He'd been plagued by thoughts and ruminations, spent many nights lying awake staring at the ceiling of his den until the morning sun swept golden light through its quiet entrance. He slept only when he must; oftentimes, halfway through a patrol, dozing off among the tall dune grasses. He had taken what @Fernweh had said to heart, and it softened him; and yet, the hard demands of the Cove King kept him fettered to some semblance of responsibility, some glimpse into the life he'd lead before he'd returned to Amaryllis. He'd spent those long night hours debating which he wanted more, and had eventually come to the conclusion that, perhaps, he might still find that same kinmanship alongside the striped Heiress and her ilk. Perhaps all was not soft, all was not lost.

But he wasn't so soon to throw himself into the fray.

He wanted to consider it thoughtfully, carefully. He had only just arrived in the Cove, after all, and hadn't accomplished more than routine hunts and patrols. However, he had not promised Gauthier anything more; though, he often shirked at the idea of abandoning loyalty so soon in the wake of his fancy for a woman. Thus, András was still torn, and he knew better than to think Fernweh wouldn't try to coax him into her lands (lest she was angry at him, for whatever reason); yet still, he called for her, detached from the Summit but just close enough to be within a similar element. The Lake was a neutral ground; new to him, and perhaps enough to keep himself open to the possiblities.

Art by AleTie, table by cala

there was never a night where fernweh felt right. time and time again, she woke to a sudden chill and violent waves of nausea, sending her hurling into her pelts. she was too tired to change every time, so she had to sleep elsewhere, sometimes outside of her own den. restlessness, the sickness, and her lack of adequate rest troubled the heiress as she heard the sound of a summon. she knew the voice — how could she not? — and, with a worn face, descended the summit.

the clear lake came into view, allowing fernweh access to her reflection as she gazed into it. all she saw was a changed woman, not for the better, but for the worst. in these weeks, fernweh's body have swelled, especially her stomach, where a round protrusion peaked out. it hindered her movement, made her slow and clumsy, and she suspected that was the cause behind her nausea. her mood too diminished, the calmness that was instilled in her now a festering bowl of irritation and harsh mood swings. thank goodness, then, that fernweh haven't spoken to anyone, for it would be terribly regretful if she accidentally lashed out.

hello she said, voice surprisingly pleasant despite the gravelly tone. it's been a long time, but i was beginning to think you forgot about me. surely this is important? fernweh would love to stay and speak to andrás; she had a million things to say and do with him, if she had the time. but her stomach said otherwise, and she was beginning to fret that she may be dying. so much so that the words were already on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill at any moment.

and, try as she could, it did. i'm afraid i must cut our meeting short; i've been very sick and i just want to go back and rest. she turned, allowing the male to see the protrusion of her stomach. look, does this mean anything? am i dying? worry clouded her face, and, inwardly, she hoped @András would have an answer for her.

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There was a shift in the air, a change in her demeanor that András could not quite put his finger on. At first, he pondered the fact that maybe she did despise him now, that he'd done something to anger her a great deal. She approached, and he stiffened, his eyes regarding her with an almost nervous curiosity as his reason for being here shirked all at once, and his original intentions flew past on the spring wind. It's warm, he considers quietly, swallowing hard, Too warm. When she finally speaks, he leans forward, ears curling forward with intent to listen to her. He'd may have one, selfishly, expected a far more affectionate greeting (who could fault the man, after all, for wanting a nuzzle, a kiss?), but even he knew not to be foolish enough to expect it of her. He had left her alone for weeks after their fervent promenade. It's been a long time, but I was beginning to think you forgot about me. He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, but she continues before he can. Surely this is important?

Oh. Straight to business.

András closed his mouth, his brows knitting in quiet contemplation (and is that confusion, too?), suddenly nervous that she may have revoked her friendship with him entirely. The complexity of women was not lost on him; Magdalene had certainly had her ordeals where András had completely misinterpreted her intentions as something far simpler. Thus, he'd been quick to learn that the base course of action was always to assume the worst. When he finally considers his words enough to speak, she once more beats him to it: Look, does this mean anything? Am I dying? At first, he felt relief: she were not angry at him, simply sick. He knew all too well just how he'd want to be left alone whenever he'd gotten sick in the past. And then, with the wash of relief came his snark, wanting so desperately to respond What, am I the medic now?; but before he could, realization dawned on him: cruel, unrelenting.

Fuck.

Had Magdalene not been pregnant before, he might not have known to what she was referring; he might have sought out a healer for her, shared her worry of dying with her. But András did know, and the long weeks that had passed only made it more evident. Fuck, he repeated, staring at her with wide and wild eyes, his mouth half-gaped. Of all the intentions he'd had with her that night, this had been the last of them; how foolish was he to not think this an outcome, how foolish of he to throw her into the fray when he'd promised to do the opposite.

You're not dying, @Fernweh, you're pregnant.

Art by AleTie, table by cala

she already regretted coming here, with her sick and unkind self, face full of bloat and stomach weighing her down. but it was andrás' words that made the color drain from her face. her tail, once lazily swishing behind, stopped in full, and now was limp and as useless as the rest of her. pregnant. this must be some sort of joke, wasn't it? andrás was capable of doing that, surely. and, yet, why was there no mirth, no smirk, on his face? he cursed and he spoke with such surety that fernweh had to guess he was being serious — that this was true and she was indeed pregnant.

now that fernweh had time to think, she realized how the timing was right. avaneira may not have taught her about this, but she knew, from listening to the adults, to the lions during her time in the summit. her eyes closed, allowing the words to sink in, and all of a sudden everything made some sense. but, in its stead, was a new problem. and another, and another—

other lionesses always spoke of their pregnancies among each other. it was not a taboo thing, because they wanted it, prayed and prayed each night to be blessed with cubs. fernweh didn't know if she felt blessed or cursed. a family of her own was never at the forefront, for fernweh thought she had everything already. morrigan and the greyfloods, her cousins, and even arkyn, was enough.

one breath. two.

i like to keep them fernweh said, eyes steeling themselves, recalling the braveness she first felt as a youth. and i would like for you to be with them, in anyway you can – you're the father. at least, knowing andrás was the father was in itself a kind of relief. yet still, fernweh worried even that wouldn't be enough. while the greyfloods were not strict on marriage, andrás was still an enigma. so, perhaps, it was best for fernweh to plan ahead and see if she could figure out something for them. i would like you to meet my aunt and talisa, and we can ask them if you can come and go as you please. the cove can still be your home, but i want to make sure the kids can see you as well. surely morrigan and talisa would both be gracious enough to allow andrás to visit from time to time. fernweh didn't want to part from the only place that could support her, that she found happiness in.

most of all, the children in her belly needed a complete family.

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The silence between them feels infinitely heavy, dragging on for each breath that seemed to take hours between every inhale and every exhale. For András, the timing could have not been more cruel. He had only just arrived back in Amaryllis a few short months ago, and in that time he had effectively abandoned the only family he had ever known, and lived a life of leisure and anonymity beneath the banner of a King he hardly fought wars for. The dedication and loyalty he once served to the Rike felt as if it were a distant dream now, and the shallow husk of a man in its place had grown fat and content. Content to hunt and patrol, content to wander about as he pleased, content to get women pregnant when he had promised the opposite. Were he alone, he might have yelled aloud, torn the snow-dusted grass out with his claws until small patches or dirt were evidence of his warpath. Instead, the eerie calmness that surrounded him hid the fire burning brilliantly beneath.

The question of getting rid of them crossed his mind once or twice, but he found himself unable to quite verbalize it, fearful of the fallout that may come after. In a way, he is almost thankful @Fernweh is sure enough of herself to take the lead, to demand what she wanted of him. He would have been content to stand there in that strange stasis forever, gawking at a woman he'd grown feelings for but held tight the leash, kept far the distance. As she expressed her desires to keep them, András swallowed hard, keeping his silence. Even as her words registered in the back of his mind, at the forefront were only two cruel thoughts, only two outcomes.

He could leave here, now; he could disappear once more, cut ties with her, free her of the past that haunted him and know that the family she had behind her would raise them just as well as he. Or, he could stay, give into the feeling welling in his chest and abandon all that he'd ever known, or try to find glimpses of it in whatever new life he could make with her, with them. He had no time to consider it now. András had used up all the time Fernweh could ever give him.

No, he starts, his brows knitting. He pauses, stupidly, for a moment, as he considers his words. He lets the stillness linger for too long, his eyes wide still, his jaws still half-slacked. And then, one blissful finality rises above the rest: Is this not what you lost, András? Is this not what you wanted so desperately, what slipped through your fingers? I mean—I'll join you in the Summit, he clarifies, turning his head, fearing the look in her gaze. I have lost my children before. I cannot bear losing any more. There is a sudden sadness in him, a vulnerability far unlike the typically-steeled Rike. More than anything, more than his own wants and desires, he wanted to ensure the success of the children he'd help bring forth into the world; whether they understood his same beliefs or forged a different path.

I would not deprive them—or you—of a family, he stated again, silently agreeing to her terms. Whoever he had to meet (or impress, for that matter), he would. Be my mate, Fernweh.

Art by AleTie, table by cala

she's ready to be turned down, to be deserted and left for her own. they never thought it would end like this; their night spent together happened only so that gaping hole in their heart could be filled. it was just that, a brief, yet beautiful thing. yet still, if andrás is to leave now, then fernweh knows she'll be angry again, like how she was angry at her mother for leaving. except, she isn't sure if there'll be a chance for forgiveness, even if he's to die in front of her. so when andrás gives her his answer, something heavy swells inside fernweh's chest, ready to cleave apart any second into misery and despair.

her claws unsheath, mouth twitch, and her eyes, stricken with unshed tears, lock onto andrás' face. but his words never come, not in the way fernweh thinks it would. what comes next is a promise, something that fernweh had casually asked in the past to him, to anyone who she deems interesting. i'll join you in the summit. finally, those unshed tears roll down her cheeks, but not before she closes the gap between them, until she and the space separating their bodies are little more than a breath away. thank you her voice was shaky, mind touched by too much emotions.

i...i'll make sure our children are protected, we both will. a great sadness still overcomes fernweh after hearing andrás tell her of a piece of his past. it's one she knows of, but not in the same way andrás do. now, however, is different. and she has no other reason to not want to comfort him as she places her cheek against his chest, hoping to counsel him the way she knows how. without words, without anything — only her. and i'll be your mate, and you mines. her eyes close, inhaling andrás' scent, its familiarity now comforting to her.

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In a way, he relinquishes the ceaseless hold grief had upon him. A weight lifts from his shoulders, freeing him of the death and destruction he'd faced since coming to this wretched place. And yet, he still cannot help but feel as if he is betraying his family in some way; he had not taken another Rike wife, and he had not sought out the fractured remains of them left strewn about the continent. How could he, though, when all he'd ever known was Eulalia, Sunniva, Odhgrimm, Erna? How many of them lay cold in the ground, where he is still breathing, still alive? András is hardly superstitious, but he cannot help but see it as some sort of sign, some sort of providence handed down to him simply because he had survived for so long.

When she bridges the gap between them, he finally allows himself to crumble. He revels in the softness of her fur, the mountain air upon her pelt. He feels the cold of her tears as they fall into his mane, and he raises a paw, quick to wrap it around her and pull her closer, where he could. He'd found himself longing for her in those grueling nights, tossing and turning and wishing so desperately she were in bed next to him. The idea that now he would be was pleasing, but even he couldn't help but feel the looming anxiety over telling the news to Gauthier, and facing the Queen of the Summit and her sure-to-be-endless scrutiny. Had @Fernweh told her family of him at all, he wonders, or had he been her secret all this time?

Regardless, he had made his choice. The reality of it would not soon take hold. For now, he reveled in her company.

Her assurances comfort him, but only so much. He'd only ever known Magdalene to be near the strongest of them, wholly capable of felling enemies twice her size and aggression. She had been the daughter of a Jarl, the most capable of them; and yet, even she, too, fell. Their children fell. And all András could do was watch in horror. Part of him loathed to relive it, chided himself for pushing further into the fray of this if only because he could have left now and only wondered about what they would be like, what would become of them. Now, he was deep-seeded in the cruel reality of their temporary existence, and he had flung himself to the other extreme, determined to assure their safety, no matter the cost. Yes, he agrees, his tone suddenly deepening, I refuse to lose any more children. Or any more wives.

Her acceptance of his proposal further eases him. He would not have minded her preference to remain unfettered, but even he were tied to tradition, and even he knew it were better for cubs to not be bastards in such an unforgiving world. Whatever else it meant, he was unsure; what he knew, with a sudden finality, was that his fate was decided for him.

We should get you proper care, he finally says, letting his chin rest upon her head, enjoying the soft curls of her fur. Lest you be tortured for much longer.

Art by AleTie, table by cala

there's the surety again, but this time fernweh feels easy. despite not knowing how andras lived his life, or of his previous family, fernweh is confident that he'll be there for her and their children. they're now a family, and it's only right for families to stick together. whatever burden that's placed on her lessens, though it's there, still, and it won't diminish, even after the children are born. there's no optimistic way of looking at this, not entirely, but at least fernweh won't be alone. and, of course, the rest of the greyfloods will be there too; surely, they too will help, in whatever way possible.

a light dip in the waters ought to help fernweh said, grinning. she's been feeling warmer than usual these past few days, a side effect of being pregnant she guesses. even the cold temperature of the summit cannot cool her body down. fernweh then turns to the lake, before looking over her shoulders at @András, join me and, at a slow pace, she treks toward the lake's edge, feeling the iciness beneath her paw pads. normally, fernweh would settle herself in the shallow parts of the water, but now she decides to simply slip her front legs in after settling down. the icy temperature is a blissful escape for the girl. but, with andras by her side, it feels like paradise. [exit]

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There is a shift, a sudden ease that falls over them both where once there had been fear and uncertainty. András chided himself silently for so boldly throwing himself at @Fernweh and the Summit without a second thought, but then he realizes he had already made that choice; he had already decided when he'd decided to lay with her, knowing full well the consequences of such actions. Even as nervousness still swelled in his chest, his heart pounding in his ears, he found himself gravitating toward her with relative ease. With time, he considered, time will ease everything. What he knew for sure, however, was that he needed to decide if he was gong to live in anonymity for the rest of his days, or return to his family with a new generation, a new hope toward finally achieving their goals.

For now, he did not have to think of anything but her.

He followed her with a small smirk, content to join her half-in the water, paws gently scooping up what he could and pouring it along her back, half-gentle, half-playful. Eventually, they would make the summit toward Illyria; but for now, it was just them. Just them.

Exit András.

Art by AleTie, table by cala