Considering all that Guybrush and Elaine--and everyone else--had gone through to save her, you might have thought that the actual birth of the daughter of Monkey Island would come as something of an anticlimax.
But you'd be wrong.
Because from the second Odia decided that it was time to get herself born, chaos reigned in the Fort.
Guybrush dashed away from a board meeting, leaving shiny-new Secretary Horace in charge; as soon as word got around that Elaine had gone into labor, most of the island crowded into the Fort to hear the news; Murray eventually drew his sword and blocked the staircase leading up to the bedroom. There was no escaping through the front door, so Chari sent Elijah off to fetch a midwife in his own inimitable style--the poor woman hardly knew how to cope with being abducted by a parrot and instantly transported to a fairly unfamiliar room. Luckily training took over--there was a baby to deliver, and nothing would interfere with this ritual.
Except perhaps Guybrush. He planted himself right by his wife's side for almost the entire ordeal--when the midwife had the temerity to suggest he leave the room, she met a look Big Whoop might have envied. She didn't suggest it again. Chari and Murray divided their time between the rooms, keeping order below, and running back and forth on the stairs to relay updates. Between Murray and the servants, every one of the Fort's uninvited guests was courteously provided with food and drink--and kept out of the way. Chari also took it upon herself to stand in for Guybrush every few hours--sending him out the door to eat or rest with an unceremonious shove. And, unlike the midwife, she was completely immune to the glare.
Finally, around two or three in the morning, it was time. Elaine, who hadn't screamed once during the long, exhausting hours of labor, made a strangled, agonized sound, bit down hard on the nearest object (Guybrush's hand)--and then it was over. A tiny, red creature had come into being--a tiny red creature busily voicing her anger at finding herself in such a cold and unfriendly world, full of light and strange noises. Her tiny, perfectly-formed hands were curled into fists.
Murray darted downstairs to wake people up and make the announcement--a healthy baby girl.
Guybrush slipped back to his place at his wife's side. Elaine had collapsed on the pillows, her hair limp and darkened with sweat, face red. Guybrush told her truthfully that she had never looked more beautiful, earning a tired smile which made a lie out of what he had just said. She looked so fragile that he was afraid to touch her.
And then, finally, the midwife handed the blanket-bundled girl to Elaine.
It was a moment Guybrush doubted he would ever forget, looking for the very first time into the glass-marble eyes of their daughter. They were still a clouded gray, huge and full of wonder as they darted around, taking everything in. Wall, bed, Elaine's hair, his face, her face--all were equally important and interesting. When Chari appeared with a bottle of warmed milk, she seized upon it hungrily but never ceased her rapid inspection of the premises.
Guybrush half-sat next to the bed, one arm around Elaine, content to merely watch. This was also a kind of magic, he realized, an older and deeper magic even than Monkey Island's. They'd created a new life, an entirely new person, born to be something like both of them and still completely individual. I will be here to watch you grow and to keep you safe for as long as I live, he vowed silently, looking into those bright eyes. My life for yours. Not that anyone will dare hurt you as long as I'm around.
The baby gurgled, waving a chubby fist around energetically. Elaine stroked her fuzzy baby hair with a chuckle that turned into a sigh.
Murray reappeared in the doorway. "They want to know what you've named her."
"Eleanor," replied Elaine without a pause. "Eleanor Catherine."
"Oh no no no no.." Chari waved both hands in emphatic denial. "Not me." She knelt down next to Guybrush so she could see all three of them. "Please--I'm honored....but I'd rather you honored someone else."
He had an idea where she was headed. "Do you have someone in mind, Chari-la?"
"If it weren't for him, none of us would still be here," she pointed out.
"Agnus." Elaine looked deeply into the face of the tiny girl and nodded tiredly. "It feels...right." Eleanor just wriggled a little, mostly absorbed in the bottle of milk.
"So....Eleanor Agnes." Guybrush tested the sound and decided he liked it. A name less like 'Odia' could hardly be imagined. "What bizarre Threepwood nickname are we going to twist that into?" he pondered.
Chari shrugged. "Not our problem. These things happen on their own. Right, Greg?"
He winced. "Greg?" asked Elaine. "'Guybrush' came from 'Greg?'"
"'Gregory,' actually.."
Eleanor, with admirable timing, started to cry.
"Don't worry," promised her mother tiredly. "That will never happen to you."
Now there's foreshadowing if I ever heard it, thought the woman born Catherine, exchanging a glance with her brother. She'll learn, his eyes clearly said.
When Elaine was settled in their own bed, Eleanor slowly drifting out of awareness in her arms, Guybrush was surprised to discover that he himself wasn't the least bit tired. So he gently picked up his drowsy daughter and just held her, trying to get used to the feel of this little miracle in his arms. He smoothed back her hair--red-gold hair, he realized, not black at all--her skin a golden color in the lamplight. Half-open eyes warily watched his every move.
He sat down and rocked her, humming tunelessly; she made a tiny sound that turned into a yawn and closed her eyes. He smiled. Eleanor was probably the only person alive who liked his singing.
Alive.
Eleanor, not Odia.
Alive and well and healthy.
How'd we ever pull this one off?
He hadn't a clue--but here she was. Proof positive, in a blanket and diaper, that the impossible happens. To be his little girl forever and always...
Chariset returned some time later--he wasn't sure how much time had passed. Eleanor was growing heavier and heavier in his arms; finally, she twitched a little, sighed again, and was out. The guests were finally gone, the lower rooms like something out of a custodial nightmare but empty. Murray was sitting on couch in the upper hallway, asleep.
"Guyber, I'm happy for you," she said simply, stealing a blanket and returning to the hallway. She wrapped herself and her fiance in the blanket, laid her head on his shoulder, and snuggled in.
"So am I, sis," he replied quietly. And, amazingly enough, he was--for the first time in so long. He was happy.
Guybrush sat up for most of the night, just rocking and pondering. Tomorrow was coming, and with it life would go on as usual. But at least they had tonight--just this one dark, quiet night to simply sit and be content.
And just then, of course, Eleanor woke up and started to wail.
Weeks passed, some harried, some slower. Weeks of magic study, planning, and recovering. The group of four who had been most affected by Big Whoop lived together in the Fort, just enjoying each other's company or looking after Eleanor. Then, one afternoon, Murray received a message from Sable Island inviting him to come be their Governor--and everyone knew that their brief respite from the responsibilities of the Caribbean had come to an end. A new story was in the making.
But before all of that,
we must return...
Deep in the Caribbean, Monkey Island....
They had a beach for a church and former undead for most of the wedding party but, by all that was holy, they were going to get married. And so they did.
Gret presided over the ceremony with a great deal of grace, with Guybrush standing as best man and Elaine as matron-of-honor. Elli, now a wriggling four-month-old in her mother's arms, was the tiniest flower-girl he had ever seen. Murray stood stiffly and rather nervously at the shoreline, waiting.
A figure in white appeared through the trees, facing him. Chariset was holding Elijah carefully on her arm, but when she reached the sands, she launched him into flight. He landed on Guybrush's arm and presented his burden--two rings. No wedding he'd ever seen had had a parrot for a ringbearer.
She walked down an aisle of friends and family, no musicians but the sea and the birds. A great uncle gave her away, she stepped up and took his hand, and he took her name.
Vows, exchanging of rings, all punctuated by sqwaks by the parrots. The entire world seemed to be watching as they joined hands, "I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Murray Threepwood..."
Murray Threepwood. That's going to take some getting used to.
"You may kiss the bride."
She smiled and met his eyes...and suddenly they were the only two people on the beach. They kissed.
Every bird on the island broke into noisy flight. Monkeys screeched, treetops danced about in a sudden gust of wind, and an enormous wave crested just behind them, making a dramatic spectacle of the embrace. The island was singing for them..
Two seconds later, the wave broke up and so did they, dripping with salt water and laughing. Elli gurgled gleefully as the entire wedding party raced up the shore, outrunning another wave. "I told you having a wedding at low tide was a bad idea," grumbled Guybrush as they fled to the rowboats.
Once aboard the Sea Cucumber, Lemonhead lifted an old map and rattled off a string of syllables. The ship vanished, bound for Blood Island and the reception.
That night, Guybrush dreamed about Monkey Island. He was standing on the edge of the gaping hole created when Big Whoop exploded, looking down. The crater was slowly filling with water, becoming a natural lake. In time, it would probably overrun its banks and create a new waterfall.
A wisp of mist hovered over the surface of the water--a ghost. It was wailing over and over Kyrie eleison. Eleison. Kyrie eleison.
"What do you want?" Guybrush called down to it.
"Have mercy!" begged the creature.
"Who are you?"
"I am a Daemon."
"You're not answering me."
"Have mercy.."
Guybrush wanted to throw a rock at the thing. He didn't. "Tell me who you are."
"I am the spirit you knew as Big Whoop."
"Big Whoop?!" exclaimed Guybrush, and accidentally woke himself up.
Elaine lay next to him, still sound asleep. Whatever he'd felt, she hadn't sensed it.
He got out of bed and paced. What did it mean? He wished he could call up Chari and talk about it, but she would hardly appreciate being disturbed on her wedding night. Eleanor was safe in her crib, and Elaine got so little sleep lately that he didn't want to wake her.
There was only one thing to do, he decided. He, Guybrush Threepwood, Master Adventurer, would have to go back to Monkey Island alone and settle Big Whoop, once and for all.
A quick change of clothes and a note for Elaine later, he and Polly were off. They landed at the base of the mountain and began climbing.
At the very top, it might as well have been his dream all over again. The moon shimmered, reflected in the still water of the new lake, but no spirit hovered above the surface to block the view.
"Hello?" he called down. "Big Whoop, are you there?"
No answer. "Daemon, show yourself!" he commanded.
A flicker of fog coalesced into being and began its pitiful lament. "Guybrush! Have mer--"
"Skip it. Why are you still here?"
"You can send a normal spirit on with root beer," whined the creature pathetically. "But I'm a Daemon. Where do I go when I get 'sent on?'"
Guybrush would have none of it. "My daughter dismissed you as Odia. You can go serve someone else."
"But I'm physically bound here!"
"To what? The water?"
"To a stone which was my physical link to the world. It was buried when the cavern collapsed."
Oh, how convenient. Guybrush sighed. "So you'll just have to haunt the place now?"
"Unless someone gets that stone."
He looked at Polly. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"
"Bwaaaaaaack!" A definite affirmative.
"Do you think you could find it?"
"Baaaaaaak." A qualified affirmative.
"Where do you think the stone is now?" he asked the spirit.
"Right under me. If I could touch it myself, I'd be free by now!"
Guybrush toyed with the idea of diving in after it, but this could easily be a trick--the spirit's last attempt to kill him. Besides, he wouldn't know what to look for. "Polly?"
She whistled and vanished. Two seconds later, she returned, dropping a heavy piece of crystal on his head. He barely caught it before it vanished into the water.
"That's it! Now set me free!"
"Not so fast.." Guybrush rocked the crystal point in his hand, thinking. Polly shook the water out of her feathers and blinked at him. "I think we need to renegotiate."
The spirit sighed. "You Threepwoods! Never keeping a bargain."
He continued to play with the damp stone. "Not so." Inspiration suddenly struck with all the subtlety of a loose cannon. "In fact, I've got the perfect job for you."
"Which is?"
"Big Whoop, or whatever your name is, you may have done a lousy job raising my daughter, but you did raise her, and you kept her safe. So no one else is better suited for this task than you."
"I'm not a patient spirit, Threepwood.."
Guybrush smiled thinly. "Well, you're going to learn to be." He held the stone firmly in both hands. "Spirit, I order you to serve my daughter Eleanor and protect her until the day she turns eighteen. When that day comes, you can take service with her or go serve someone else. Either way, you'll be free to choose."
The Daemon gaped. "Eighteen years?"
"Eighteen years," he repeated firmly. "And if I get the slightest hint that you're playing around with her mind, I'll chuck your stone back into the lake. Got that?"
"You idiot," hissed the spirit. "Do that, and I'll begin the curse all over again."
"Well then, maybe I'll just call in my sister. You do remember Chari, don't you?" His tone was sweetly menacing. "She still has the Amulet, you know--and no real reason to like you..."
"Eighteen years will be fine," grumbled the Daemon, defeated.
"What's this?" asked Elaine the next morning.
Arranged carefully on their mantlepiece was a disparate trio of items--a colorless crystal point about as long as a man's hand, a half-ticket marked with the letter E, and a small framed watercolor portrait Holly had given them. Eleanor's face, captured in a happy (if toothless) grin.
"That," replied Guybrush seriously, "is the treasure of Big Whoop." He caught her up in an impulsive hug. "I finally found it, Elaine."
The smile he'd been struggling to keep down finally broke out--she laughed and kissed him. "Was it worth the hunt?"
"Do you really have to ask?" replied he in his best attempt at a seductive tone, playing with her hair. She started to relax into his arms...
Eleanor, of course, chose that moment to burst out crying.
"Yes!" exclaimed Elaine, exasperated.
But they let the treasure of Big Whoop wail for just a minute longer while they resumed the interrupted conversation. Guybrush just closed his eyes, wishing the moment would never end....wailing and all..
So this was the treasure of Big Whoop. Was it really worth every moment of pain and tears and fear and all the sleepless nights?
Absolutely.