Lirael's parents muse upon the conception of their daughter. Terciel's up first.
Disclaimer: I'm clearly not Garth Nix
Terciel's Perspective
Terciel wondered for perhaps the thousandth time at the visit of his young cousin, the Clayr woman Arielle. He had certainly been surprised that such a young one of her kind would seek him out, particularly with so strange a message. Not a message calling for his aid in banishing some uncontrollable free magic spirit, or legions of Dead creatures that had become all too common in the last 200 years, but a most unprecedented request of him. No, perhaps not merely a request, it was fate that he and his young cousin would lie together, to produce a child.
Strange that he should become a father again at fifty years of age, to a woman he had not met before the day of the child's conception, a woman barely seven years older than his already living daughter. What would Sabriel think, he wondered with a smile, at the knowledge that she was to become a sister at her age?
He had to confess to himself a slightly selfish worry. What did the appearance of a child mean for Sabriel? He loved his daughter more even than his own life, and although she had a tough path to follow, he hoped only the best for her. He had no doubt that the child who was even now in Arielle's womb was to someday become the Abhorsen, upon the death of Sabriel. He did not want his daughter to die in her youth, but to have many years, even though much of those years would be spent treading her path through death. He knew well, having traversed death to the ninth gate in the binding of many of the Greater Dead, and some necromancers, that everyone and everything has a time to die. He just wished that his daughter's death would be many years in coming.
Another thought then sprang to his mind. Did this mean his daughter might never have children? After all, the family of the Abhorsen had dwindled greatly, and he and Sabriel were the last now living. Perhaps he was the only of the Abhorsen left able to carry on the Blood. He so hoped, for Sabriel's sake, that this was not to be so. After all, it was woman's right to be granted the gift of bearing children, and denying Sabriel this when she was already denied the gift of a normal life would be too cruel.
He remembered his own words, and the words of his young cousin, about the child who would not know either parent throughout her life. He pitied the child her lack of parents, but he could not grieve himself for the child he would never know. After all, she was begat by prophecy, not out of love. He did not love his young cousin as he had loved his late wife, had not watched as the child grew in the mother's womb as he had with Sabriel, and would not be around to grow attached to her as she grew. Had he not believed that she would be well looked after, of course, he would have made provisions for her. However, he knew of the Clayr well, and of all the Blood, their numbers had dwindled least. The child would have more family than she knew what to do with. Though she would likely be an orphan, she would not want for companions.
In any case, he must prepare to leave for what he suspected was his final time. Or, if not this time, the next time, or the next. After all, it was now Sabriel's time. She was now an adult, and had blossomed into her powers. Even the sendings seemed to suspect. He detected it in a subtle restlessness, a boding of change, a new power ready to come into its own. One did not always need to be Clayr to be able to know what the future held.
He was slightly saddened on behalf of Sabriel, because he had never been the father he had always wanted to be to her, and he mourned her loss of the simple pleasures she indulged in across the Wall in Ancelstierre. But though he mourned for Sabriel's loss, he spared no tears for himself. After all, everyone and everything had a time to die. Including the Abhorsen.
