Author's Notes: Okay, I've been saying for weeks that I wasn't going to do this, that I was going to shove all the bad parts into two chapters to get it over with quickly, but in the middle of writing/editing last night I realize I'm going to have to split this chapter up. I'm sorry, one more really sad chapter, although I don't think I could ever outdo the one before. To those of you that I made cry or that it triggered something painful in your past: I'm so sorry. I hope you got the comfort and love you needed to recover. I'll respond individually below.

Rogue: Sorry for tears, although I giggled at the image of your son walking in the house and NOPEing right back out.

Nyte: I don't think this counts as redemption, so I'll just wait to hear from you for another chapter.

Feff: I've already talked to you but I LOVE YOU DON'T THROW UP.

Elforen: WELL HELLO THERE HUSBAND SNEAKING ON MY FANFICTION SITE. Readers, this is The Husband. Husband, these are the readers. Everyone play nice and remember that Zara is deadly with a bow.

Fae: *sets another table out for you just in case *

Kintara: *hugs * so sorry :(


One Week Later

Elforen grunted as he shoved another stone into place. He stepped back, eyed it for a moment, then shifted it an inch to the right. He repeated the process several times, until it sat exactly flush with the others. Every piece needed to be set perfect. His hands shook slightly as he picked up another stone. He'd been up nearly all night for the last three nights, and he didn't know when his body would quit on him. He set the next block into place and wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. The stones of the memorial were taking much longer to assemble than he had planned on. He glanced to the nearby tree where a metal plaque was leaning. He'd been unable to sleep much at all the last week, and the past couple days he gave in a fired up the forge in the middle of the night. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt that this determination to get everything complete and exact had already passed the point of obsession, but that part was easy to ignore.

It had been three days since Kalibose had been laid to rest. They had picked out a secluded portion of the garden, and kept the ceremony just to a few. It was in a quiet and peaceful corner of their garden, away from the menagerie behind the house, but he wanted better. It needed to be the most beautiful part of their property. He had started designing the shrine on the way home from Stormwind, and the first day took a cart to the local mountain slope to gather rocks. Lorel and the girls had gone with him, helping him pick out the squarest ones, and in the case of the girls, the ones with the most colourful striations. Zarabethe had stayed home. He gritted his teeth in frustration as he adjusted the stones again. She had hardly done anything since they had returned. He would understand if she were upset, or in pain, or anything at all, but she just looked at him blankly, as if she were not seeing him at all, and nodded vaguely when he tried to get her to answer questions about the memorial. She wouldn't talk about Kalibose. She barely spoke to the girls. As far as he could tell, she hadn't even cried. Elforen's eyes were swollen and dried out with the amount of tears shed the past several days. It was times like these he wondered if he really, truly knew his wife.

Footsteps crunched on the path behind him, and he paused from his thoughts to see who was approaching. The girls were supposed to be in the house, Brekke in her studies and Genne likely doing something destructive. Lorel was supposed to be watching them, but was probably joining Genne in her mayhem. He was surprised to see Zarabethe standing silently on the path behind him. She was barefoot, and still wearing the midnight blue mourning clothes from the funeral. She seemed distracted, but focused on his face when he turned. She swallowed and held out a white cloth. It was embroidered in dark blue around the edges.

"I didn't get to make him a blanket like the girls," she said quietly. "Do you think there's room for it?"

He took it from her, nodding. He held his hand out, to bring her closer, show her the memorial, maybe break through her shell. She flinched as if he had tried to hit her. Days of stress converged on him, and his temper flared.

"For Light's sake, I'm not going to hurt you," he snapped. He gestured behind him to the half-finished cairn of stones. "I just want to show you the memorial for Kalibose. You know, our son?"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she said, her mouth drawn in a line.

He threw his hands up and paced. It seemed as if his anger was always right there waiting to take him over, but he just couldn't handle this right now. Not after this week.

"I just don't understand you. Don't you care? Our son is dead. I'm trying to do everything I can just to keep it together, and you haven't even so much as shed a tear. Why can't you do things like a normal person for once?"

Zarabethe's silver eyes flared in anger and finally, her blank mask cracked. "Do you think I like not being normal? Don't you think I feel like a horrible person because I can't mourn him like everyone else can? I hate myself for being like this."

She crossed her arms over her stomach and looked away. "I would do anything to change if I could." The last words were almost lost in the wind as she turned away from him and walked back to the house.

He cursed loudly, and in surge of temper, threw the small blanket to the ground. The quiet sound it made as it impacted the earth was not satisfying, and he picked up one of the rectangular stones and flung it towards the copse of trees encroaching on the back edge of the garden. It struck one and rolled into the back of the cairn. He picked it up again, flexed his arm, felt his anger burning hot, flexed his arm again, then made himself slowly put it back down. He took a deep breath in and tried to calm his temper before he destroyed some of his hard work. He crouched down and retrieved the blanket sitting in a sad heap in the grass and dusted it off. Zarabethe had carefully stitched Kalibose's name into the scrollwork around one edge. He felt tears threaten to sting his eyes again as he traced one finger around it. Reverently, he spread it out and laid it atop of the half-finished material. He rubbed one hand over his eyes as exhaustion stole into him. He nearly swayed on his feet, then shaking his head, he reluctantly set his tools aside. He would be useless working like this. Perhaps he could try again to sleep.


Elforen sluggishly opened his eyes. Despite his overdue need for sleep, it had taken what felt like forever to fall asleep last night, so he was confused why he was awake now, when it was obviously still full dark. Automatically he reached for Zarabethe: maybe she would be more receptive to him in the comfort of darkness. His hand encountered something cold and wet on the sheets. He jerked his hand back and threw off the covers. She wasn't there. He examined the bed as best he could in the light from the moon. He couldn't tell what had been spilled, but it didn't appear to be anything sinister. His mind raced with adrenaline and he peered into the room. She wasn't there either, but he thought he heard a muffled sound from somewhere else in the house. Maybe she was with one of the girls.

"Zara?" he called quietly as he stood. There was no answer, but as he reached the doorway of their bedroom, he saw the wardrobe against the wall was open. Half its contents had been spilled on the floor, as if someone had dug through it in a hurry. Frowning, he reached above the door frame and pulled down one of his axes. Holding it down by his side slightly concealed, he felt a little more grounded as he searched the house.

The slant of moonlight passing through the small window in the kitchen illuminated the house in greyscale and gave it an otherwordly quality. He gripped his axe tightly as he pushed open the curtain in front of the girls' room. Both Brekke and Genne were snuggled up asleep in Genne's bed. His face broke into a faint smile as he tucked the blanket around them. In most households, he assumed the younger sister would be the one to join the older in bed. In their house, Brekke was the one that usually needed extra comfort at night. They were both sleeping soundly, though. His ears pricked as he heard the noise again. It was still just as muffled and unintelligible as before. Maybe it was one of the animals in the pens outside.

He peeked in the other, smaller bedroom quickly, just to make sure. It used to be Genne's room, until they had moved the girls into the bigger bedroom in preparation for their growing family. For a moment memory caught him in its grip: Zarabethe insisting on helping even though she clearly felt ill, Genne happily piling all her toys on Brekke's bed while Brekke moped and slid her bookshelf over in her room. Later, after the girls were asleep, the two of them sitting in the small room and talking late into the night. The empty room seemed so much larger then, full of hope and promises for the future. Zarabethe hadn't even looked pregnant then. She had been tired, but happy, and her eyes hadn't lost their light yet. Elforen wearily rubbed his free hand across his face. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Now the room was occupied by the fifth member of the household. Lorel was sprawled on her strawtick mattress with blankets all kicked to the side. Her clothes and possessions were shoved in a pile in the corner. Her hair was a wild white halo around her head and she was snoring softly. Unlike earlier in the week, when he had first noticed how grown up she was, right now she looked stuck halfway between a kid and an adult and Elforen loved her for it.

Only one member of his family was missing, and worry started to dig its tendrils into him as he finished his circuit of the house. The main room appeared to be in order, so he pushed the front door open to head outside. His foot caught on something soft, and he bent down to retrieve it. It was Zarabethe's midnight blue tunic that she had been wearing to bed. It was damp also, like the sheets. He dropped it as a soft sound drifted up to him from the garden. It sounded like crying.

As he walked his eyes were drawn automatically to the cairn of stones in the northwest corner of the garden. It looked sad and forgotten with half of the stones piled to the side and the plaque still leaning against the tree. He vowed to finish it tomorrow, no matter how long it took. His son was not going to be forgotten. He followed the sound of what he now knew to be his wife weeping down the path to the back of the garden, near the animal pens. Every now and then the sobs would be punctuated by a frustrated growl and the sound of something hitting the ground. He hurried a little faster, nervous of what he would find.

At the end of the path was a cleared circle with a fountain in the center. They had added it in the year after Genne was born, a secluded haven in the green overgrowth of the garden. It wasn't a large fountain, just a small circle of white stone, half-filled with rain water. There was not even a breathe of wind tonight, and the water reflected the moon white against black stillness. A half circle bench ran along west side, and it was here that Zarabethe knelt. She was wearing only the loose pants of her dark blue mourning outfit. Her feet were bare, and she was naked from the waist up. Her back was to him, and she didn't notice him as she folded a long piece of cloth in half, then in half again long ways. Her bare shoulders shook with quiet sobs as she tried vainly to smooth it flat. With unsteady hands, she brought it carefully up to her chest, and started to wrap it around her back, in a kind of crude bandeau top. She held it with one arm, and yanked on the loose end to tighten it. She made a pained noise as the fabric pulled across her skin, but she quickly tried to wrap the rest of the cloth around her. It was bulky, and started to slip down as she yanked it tighter. With a loud, frustrated cry, she ripped it off of her and threw it to the ground. Elforen watched with confusion as she crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned against the bench weakly. He recognized the sound from earlier as she tried to hide her painful cries in the top of the stone. He laid his axe down quietly in the grass before stepping forward. He wasn't sure what she was trying to do, but she was obviously hurting.

"Zara, are you okay?" He spoke as gently as possible, but she still gasped and scrambled to her feet. She held one arm awkwardly across her chest as she tried to shove her hair out of her face with the other hand. When she saw it was him, she dropped her eyes to the side and stammered.

"I'm sorry Elf, I was trying not to wake you." Her voice quivered as she wrapped her other arm around herself tightly. She seemed to be struggling to get herself under control.

"What are you doing out here? I woke up and you were gone, I was worried about you." He wasn't entirely sure of her state of mind at this point, and didn't want to embarrass her. Her face reddened and she half-turned from him and stared at the reflection of the stars in the water. When she spoke the words tumbled out in a rush, like she was trying to get something painful over with quickly.

"It's just, my body thinks that since there was a baby, that I should be feeding the baby, and it's trying to make milk, only, there's no..." she choked for a moment and Elforen could see her dig her fingernails into her arm as she struggled to speak. He put one hand firmly on her shoulder and kept her from turning away from him. She stared at the ground but didn't try to run away.

"I woke up and the bed was soaked, and my breasts hurt so bad, and I need to try and bind them or it will just get worse," she whispered to their bare feet. He held her shoulders silently and let her keep talking. "I didn't want to wake anyone up, so I just grabbed a sheet and went out here. But I can't get it folded right, or my hands aren't working, and now the rest of my clothes are wet too." She sniffled miserably.

He kissed her on the top of her head and spoke into her hair. "Can I try and help? I promise I'll be careful."

She nodded, and he let her go to pick up the sheet. He took his axe from where it lay at the edge of the stone circle, and meticulously sliced the sheet into fat ribbons. She sat on the bench and watched him silently. The thin strips of cloth were easier to handle than one bulky piece, and together, they wrapped them tightly around her chest. Elforen tried to pull it gently across her swollen flesh, but she yanked it as tight as she could, biting her lip against a yelp. It seemed almost like she was punishing herself for showing weakness. Finally they were done, and they sat quietly on the bench together, both reluctant to return to the house just yet. Zarabethe shoved her loose hair behind her long ears.

"Thank you for helping. I'll change the bed when we go in."

"It's no big deal. We can do it together." The anger he had felt toward her this afternoon had dissipated, and he just wanted to be close to her again. She crossed her arms over her bare stomach and stared at her feet as she scrubbed one toe against the white stone.

"Stupid body," she muttered. "As if this wasn't hard enough." She dug her hands into her sides and she closed her eyes. "My body is grieving, and I can't seem to." In spite of her words, of her claim to not be able to grieve, tears started to drip unnoticed down her nose onto the stone path below.

"I didn't know him," she whispered. "My body knew him, carried him, and then lost him, but I didn't know him and I don't know how to miss him."

She started to shake, and he felt his own sense of loss rise up inside of him to meet hers. He swallowed painfully and tried to keep his own tears in check. She turned and looked him full in face for the first time since the day Kalibose had passed into the next world. Her eyes were wide, unguarded, and child-like in her sorrow.

"Where is my baby, Elf?" Her voice rose into hysteria as she pleaded with him. "Why is he gone and I am left here without him?" Elforen gripped both of her shoulders, unable to control the tears running down his own cheeks. He had no answer for her.

"Why? Why could I carry two babies with no problem, but I'm too weak to carry another?" She ripped herself away from his embrace, and stood to pace angrily around the circle of the fountain. She dug her fingernails into red half-moons in her arms repeatedly.

"I didn't even want Genne!" she screeched out the fourth word of the sentence as she kicked the bench hard. Elforen winced and he raised his arms as if to stop her. She turned on him and froze him with her glowing eyes, crazed with guilt and grief.

"Everything I did with Brekke was wrong, but at least I wanted her. Then Genne came, and I was so frightened from the last time, I didn't want to be pregnant at all. But then you were there and it was fine, it was beautiful, and I knew how special it could be. Then there was Kalibose, and I was so happy. I was happy, Elf."

Her eyes pleaded with him, begged him for something that he couldn't provide. After a moment of holding him prisoner with her gaze, she turned her head.

"I did everything right this time. I tried so hard. I wanted him from beginning, I didn't get myself cursed by some stupid dragon, but it wasn't enough. The girls turned out fine, but I still failed him. No matter what I did, somehow I still failed. He is dead. My baby is dead."

Her voice broke down completely into the most heart-wrenching wail he had ever heard. She dropped right to her knees, hands limp in her lap, staining the stone path with her tears. He fell down in front of her and took her into his arms. He held her tightly as they both cried horrible, painful tears. They cried for past mistakes, for stolen futures, and for an emptiness that would never be filled, no matter how much love or anger they poured into it. They cried until they had nothing left but a numbness that spread from the head down to the feet and they leaned quietly against each other, not sure who was holding the other one up.

Right as dawn broke red over the sky, Elforen started and realized he had been asleep. He was sitting cross legged on the ground, leaning up against the stone bench. Zarabethe was half-curled into his lap and snoring quietly against his chest. He shifted stiffly and tried to uncross his tingling legs. The movement roused his wife, who pushed herself up to sitting, sleepily mumbling an apology. He cupped his hand against her cheek and she leaned into it for a moment. What had been broken between them for the last week had started to mend last night in their shared grief. He wiped a residual tear off her cheek and drew her face close to kiss her tear-swollen lips.

"Let's go back to the house."


End Note: The next chapter is titled "Hope". Please hold onto that and give it a chance.