Fanfic Time: My Baby Now(10)

Kosh learned a significant amount of Drow speech from Aldiirn, so it was only fair that he taught some Infernal in response. The only downside was that Aldiirn was far better at learning Infernal than Kosh was at learning Drowic. At least he could mangle his way through some civil greetings and a few important phrases and words.

He was certain his grammar sucked. He could tell by the way Aldiirn kept politely wincing.

The Drow - Elistraeians - were polite about it too, but there were also little winces. They knew he was trying his best. Earning a peace between Whitekeep and its new neighbour was tricky, to say the least of it.

That was one good thing in the middle of the woes. Making sure his Barons behaved, restructuring the tax system. Cordelia was ill, yet insisting all was in perfect working order. He'd whispered about it to Cumulous, who told him he was being an idiot.

The Elistraeians were amenable to trade, and against slavery. Good news for him, good news for Whitekeep, and probably better news for the Drow. Whitekeep had a vile antagony when faced with slavers. The last thing he needed was war.

Well. Second-last thing.

He didn't need to be fretting himself grey over Cordelia's illness. Nor did he need to see his son turning up to training with signs of another sickness.

He'd just got a family and a loving wife and the alleged security of being an Earl in their own realm. Having the two closest to him fall sick might just let him assume he was cursed. Kosh knew damned well that nobody could get close enough to poison either his beloved Delia nor Aldiirn. And they both used the little charms he'd given them to warn and guard against such things.

Like fuck was he going to let an assassin's attempt splash on his dearest people.

"Liebe... you're not well." He knelt to test Aldiirn's brow and cheeks. Hot. Clammy.

"I'll be fine," he murmured. "I won't be a burden. Don't worry."

"You're never a burden," he said. He scooped up his son and, since Cumulous was busy seeing to Delia, he went to the next biggest experts. The undercity of Gloomstalk.

He didn't bother to change from his Shadow Arts uniform. He barely took the time to tell his seneschal, Hanagon, where he was going. He ran. Down and down, through the rooms excavated from the living stone of the mountain. Down through the catacombs. Down through the freshest tunnels that lead to a far more amenable meeting spot in Gloomstalk.

He didn't have an appointment to burst from the carved embassy, so none of the people who normally worked there were prepared. He must have terrified a lot of them.

Kosh stopped by the first non-busy Drow and instantly forgot everything of Drowic he had learned. He reverted to the language he used the longest - Zemnian. "Hilfe! Mein kleiner Junge ist krank!"

They clearly did not understand.

He scrambled for the right words. "Baby. Baby me. Much well not baby me. For permission? Permission?"

The Drow woman managed to filter those words into some kind of meaning and moved to take Aldiirn from Kosh's arms.

He flinched away. "Baby me! Baby me!"

She kept her voice gentle and soft, and guided him along by his elbow.

"Much well not," he repeated. "Fear big. Baby me want remain."

The temple was devoted to the Masked Dancer. Known variously as the Masked Lord or Vhaeraun. Kosh, devoted to Tyr, knew that any given god was only as good as their worshippers. These people were good people, and the Dancer was a god of life and light.

He could trust this temple.

The Cleric wore only a mask and a loincloth, and kept his pale hair so long that it trailed after him like some bizarre serpent. But he also had a soothing tone and soft gentle hands.

Kosh was still weeping with worry even after a solid dose of Calm Emotion. Prayers to Tyr fell out of him in a tangled babble, for all that the blind old git never responded.

I don't mind my own suffering, for all that it's unearned, he thought. But don't you dare let those I love suffer because of me or we are going to have PROBLEMS after I die. I'm due to be set in your scales before you send me to the hells, no matter how you've already doomed me. If you allow this little one to come to harm, I owe you more than a broken fucking nose.

Gentle hands and soothing tones guided him to lay Aldiirn in a cot, but could not make him let go. The best compromise Kosh was capable of was holding his son's hand while staying as much out of the way as he could.

Elistraeian prayer involved dance, to a greater or lesser extent. Kosh could at least hum along with the refrain, but leaving Aldiirn to twirl with the priest? Unthinkable. He was not turning his back on his child.

The soft glow of healing magic settled over Aldiirn, and his fever broke in a small wash of sweat.

The nearly nude priest had some hurried words as soon as it was clear that Aldiirn could understand them.

"He says," murmured Aldiirn, "that you are allowed to let go. They will not steal me from you."

"Baby me," Kosh repeated. Then, in Common, "My baby. I look after him."

The Cleric had a very eloquent way of rolling his eyes.

Aldiirn had tears in his own eyes.

"Was ist das?" Kosh cooed, automatically drying Aldiirn's dear little face with his kerchief. "Are you still hurting?"

"No. Not... physically. It's okay. I don't mind staying here. They're good people and I can still translate for you."

"It's just a little illness, ja?" Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a Drow or half-blooded thing that meant Aldiirn had to stay in the safety of the Underdark. "Ask Herr Skyclad here if this is a serious malady. I'm not leaving you if I can help it."

"But you have to," said Aldiirn, almost whispering. "You won't want me after your own baby is born."

Kosh hit a brick wall of non-understanding. He comprehended each and every word Aldiirn said, but... together, they made no sense. "Liebchen, I stole you away from a nest of cruelty. I threatened war to keep you. I am not giving you up without a fight." The ache in his heart would not go away. "Not unless it's your health at stake, and even then I'll find a way to care for you and the verdammt realm."

Aldiirn patted his hand. Tried to display sympathy despite what looked like a breaking heart. "It's easier this way. Once Spring comes by, you'll forget all about me and I'll just... not be important any more."

"And what's happening in Spring besides Icebreak Festival?"

An aggravated sigh. "That's when Mistress Cordelia's giving birth to your heir."

Wait. What. Wait. What? "Horseshit. Nobles don't have heirs for at least five years. It takes them that long to like each other enough to--" Wait... "I have been an idiot, haven't I? And I let you think-- Gotts!" He snatched his son up and hugged the stuffing out of him. "You are my son. I don't give two shits that you're not from my body. And when your baby sibling is born, you will be part of the naming ceremony. You will always have a place in Whitekeep."

He kept his word. He always kept his word. Even when it became uncomfortable, even when it was inconvenient. Even when it was downright painful... He kept his word.

Even when the healers announced that Whitekeep's winters were too hard on Aldiirn and the boy would have to spend a season in the more stable climate of the Underdark.

Well... Winter was effectively the off season anyway. The public didn't expect much from their Earl except the occasional public appearance. He could spend more of his time learning Drowic by immersion.