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Chapter Eleven

Neither Mortal Nor God

"Please, bespeaken unto me and sayest thou speakest a falsity," Yahla requested, somewhat stunned by the news. If what the dwarf said was true, she was on the other side of the world from the Empire, and thus, her husband.

"I'm afraid that I can't," the dwarf replied, looking genuinely regretful as he spoke. He sighed heavily, rustling the corners of his beard. "Leastwise not honestly."

"What sayest thou?! 'Tis infeasible that I shouldst come to light halfway about the earth whence I…" Her voice trailed of, and she was silent for a long time, the life seeming to go out of her. Softly, the dragoness said at last, in a low and miserable voice, "…Methinks 'tis a irremeable situation. Lorn and thus affected, what chance is there that I mayest be finding mine way home…?" The goddess still wasn't quite certain what was causing her weakness and why she had suddenly become so vulnerable to mortal difficulties. But she knew that if she remained weak that there would be no way for her to survive a journey over half a world. She would be helpless, as prone as the mortals themselves. And just as likely as they to die.

Dalindrar patted her shoulder reassuringly, his heavy hand harsh against her skin. She responded to his gesture after a second, pulling away from him the best she could. "There, there, lassie. You needn't be all worried about that, now. Heigh ho!" he said with an obvious attempt at cheerfulness. It failed to earn any acknowledgement from the bed-ridden goddess. "As of today and the days after it, you just worry about getting yourself back on your feet! Till you get yourself back up to speed, you can stay here, with me. We'll have you fixed up in a jiffy!"

"I wouldst accept thine offer, for there be little else I canst do." Yahla sounded terribly worn all of a sudden, a tinge of defeat lacing her very manner. It was as though the weight of all the years she had spent asleep had come to roost on her shoulders. "But for what reason dost thou burden thyself? I be not of thy race, nor art thou bounden to me in any manner." Her weary voice was bitter as she finished, "Why wouldst thou wish to save a broken goddess gilt in the blood of mortal kind?"

"Ho…" His broad head tilted to the side as he thumbed his chin, an uncommonly serious look on his face. "I don't know about you being broken, but I've always been mighty good at fixing things. And I like a challenge. Fixing up a goddess sure sounds like one to me." She showed no reply to his statement, so the dwarf plunged on. "'Sides, if I was to leave someone out to die, no matter their race or how biggity they think themselves, my conscious would never let me live it down. Just you rest up, there, and I'll leave you alone to get some shut-eye."

Making good his word, he tromped away to another part of the house, and though she turned her head in an attempt to follow his movement, the pile of crates blocked her view. Weary and too weak to do anything else, Yahla took his advise and let sleep claim her.

"Hand me that doohickey, would you?" The dwarf called over his shoulder as he tinkered with one of the pipes that kept the forge and bellows running. The massive metal tubes required a great deal of maintenance, and Dalindrar had developed a wide variety of tools to help him fix minute details.

"What?" Yahla asked blankly, looking from one tool to another. She was propped up nearby against the section of pipe the dwarf wasn't busy repairing.

"The doohickey," he said patiently. While it was helpful to have an extra person to hand him things, it would be even more helpful if said person knew which tool he was talking about. "No, not that one, that's the hootenanny. The doohickey. No, that's the thingamajig…yes, there, that one. Good." Taking the tool in hand, he went back to his repairs.

Yahla had spent the first two days after her awakening bedridden, relapsing into the unconscious state Dalindrar had been required to feed and water her through. On the third day she had woken, but remained too weak to do anything. Now, four days after she first found herself under the dwarf's care, the dragoness was stronger and more energetic, and unwilling to simply lie around. She wasn't recovered enough to stand, but she could sit again, and make good use of her arms. Finally, Dalindrar gave her a job simply to keep her busy, and she had seized it as something to do besides sleep.

"I dost not comprehend this," Yahla complained as she watched him make another infinitesimal (and practically indiscernible) adjustment. In spite of the dwarf's small height, he was very solidly built, and from appearances shouldn't have had the dexterity required for such delicate repairs. Appearances, however, weren't everything. Dalindrar handled details with the air of a true craftsman, and it was obvious he could hold his own against slimmer, more delicately fingered mortals. "Meseems these tools are all as one."

"They aren't," Dalindrar contradicted as he turned back to get another tool. "See here, this one's hooked on the edge, while the other one's got the ridges. And of course you got widget, that's this one here, with the little file at the end. They're all mighty dinky, but they got little differences, if you know where to look."

"I dost not like this," she contended, picking at one of the tools with a claw. "I canst not tellst the difference between…what dost thou call it, a thinamagigit, and a dingbat."

Dalindrar chuckled lightly as he continued his work. "Well, I'd offer you something else to do, lassie, but it doesn't look like you're up to any of it. Hand me that whatchamacallum, would you?"

Yahla sighed, well aware of the new restrictions her body was enacting on her, and did so.

The dwarf's broad hand helped steady her as she retched violently, splattering the insides of the battered pot with her stomach contents. The smell hit her in the face, and she wrinkled her nose before another series of heaves hit her and left her gasping. It was just as well she hadn't had breakfast yet, as she would simply have lost it all anyway. At last, Yahla regained control of her stomach and braced herself against rim of the bowl, sagging. She felt limp and worn out, even though it was but the first thing in the morning and she had been awake but five minutes.

Dalindrar pushed a cup of water into her hand and she accepted it gratefully, gargling and spitting into the already soiled bowl. The taste mostly gone from her mouth, she swallowed what remained in the cup.

"Ho…and here I'd been thinking you were getting better," the smith remarked in sympathy, staying at her side should she need assistance.

"I as well," she replied as she reclaimed her feet, both of which seemed unwilling to go anywhere. As the dragoness wobbled, the dwarf was there to help her back to the bed, where she collapsed with profound relief.

Indeed, it had seemed but the day before that she was on the mend. Yahla had managed to walk several feet before her energy ran out, and she had regained some of her usual vitality. The goddess had had even enough energy to wash herself off with a rag and pail of water her host provided, removing some old bloodstains and the soup that had dried to the skin. Today, instead of continuing her trend of recovery, she had started the morning by throwing up. Definitely not how she had wanted to start the new day.

"Still nauseous, lass?" the smith asked, reflexively checking her forehead for fever. She nodded miserably, the look on her face reflecting her churning insides. "Stay there, then, and I'll whip you up some breakfast. It might help if you get something down."

The idea of eating anything wasn't exactly charming, but Dalindrar had managed to get her a good bit closer to health, and she was fairly certain he knew what he was talking about. She settled herself back to wait, grimacing as her touchy stomach gurgled ominously. I be not wishing to disgorge my stomach eftsoons…

Dalindrar returned before she could decide whether to stay in place or make a break for the barf-bowl. He had several chunks of hard bread and some more water in hand. "I put some soup on, but it isn't done yet. In the meantime, have a bit of this."

As she gnawed on a hard cracker, her stomach did loop-de-loops around her spinal cord. The flat bread, though hard and about as textured as a piece of cardboard, was bland, which was what she needed right now. The repetitive task of chewing gave her time to think, which the dragoness did in earnest. I dost not comprehend. I hast ne'er been so in malady hitherto. In truth…mayhap once, but that I reckon not, for I wert heavy with…

Following that train of thought to its end, Yahla's chewing slowed and then stopped all together, as she suddenly understood what was going on. Swallowing convulsively, she whispered to herself, "I be with child." It all made sense. When she was expecting, she was vulnerable, her power drained to support the baby. Her weakness was not some mortal illness, but a pregnancy, and her nausea…morning sickness.

"What's that, eh?" Dalindrar asked cheerfully as he approached with a bowl of soup in each hand. Lost in her own thoughts, she had not noticed him coming.

Startled, she blurted out, "I be teeming!"

"You're what?" he said, raising a brow. "What's teem?"

Yahla, having forgotten language shift briefly, rephrased her statement. "I be gestating," she explained, a hand going to touch her stomach.

"You're what?" he repeated, a bowl of soup escaping his grasp. It landed upside down on the wood floor, a puddle of broth spreading out from under it.

She briefly cursed the language barrier, trying, "I be pregnant," but he shook of her attempt.

"No, I understood that part mighty well, but…damn. Ho…who's is it, and what am I supposed to do? Don't know the least about taking care of pregnant women."

"'Tis mine husband's," she said, reaching to take the remaining bowl of soup from Dalindrar's hands before he dropped that one, too. Hard cracker in one hand and soup in the other, she continued, "He is the only one I hath e'er engaged in venery."

The dwarf coughed, and, to her surprise, blushed. His already red face turned so dark it seemed nearly purple in places. "That was a tad bit more than I wanted to know. So…that Fou-Lu feller knocked you up, eh? Didn't know gods could have kids."

"Well, I be not wise to why it is any of thy concern, but," she cleared her throat, not sure exactly how to speak of such things, "I be a goddess of fertility, in truth."

"Oh." The dwarf seemed to register the statement and his face turned colors again. "Oh!" A pause. "Is that why you don't wear any clothes?"

Yahla glared at him, indignant. Mortals and their araiments... "Nay! Clothes be a mortal concept! Dragons need it not!"

"Wonders never cease! Dragon nudists!" Dalindrar got a bowl of soup in the face for his efforts. The warm liquid ran down his chin and dripped from the tip of his nose, as he stood still in shock. "Well, guess you're feeling better. You're snippety again," he commented as he wiped soup out of his eyes

Surprised, the goddess examined herself, and found she was indeed improved. Yahla wasn't in the mood to risk it, however, so she remained lying down. Mayhap I ought be tossening soup at mortals more oft… She nibbled on her hard cracker as Dalindrar tromped off, attempting to wring the soup out of his beard.

"What will you name the babe?" Dalindrar asked as he sipped at a bowl of stew. He had washed off the soup from earlier, and now, in the evening, he sat near Yahla's bed as they had supper. It was, of course, stew and hardtack, the only supplies he had readily on hand. Isolated under a volcano, there was little opportunity to trade for better foodstuffs, and so the dwarf made do with what he could forage for or catch.

Yahla took another draught of her own meal, swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing. The salty tasty was refreshing, but she had had soup so often in the past few days that she was starting to get tired of it. "He shall be Yori, most belike." 'Tis fitting, to be giving him the name his brother ne'er lived to carry…

"What if it's a lass, not a lad?" he queried, swirling a hard cracker around in his bowl. Softened, the flat bread yielded more easily to his teeth, though it remained chewy. Hardtack was never anything less than a chore to eat.

"It be not a girl. I knowest." The dragoness smiled at Dalindrar's doubtful look. "I canst sense such things," she assured him, amused at his mortal skepticism.

"So says the lassie that didn't even realize she was pregnant till she started throwing up," the dwarf said, smirking as she hefted her bowl threateningly in his direction. "Now, now, lassie, you wouldn't be beating up on a poor oldster like myself."

She snorted derisively, but lowered the bowl of soup. "Verily, thou art not yet antediluvian. I be hundreds of years beyond thine age."

"Eh? How old are you, then?" Dalindrar probed curiously. "You don't hardly look past your mid-twenties." The dwarf, on the other hand, held the appearance of great age. His baldness and white hair added to it, and his height suggested a hunched old man, even if his muscles shattered the illusion.

Superficial countenance be illusive, ephemeral one… "'Tis full unseemly to be asking a woman her years," she replied loftily, flicking a length of hair back behind her ears. "Suffice to be saying I hast seen well o'er five centuries."

"Give or take a decade or two, eh?" he joked, trying to cover his shock with levity. It failed to disguise it. The dwarf's eyes were wide, and she was fairly certain his mouth had dropped a moment before he found his voice. Yahla hid a smile. Mortals were easily impressed by statistics.

"Giveth a decade or twain, more like," she agreed in good humor, asking out of curiosity, "And thine age?"

Dalindrar scratched the back of his head, saying finally, "I'm fifty-two." His tone was rather disgruntled, and Yahla couldn't help but rib him over it.

"Why, thou art but a babe in arms," Yahla exclaimed happily, as if pleasantly surprised. Dalindrar scowled and ducked his head as she continued. "Marvelous! I be pleased to find mine son shalt have a playmate of so close an age!"

"Argh! Stop that, lassie!" He barked, muttering as she laughed delightedly. The ringing sound echoed through the small house, cut through by his, "You have a mighty questionable sense of humor, you know that?"

The dragoness stopped laughing, the silvery resonance trailing off into a silent smirk. "What be there to question of it? Mortals are pathetically amusing creatures."

"This better be one of those 'present company excluded' type of things," the smith said darkly.

She laughed again and did not reply, instead going back to eating her soup.

Dalindrar sighed, "Why in hell do I put up with you?"

This time Yahla almost choked on her soup as she started laughing anew.