A/N: Guess who's baaaaaack! It took me five and a half years, but I finally have the next chapter for y'all! Big shoutout to everyone who has reviewed this fic. Rereading your comments is what finally gave me the motivation I needed to start writing this again.
WARNING: This chapter contains discussion of unwanted pregnancy.
Hour 24 Hammer 11, 1371 DR
"Excuse me," Syrin mumbled before bolting from her seat at the table and fleeing the kitchen.
"Syrin!" Rasaad called after her, but she hurriedly wove through the throng of patrons out front and thundered up the stairs. "Syrin!" He was pursuing her, which she expected, but it only made her run to their room faster. Just as she was about the slam the door and lock it, however, his boot jammed in the doorway.
"Go away!" she cried, but he didn't move.
"Syrin, you cannot keep running away like this. Talk to me. I beg you," he pleaded. She had expected him to be angry, but his tone was gentle, taking her off guard. Stepping away from the door, she backed into the bed and sat down, putting her face in her hands. Now free to enter, Rasaad cautiously came in to sit beside her. "Is it true? Are you- ?"
"Yes," Syrin breathed, barely audible.
"How long have you known?" It was evident in the monk's tone that he was rather stunned and struggling to process the notion that his wife was pregnant, and rightfully so by her estimation.
"Since meeting Zadhi yr Tariba."
"When...when were you going to tell me?" She could hear notes of hurt in his voice now and subtle though they were, they were like knives in her gut. Before she could stop herself, tears began streaming from her eyes. Everything was spiraling out of her control it seemed, even her own emotions.
"I don't know! I don't know anything! I never asked for this! I didn't want it! I shouldn't want it! But here it is and I have no bloody idea what to do!" Syrin burst out, her voice shaking through her sobs. "I can't- I can't do this. Please...Rasaad, tell me what I should do. I don't...I don't know anymore."
Through her trembling, Syrin felt her husband place a comforting hand tentatively on her back, clearly unsure if she would be alright with being touched. When she didn't move away, he shifted to put his arm around her.
"I cannot make this decision for you. I can help you figure out what you want, but the choice has to be yours, and know that whatever that might be, I will be here for you."
This was not what Syrin had wanted to hear, but she understood what he was saying and thus could not bring herself to be angry with him for it. He always showed her the utmost respect, even when she was far from being at her best, and here she was trying to push him away.
"I'm afraid, Rasaad," she admitted softly a few moments after she managed to get her sobbing under control. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Of what?"
"The pain. The vulnerability. But most of all I fear unleashing a new evil on the world. My blood is Bhaal's blood and I do not know what will happen if it's passed on."
"I understand your concern, but his darkness is no longer inside you, Syrin. Your will is your own. So too would be the child's. As for the worries of childbearing itself, I cannot tell you not to be scared; it is indeed a painful and dangerous business. All I can offer you is my belief in your strength," Rasaad consoled, easing her terror somewhat, though he did not fully comprehend that terror.
For several minutes, they sat in silence, the monk slowly carding his fingers through Syrin's hair, soothing her as best he could. She thought deeply about everything he had said, hoping that it would provide her with the clarity she had been so lacking these past few days.
"I'll need to mull this over a little while longer," she finally said. Rasaad knowing that she was with child had taken a great deal of stress off of her, and she now felt a bit more like she might be able to handle this as a responsible adult.
"Of course. Whatever you need."
When the young couple returned to the kitchen, slightly awkward but nonetheless in much better spirits than they had been when they'd left, they found Nefhadha playing cards with an animated Celthica. The innkeeper had clearly taken it upon herself to distract the child from the distressing situation that had come up between her guardians. So ensconced in the game was she that she didn't even noticed when the pair came in the room.
"Who's winning?" Syrin asked, trying to make things less awkward, despite the fact that that was definitely not her area of expertise. Celthica's gaze shot up from her hand of cards and she beamed with relief.
"You're back! Are you okay now?"
Rasaad and Syrin exchanged significant glances before the latter replied.
"Not quite yet, but I think...I think I will be." She caught the hint of a smile on her husband's lips as she said this, and she discreetly threaded her fingers between his. "I'm very sorry if I, uh, frightened you earlier. I was not myself," she went on, looking back at Celthica.
"It's alright. What matters is that you're better now," the girl responded cheerfully.
"Yes...yes, I suppose so."
"Would you like to play cards with us?"
"I would recommend against it," Nefhadha cut in with a laugh. "The little one is very slippery. I haven't won a single round yet."
"Ah, I have already had this experience, but perhaps you may best the champion yet." With an air of deep amusement, Rasaad slid back into his seat and crossed his arms, ready to watch Celthica thrash their host. Syrin also chose to sit back and observe, and she was not disappointed. They witnessed Celthica beat Nefhadha no less than three more times. It was a good thing Nefhadha had declined to let the girl place bets with pistachios, because she would have fleeced the inn of every pistachio on the premises.
By the end of that third game, it was getting quite late, and the adults insisted that Celthica head up to bed. She agreed only to do so if Rasaad told her a story to help her fall asleep, so he went up with her, asking her if she had heard the story of the thief and the djinn before as they went. Syrin was left alone in the kitchen with Nefhadha, who gazed at her with a look of deep sympathy.
"It is alright to be afraid," Nefhadha told her, and she didn't have to guess what she was referring to. "I was afraid when it happened to me."
"When did you stop being afraid?" Syrin asked quietly, worrying her fingers together. Her host gave a light, wistful laugh in return.
"I do not think I ever stopped, to be honest, even long after my child was born. I know that is not a comforting answer, but it is the truth of motherhood." She was right that it wasn't comforting, and that must have shown on Syrin's face, because she added: "What I am trying to say is that you will never truly know if you are ready. What matters is what you want and what you are willing to give."
"Were you ever afraid that Khalid would be like his father?" This question seemed to take Nefhadha by surprise, and she leaned forward, pulling her wispy cotton shawl more tightly around herself.
"Yes, but only because his father raised him, and as you know, he became a wonderful man despite that. Why do you ask? It cannot be that you are afraid your child would be like Rasaad. I have seen nothing but goodness in him."
"No, no, it's…my father. He…I…" Syrin struggled to find a way to tell Nefhadha what was wrong without outing herself as a Bhaalspawn, and the innkeeper's look of concern and confusion only deepened.
"Gorion? But he was a good man as well. I do not understand."
"No, not Gorion. My…my birth father. He was profoundly evil in a way few mortals can comprehend, and I was…marked by that evil. I don't wish to pass that on." Hopefully Nefhadha took this to mean that her father had been a necromancer or some such thing and not the literal God of Murder, because she didn't think she could bear rejection from this woman.
"I cannot speak to such matters, but I do know that whatever mark you bear, it has not corrupted your mind or your heart. That is plain as day." The tension in Syrin's shoulders eased a little at this, and she leaned back in her chair.
There was an awkward pause as she mulled over Nefhadha's words, trying to think of how to respond. In turn, the innkeeper tilted her head at her, quietly trying to sus her out.
"Do you want to be a mother?" Nefhadha inquired in a gentle tone after a moment. The question cut to the heart of the matter, and Syrin found herself even more at a loss than before.
"I…I don't know."
"Then perhaps you should first concern yourself with that before you worry about anything else." The suggestion was such a sound and simple one that Syrin was almost stunned by it. She gave a nod and Nefhadha smiled. "In this moment, however, I believe you need rest. It is late."
Syrin quickly found herself being shooed back upstairs, and she made her way to her and Rasaad's room, which was empty with Rasaad still off telling stories to Celthica. She began to undress, going slowly to appeased her aching muscles from a long and stressful day. All the while, she sung softly to herself and let her mind drift off in thought, so much so that she didn't notice the door open a few minutes later, and she nearly startled when she heard her husband's voice coming from behind her.
"Myn ahara, ato jhasina anum," he muttered reverently. She knew enough Alzhedo by now to be aware that he was calling her beautiful, and she looked over her shoulder to find him standing near the door, gazing at her with an expression of awe that was as strong as it was the first night they'd been together. It suddenly struck her that he was deeply in love with her in a way that she had never fully comprehended before, and that realization nearly brought her to tears.
"I can't think when you say things like that," she told him with a small laugh, looking back to the garment in her hands so that he wouldn't see the wateriness of her eyes.
"I am sorry. I do not mean to distract."
"No, I want to be distracted. I don't want to be in my head right now."
"As you wish." Rasaad's voice was much closer now, and she felt his knuckles ghost along her spine, sending a shiver down her body. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, savouring the sensation, but still struggling to not break down with emotion. What had she ever done to deserve such affection?
"Rasaad," she breathed, turning to face him and pulling him down for a long and intense kiss. This prompted Rasaad to lift her up and carry her to the bed, and when she lay beneath him, he paused for a moment, his brow furrowed in concern.
"You are crying. Have I upset you?"
"No. I'm just happy." Rasaad smiled at this and brushed the moisture from her face before pressing another kiss to her throat.
Whatever troubles had plagued Syrin an hour ago were forgotten for the time being, and all she knew was the loving touch of a husband who would give her the world if she asked.
Syrin and Rasaad rose late in the morning to find Celthica already down in the kitchen, where Nefhadha was teaching the girl how to make rice and talking about how cooking was an essential life skill for everyone, even a merchant's daughter. Celthica seemed to be enjoying herself, despite being asked to do labor, which was certainly not something she'd experienced before. She looked up for the rice pot when Syrin and Rasaad entered, and a big grin spread across her face.
"Morning!" she greeted, and her guardians responded in kind. "I've made a new friend!" She gestured behind her, and it was then that they noticed a small Calishite boy of no more than 8 years of age plucking cilantro leaves from their stems and dropping them in a bowl. He had large brown eyes and shaggy black hair that he occasionally had to push out of his eyes. His arms and legs were rail-thin and poked like sticks out of a baggy tunic and trousers, both of which seemed to have been fashioned from the same fabric as the kitchen curtains. It was clear that he was an urchin. A profound look of empathy came over Rasaad's features, and Syrin remembered that he had been an urchin himself at that age. Likely driven by that feeling, he went over to the boy and started helping him with the leaves.
"Rasaad yn Bashir anam," he said, introducing himself.
"Rafiq yn Sayek anam," the boy replied in a small, shy voice, and the two of them began to have a quiet conversation in rapid colloquial Alzhedo that Syrin could not follow at all, but she could see that whatever Rasaad was saying was making Rafiq smile, and that was good enough for her.
"I found Rafiq in the alley outside few days ago," Nefhadha explained. "His parents died at sea, and his grandfather is coming from Manshaka to collect him, but he has been forced to live on the streets until then. I told him he could stay with me, and he has been very insistent upon making himself useful in return."
Before Syrin could comment on the kindness of looking after the urchin, a stranger burst through the back door to the alley. At first, she thought it was another child, but then she realized it was in fact a young halfling man with red hair and sideburns that were currently quite fashionable among his people. He hastily closed the door behind himself and turned to Nefhadha with wide eyes.
"Hide me!" he whispered urgently. Though she seemed quite put out by this, the innkeeper gestured under the table with a sigh, and he scrabbled underneath it without objection.
"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Tomi?"
"I did nothing wrong!"
"Tomi."
"I was only spending a little time with Amala! That's not a crime!"
"Amala yr Hassinya el Sumdaj?! How many times have I told you to stay away from the daughters of pashas?! Do you enjoy having every amlak in the city on your tail?!"
Tomi did not give an immediate reply to this, as they all heard several guards run down the alleyway, cursing and shouting that there was no escape from them.
"It's not my fault they can't resist this face," he finally said when they had passed, and he stepped out from under the table. Celthica and Rafiq peered at him in curiosity, but stayed silent, even when he gave them a friendly wave.
"It is your fault that you cannot keep it in your trousers," Nefhadha hissed in a low voice so that the children couldn't hear.
"Hey, I didn't give out anything Amala wasn't looking for in the first place." Tomi put up his hands defensively. "Ooh, baklava!" Spying the plate on the table, he reached up to it, but Syrin grabbed his wrist so quickly that he winced in surprise.
"Don't be rude," she told him sternly, and he looked up at her with annoyance and bewilderment. When he tried to tug himself away from her and found her grip like stone, his confusion doubled.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but just who are you?"
"Syrin A'Gorion. A friend of Nefhadha's."
"I'm Tomi Undergallows. I'd say it was a pleasure, but, well…" He flopped the hand of his restrained wrist uselessly about in demonstration. "You mind telling me how it is that you can hold my wrist like that? I'm a pretty slippery bloke, and there's not many who can keep hold of me."
"Trust me when I tell you that you don't want an answer to that question." As she said this, Syrin realized that the children were gaping at her. She worried for a second that she had scared them until she saw hints of smiles in their expressions, and it occurred to her that they just thought this whole exchange was exciting.
"Alright, alright, I get it. I won't make no trouble, promise."
"I'll keep you to that." Syrin finally released Tomi, and he rubbed his wrist. Nefhadha gave her an appreciative smirk and put a hand on the halfling's shoulder.
"You are lucky I have no love for the pasha, my small friend. Come, you may take a room if you have the coin for it." The innkeeper steered Tomi out of the kitchen and up the back stairs.
"That man is going to have to flee the country if he crossed the pasha I think he crossed," Rasaad piped up, a look somewhere between pity and amusement written on his features.
"Why's he in trouble for being friends with the pasha's daughter?" Celthica asked with innocent confusion, and Syrin couldn't stop herself from letting out a big laugh. Rasaad was thankfully more restrained and sympathetic in his response.
"You will understand when you are older, I think." Celthica's eyes went wide at this as she put two and two together. Twelve was apparently old enough to take a hint, even if she didn't fully grasp the implied concept yet.
"Wait. Did he…? Oh." With raised eyebrows, the girl left things there and returned her attention to washing rice, for which her guardians where honestly grateful.
The rest of the morning thankfully passed without further incident. They weren't able to go out and tour the city, since they were waiting to hear from Celthica's father, but it was still nice to spend the day at the inn. After spending well over a month on the road, it was relaxing to stay in one place for a change. They played games with Celthica and Rafiq, and Rasaad gave Rafiq a much needed haircut that seemed to cheer the boy up a great deal. Celthica started to get restless by early evening, however, and when lost a round of Talis to Syrin, she knew something was definitely up.
"You seem distracted; what's wrong?" Celthica fiddled with the sleeve of her dress for a moment before answering.
"I'm worried about my father."
"Ah. It's only been a day. He'll be here soon, I'm sure." Even if that was a statement Syrin was not at all certain would hold true, she found she was more concerned with putting her charge a little more at ease.
"I hope so." Celthica crossed her arms on the kitchen table and rested her chin on them. Syrin gently rubbed her back, not sure what else she could say to keep the girl's spirits up.
As if the gods too could not stand to see Celthica in despair, the girl's wish was immediately made real. They heard the front door of the inn open and Eston Gaevyn's voice inquire after his daughter. She shared a surprised look with Syrin and then bolted out of the kitchen to the front room to throw herself into her father's arms. Syrin followed in time to see Eston swinging his daughter around in a joyful hug, and it warmed her heart.
Rasaad, who was already out front teaching Rafiq a dart trick, came to stand beside Syrin, putting an arm around her waist and watching this reunion with an air of unbridled relief and joy. She leaned against him in return, smiling from ear to ear.
"Ah! My friends! I could never hope to repay you for all you've done for me!" Eston exclaimed when he finally let go of his daughter and spotted the young couple. He came forward to vigorously shake both of their hands. "I will of course pay you your bodyguard fee, but my debt to you both goes far beyond that."
"We could not think to accept any further reward. We were happy to look after Celthica," Rasaad replied, shaking his head.
"Then let me at least offer you a night of fine cuisine and distinguished company. You see, I have been invited to dinner with the pasha of an agricultural guild, who is a longtime business associate of mine, and I would be honoured to bring you both along as my friends." An odd look came to Rasaad's face at this request, and Syrin wasn't sure what to make of it until he responded with a question that absolutely blew her away.
"This pasha, would they happened to be named Massatyr Badhir yn Jamen el Sumdaj?"
"Why yes. Do you know him?" The answer hit even harder than the question, perhaps enhanced by the cheerful, innocent look on Eston's face. Of course this pasha was the man who was after Tomi Undergallows for getting caught with his daughter.
Celthica had evidently also recognized the family name, because her jaw dropped in an expression of excitement that only people who love drama wear. Syrin exchanged at look with Rasaad that said "Well, we have to go now," before giving Eston a reply.
"We would be absolutely delighted to join you."
A/N: ...and thus Syrin and Rasaad decide to go to a fancy dinner for the drama. Alzhedo notes: "Myn ahara, ato jhasina anum." = "By the gods, you are beautiful."; "anam" = "I am"; "amlak" = "police officer/city guard"