paired with the Oracle’s incredible harnessing of Cere’thien’s own immense magical gifts that had saved her life, rather than leaving her children without their mother.
Yet, not all was quite safe.
Lifting the quill after being handed a portable desk, she began to write in response to the Emberward Lightbinder’s gift.
I wished to formally say that I hope that you had an excellent holiday season, and that return to work has gone without difficulty for you. Finally, I have received your gift of brownies. It seemed to have arrive on time, yet was waylaid with a number of other items sent to my estate.
This afternoon I have taken the time to have one with tea, and found the combination of apple and chocolate to be just the thing, blunting the oft overly sugary nature of such treats. I suspect my commentary will confuse you, thus I will explain that I am no longer with child. The twin boys that were blessed to me have been born.
Named Laevir and Cyrwin, know that you have had a direct hand in their care before birth. As such, I have included a lifelong stipend for you to create your divine treats for any of those healing souls that are in need. It is my suggestion that you consider ways to include medicinal methods to add healing agents to said items that are unable to be tasted. A mere thought; you are of course permitted to do as you please.
As for myself, I shall no longer require said food items, and would like to change my order for the donation of the Orphanage of the Blacktide Leaves. It is one that I support with my own name. Not every child is so lucky to be born with wealth at their fingertips. Please, take care of yourself, as we all return to battle.
Once more, you have my eternal gratitude for your kindness.
-Cere’thien Blackwood, Greenseer.
With a deep sigh and a tentative smile, the letter to the Dawnmender was handed off to the scribe after being folded. This day she was a little less tired after writing the first one. However, another letter was handed to her, and the woman’s brows rose. The parchment was plain (@theshadowavatar), and the seal of wax unremarkable; something clearly sent from the field. Lifting a shoulder in a curious shrug, Laevir was settled along her left arm as she worked to open the letter. Immediately, even though he had already been fulfilled by the wet nurse aid (whom was the fourth that had been selected for the twins had turned the others away), he tried rooting at his mother’s tightly bound breasts beneath her loose, yet elegant periwinkle gown.
A brief emotional ripple of uncertainty moved through her as she kissed the little ones’ forehead. Soft gurgling sounds issued forth; Cere’thien laughed again despite her inability to give her son what he wanted. It startled her how pretty a baby he was, both him and his brother. Even in the passing days, their silver hair had held true, as had the intensely bright azure eyes. It would be a year or more, the Greenseer surmised, before any inkling of their true hair or eye colour would remain as this stunning combination, or shift. The warm, peaceful scent of a clean, happy infant, though small held the elder woman’s attention for several moments until the scribe cleared his throat.
A blush moved through Cere’thien’s ear tips and she inclined her head, opening the letter. Sudden rush of emotion filled the lady as she recognised the handwriting immediately.
“Silence. You see me reading,” she snapped almost viciously, right hand trembling as she read, and re-read the words upon the page. It was a very good thing the woman had been seated, she decided, for as lightheaded as she felt in perusing the written words. He was safe, and simply had been delayed. On the one hand, while the Highlord should have been there, she could hardly fault him for having been lost in the task of helping her. Tattooed fingers moved over the ink, as if she could sense his presence from it. It was at that point that Cere’thien leaned forth to cover her tiny boy in kisses.
“This letter is for you,” she whispered conspiratorially, as if the babe could respond beyond the limited noises he could make at mere days old, which consisted of the swift breaths and soft sighs, the occasional soft whimper, and sucking sounds. It would be weeks before more was readily apparent. “Ann’da says … he loves you both and will see you soon.” Speaking the words were akin to having her heart caught on bladed edges.
We shall see, the Matriarch thought. Though she knew the Highlord’s love of her was unwavering, she had no idea how his feelings would at all properly bloom for these children. To do more than wait and watch without judgement was not in her. Though, she was assuredly eased from the response.
Upon an elegant bit of parchment, the Greenseer managed a brief, clear reply:
Your lovely letter has been received. Shame is entirely not an emotion you need feel. There have been plenty of fathers that have missed the births of their children, due to one duty, or another. I was not alone, recall this, and was cared for, and have been meticulously over the last several days. Though there is more yet to come regarding my healing, there is laughter in my home. Be content in that. Additionally, and equally as important, the other three children remain whole and hale.
Take care of yourself, beloved. As ever, you are valued, sir, for your care, your blades, and honour.
She did not write to Lord Arandur of how precisely the Nightmare had her in its grip, for fearful and enraged was not what she wanted him to be. That would be saved for those not all ready in a place of difficulty as he. The last of the letters had been the one received from the Ranger-Lord Vylanthas Rha’veran ( @vylanthas ). A response to her letter that she had sent to him. Concern for the elder gentleman rippled through her thoughts, even though it had been she that had sent for his aid.
The well sealed and elegant letter in turn from the Ranger-Lord delivered very late in the night with a package including two silvered rattles paired with an arrowhead fashioned in a similar beauty as the ones from her own lands, yet holding the appearance of the Eyrien’dor cultures rather than those of the Living Wood. Though her Steward had been entirely unwilling to wake his mistress at that hour (for which he received a blunt, harsh response), Cere’thien had been finally able to read the response. A smile had curled her lips to read it, while relief had slid through her in addition to know that even if his grandmother was unable to cure her, there would be an attempt.
“Send a Blackwood raven to track down the coach the Ranger-Lord is travelling in with a farstrider’s message. It is several thousand times easier to read in the difficult weather where he resides.” While the autumn appearance had remained in the Living Wood Province as it was one that possessed the rare gates and considerable arcane magic altering the weather pattern permanently, not every place within Quel’thalas was so lucky.
Ideally, the swift flying bird outfitted with arcane dampeners would make it through even blizzard conditions. The Highlord’s Bright Hold would be frozen over now, she knew, as well, and no doubt, the sea side near the Lord Firestorm’s lands would be likely influenced by the season. That was one last letter she needed to pen.
“What should the Lord Rha’veran’s letter say, madam?”
She peered up at the scribe. “Take this down.”
“Dearest Lord, take a breath at your receiving this. Do not try to force yourself and your dear relative through the storms that are assuredly assaulting your property. For the moment, though I am resting, I am still within the world. Do not endanger yourself or people to come to me. Your gentleman will remain on my gentle weathered estates until your arrival as a suitable kindness.”
Blonde hair slicked back from his face, the scarred scribe nodded his head. “Done, Lady. It will be sent as you have directed.”
Cere’thien made a soft sound, and began to slowly pen a letter for the Lord Firestorm, which had been paired with an extensive map of the isles she had deeded him but a week prior. The map was folded into a several books of account ledgers that detailed the earnings of the locale over the last century, easily readable, for they changed very little, and had been a steady, very lucrative locale.
In truth, it had been no loss for the Living Wood Province for her to hand over control and ownership of the lands her Acting Ranger-Lord ( @forever-afk ) had coveted. A twitch of a smile moved over her face as Laevir made more noises tucked in the crook of her arm still.
The baby had fallen asleep, which made it easy to write another letter. Inside those books as well however, was as well an enchanted compass that did not appear to point any particular direction. What it did do upon opening was reveal the precise scent of the ocean waves as deep out to sea as one could get on Azeroth. In tandem, the Greenseer’s voice, in low, haunting song arose from the insides paired with pipe organ. A priceless item, the music could easily fill a room, while lastly, a coil of the Matriarch’s silver hair rested inside.
Acting Ranger-Lord Firestorm, Executor of the Living Wood Province, Lord Dread Captain of the Bladestar Isles:
Greetings, my dearest heart. I am aware it has been several days since you have heard from me. I have spent the time on bed rest as arranged. Though my condition is still not as one might desire, I am indeed improving. I have included a full enchanted map of the lands recently deeded to you, dearest sir, as well as the accounts over the last century for you to see the patterns you may expect. I expect you will recall the roughness in that particular property.
Despite having held it for several thousand years, it has never changed in its type and presence. What I did not mention in the time that we had to speak, was that the riches beneath the sea also belong to you. Whatever you find, is yours to keep. Many ships have broken their hulls along those lands over the centuries. I hope that some of it eases the wanderlust that is part of your nature.
The secondary reasoning for my writing to you is that we have a most particular discussion needing completion. I would like to meet you for a drink once I am permitted movement and travel, which will be soon. By the end of the week, though I will not be able to consider combat medic duties for several weeks yet. Until then, know that the depths of my heart belong to you, and always will. Hold your chin high, Acting Ranger-Lord, for every moment, you have earned with your strong, unerring hands. Do not forget that I have loved you for eight and a half of my nine and a quarter centuries.
-Lady Matriarch Cere’thien Blackwood, Warden of the Living Wood Province, Junior Senator of the House of Nobles, Thalassian Senate.
“Be sure to send this by royal courier. No hands save for the lord gentleman himself.”
With that, the now exhausted woman turned toward her son and rested him upon her chest, eyes gliding closed. As she slept, her households ran in storied perfection.