"Alright, I'll be right there!" Scáthach called out, her crimson hair swishing as she hurried through the corridors of Dún Scáith. Her boots echoed against the stone floor, a stark contrast to the usual serenity of the fortress. She had been summoned by Medb, her wife, the Queen of Connacht, and she knew better than to keep the mischievous ruler waiting.
As she approached the royal chambers, she could hear the distant sound of a lute playing a jaunty tune. The music grew louder as she pushed the heavy wooden door open, revealing Medb sitting atop a velvet-covered chair, her pink hair cascading around her shoulders. "You took your sweet time," Medb said, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Scáthach rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "What's the emergency this time?" she asked, crossing her arms over her broad chest. Medb was known for her dramatic flair, especially during her pregnancy.
"I've had the most ludicrous craving," Medb announced, her golden eyes gleaming with excitement. "I want a feast fit for the gods, and I want it now!" she declared, slapping her hand on the armrest. The plump pillows fluttered in response to her sudden movement.
The warrior raised an eyebrow. "And why do the gods need to eat?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood. Medb shot her a playful glare, her belly rounding under the silk dress that struggled to contain her growing form.
"Because, my love," Medb purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "our little one inside here is demanding it. And when our child wants something, we must provide."
Scáthach chuckled, shaking her head. "Fine," she relented, "I'll send for the cook. But if it's a pineapple you're after, we might be out of luck."
Medb pouted, her bottom lip jutting out. "No pineapples? Then what's the point of having a warrior for a wife?" she joked, her hands resting on her swollen belly.
Scáthach stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Medb's shoulder. "I'll do my best," she assured, her eyes softening. "But you know how rare they are in Connacht."
Medb's expression turned sly. "Maybe we could ask one of your warrior friends to go on a quest for the perfect pineapple?"
Scáthach sighed, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "Medb, you're pushing it." But she couldn't help the smile that danced on her lips. Her wife's antics never failed to amuse her, even when they were inconvenient. "I'll see what I can do," she conceded, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Medb's golden eyes sparkled with victory. "Thank you, darling," she cooed, her hand reaching up to caress Scáthach's cheek. "And don't forget the chocolate sauce," she added, her voice taking on a mischievous lilt.
Scáthach pulled away, her smile growing into a full-fledged grin. "Chocolate sauce for a pineapple feast? Only for you, my queen," she said, her scarlet eyes twinkling. She turned to leave, the door groaning shut behind her.
In the hallway, she found one of the castle's young pages scurrying past. "Hey, lad," she called out, her deep voice resonating through the stone corridor. The boy skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with both fear and awe. "I need you to fetch the head cook for me."
The page nodded vigorously, his curly hair bobbing with the motion. "Right away, Lady Scáthach," he said, then dashed off, his sandals slapping against the floor as he sprinted away.
Scáthach leaned against the cool stone wall, rubbing her forehead with her thumb. Medb's pregnancy had been an adventure in itself, full of bizarre cravings and unexpected tantrums. But she wouldn't trade it for anything. The thought of their child brought warmth to her chest, and she straightened up, ready to tackle the next whimsical demand.
Moments later, the head cook, a burly man with a balding head and a sweaty brow, stumbled into the chamber. "What is it, Lady Scáthach?" he panted, clearly unused to such urgent summons.
"My queen has a craving," Scáthach began, trying to keep a straight face. "She requires a feast with... a pineapple. And chocolate sauce," she added, her eyes flickering with amusement.
The cook's eyes bulged, his face a mask of disbelief. "A pineapple?" he sputtered. "In Connacht? And chocolate sauce?"
Scáthach nodded solemnly. "It's for our unborn child, a prince or princess who already knows the taste of the exotic," she said, her voice as serious as a battle cry.
The cook, recognizing the glint in her eye, knew better than to argue. "As you wish," he murmured, bowing slightly before scurrying away to gather his kitchen staff for the impossible task.
Back in the royal chamber, Medb had grown restless. She was pacing back and forth, her hands on her hips, her pink hair bobbing with every step. "Where is that feast?" she complained, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Scáthach chuckled, her gaze lingering on the sway of Medb's hips. "Patience, my love," she said, her voice low and soothing. "I've sent for the cook. He's working on your divine banquet as we speak."
Medb's face softened, and she turned to Scáthach, her eyes shining. "You're the best wife ever," she said, throwing her arms around the warrior's neck.
Scáthach wrapped her arms around Medb's waist, her hands resting just above the swell of her belly. "And you," she whispered into her ear, "are the most infuriatingly adorable pregnant queen in the land."
They shared a laugh, their bodies pressed tightly together. For a brief moment, the weight of the world and the expectations of their titles fell away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the promise of the life they were about to create.
Scáthach felt a gentle kick from within Medb's belly, a reminder of the little being growing inside her. "Seems like our little one approves," she said, her hand moving to cover the spot where she felt the movement. Medb's smile grew, her cheeks flushing with joy. "Perhaps they know their mother's tastes already," she said, her voice filled with affectionate teasing.
The door to the chamber swung open again, and in bustled the cook, his apron stained with a rainbow of ingredients. "Your Royal Highness," he puffed, his chest heaving from his exertion. "We have managed to procure a pineapple. It was a... challenge, but your feast shall be served posthaste."
Medb's eyes lit up like the sun. "Oh, Scáthach, you've done it!" she squealed, jumping up and down, her hands clapping. The sudden movement sent a jolt through Scáthach, who had to steady her.
"Careful," she warned, her eyes filled with love and concern. "We wouldn't want to jostle the little one too much."
Medb giggled and took a seat, her excitement palpable. The feast was brought in, the smell of exotic fruits and sweet chocolate wafting through the air. The table was laden with a cornucopia of foods that would have made any god weep with delight. At the center of it all was the pineapple, crowned with a dollop of chocolate sauce.
They dug in, Scáthach watching with amusement as Medb's face contorted with every bite. Sometimes she'd moan with pleasure, other times she'd scrunch her nose up in distaste. Yet she ate with a fervor that could only be attributed to pregnancy. The juices of the pineapple dribbled down her chin, and she licked them away with a playful flick of her tongue, making Scáthach's heart race.
As the meal went on, the mood grew more intimate. They talked of names for their child, and Medb's hand would occasionally wander to Scáthach's crotch, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warrior felt a familiar stirring, but she pushed the thought away. There would be time for that later. For now, she was content to watch her wife indulge in her whims and enjoy the quiet moments of anticipation.
After the feast, Medb lay back on the bed, her stomach full and her eyes heavy. "I think I've had enough," she said with a contented sigh.
Scáthach leaned in to wipe the sticky residue from her face with a soft cloth. "You're going to be the most beautiful mother," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
Medb reached up to cup Scáthach's cheek, her gaze soft. "And you'll be the fiercest parent they could ever hope for," she said, her voice filled with admiration.
They kissed, the sweetness of the chocolate lingering on their lips. The kiss grew more passionate, their bodies responding despite their earlier feast. The tension grew, and Scáthach knew that soon they would give in to the desire that always simmered just below the surface.
But as she reached to remove Medb's dress, a sudden wave of nausea swept over the queen. "Maybe not right now," she murmured, her hand on her stomach.
Scáthach chuckled, pulling back. "The gods are cruel, it seems," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I can wait."
Medb rolled her eyes. "Always with the patience," she teased.
"It's what makes me such an excellent wife," Scáthach replied, her voice warm with affection. "Now, let's get you comfortable."
Together, they settled into the plush pillows, Scáthach's strong arm around Medb's waist, her hand resting protectively on her belly. They lay in the dim candlelight, feeling the gentle kicks from within, knowing that soon their lives would change forever. And as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber, they were ready for the next chapter of their lives, filled with laughter, love, and the occasional divine demand.
The following weeks brought a flurry of activity to Dún Scáith as the fortress prepared for the arrival of the child. Medb's cravings grew more elaborate by the day, and Scáthach took on the role of provider with a mix of amusement and determination. Her warrior instincts had always made her the protector and provider, but never had the battles been so... delicious.
One morning, the castle was abuzz with the latest craving: a tart made from the rarest berries in the land, picked under the full moon by virgin hands. Scáthach rolled her eyes heavenward, wondering what whimsy would come next. But she didn't hesitate, sending out a contingent of her most trusted warriors on a quest that would surely test their diplomatic skills more than their combat prowess.
While the warriors were away, Scáthach had her own battles to fight. The council of Dunn Scáith was less than thrilled with the idea of a mood-swinging, craving-prone queen. They whispered behind her back, questioning her ability to lead with a babe in her belly. But Scáthach knew better than to let their doubts affect her. Instead, she used the time to train harder, ensuring she'd be ready to protect her family and her kingdom from any external threats.
As the due date grew nearer, so did Medb's impatience. She was a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted, and the wait was driving her to distraction. Her mood swings grew more erratic, her tantrums more dramatic. But through it all, Scáthach remained a steadfast pillar of support, her love unwavering.
One evening, as the moon cast a soft glow over the land, Medb's contractions began. The castle physician was summoned, and the air grew thick with tension and excitement. Scáthach paced the floor, her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to face any challenge that came their way, be it in battle or in the delivery room.
The labor was long and arduous, with Medb's screams echoing through the castle halls. Scáthach held her hand, her scarlet eyes never leaving the queen's face, offering silent encouragement and comfort. And when finally, with a cry that could rival the fiercest warrior's battle cry, their child was born, the room was filled with a mix of relief and awe.
The babe had pink hair, a perfect blend of its mother's color and the warrior's fiery spirit. Its eyes, a deep gold, sparkled like the treasures of a conquered land. In that moment, all the challenges of the pregnancy faded away, replaced by the overwhelming love and joy that filled the room.
The castle erupted in celebration, the warrior's victory echoing through the corridors as the news spread like wildfire. The child was named Uathach, a name that whispered of darkness and danger, a nod to the shadowy side of Scáthach's nature. Yet the love in Medb's eyes was as bright as the sun, a testament to the light she brought to the child's life.
Days turned into weeks, and the cravings subsided as Medb focused her energy on their newborn. Uathach grew quickly, much to the amazement of the court, and Scáthach watched with pride as her wife's strength returned. The warrior queen found herself in uncharted territory, navigating the waters of parenthood with a mix of confidence and trepidation.
But Medb had other ideas. With the birth of Uathach, her mischief had only been temporarily tamed. Soon, she was plotting new adventures, her imagination running wild. "Why don't we throw a grand ball?" she suggested one evening, her eyes alight with excitement. "An event to rival any in the lands, to show our child that we are a family of power and joy!"
Scáthach raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that 'joy' and 'power' could often be a volatile combination in her wife's hands. But the thought of seeing Medb's face light up with excitement again was too tempting to resist. "Very well," she said with a sigh, already bracing herself for the chaos that would surely follow.
The preparations for the ball were nothing short of epic. Medb's whims were as unpredictable as the tides, and the castle staff scurried to meet her every demand. The ballroom was transformed into a sea of pink and gold, the colors of their unconventional family. Invitations were sent to kings and queens, warriors and bards, each one promising an evening of unparalleled entertainment.
As the night of the grand ball approached, Scáthach couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Medb's mood swings had been less frequent since Uathach's birth, but she knew they hadn't disappeared entirely. And with so much at stake, the potential for a royal catastrophe was high.
The evening began with a flourish of trumpets and the rustle of silk. The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of color, the guests' faces a mix of awe and apprehension. Uathach, nestled in Medb's arms, was dressed in a tiny tunic adorned with the same gold thread as their mother's gown. The baby cooed and kicked, seemingly oblivious to the grandeur around them.
Scáthach hovered nearby, her hand on the pommel of her sword, ready to step in if needed. But as the night progressed, she found herself drawn into the revelry. The bards sang songs of love and valor, and the dancers spun in a dizzying display of grace and skill. The tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a warmth that seemed to emanate from the heart of their new family.
Medb, the belle of the ball, flitted from guest to guest, her laughter a sweet melody that filled the room. And as she twirled with their child in her arms, Scáthach felt a swell of pride in her chest. Their life was anything but ordinary, but in that moment, she wouldn't have had it any other way.
The ball was a resounding success, a testament to the love and unity that now ruled Dún Scáith. And as the final notes of the night's festivities drifted away, Scáthach knew that together, she and Medb could face any challenge that came their way. For they had each other, and now, they had Uathach, a child born of love and mischief, destined to shake the very foundations of the world.