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[Sylvan Sherwood]

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The emotion-filled words shared between the young couple came precariously close to what others might call fighting--the quiet garden of Arahim's home felt, for the first time, negative tension between them.

Before the situation degraded into a shouting match, the pair managed to calm their emotions and communicate in a reasonable fashion. There were so many things pressing in on Arahim and Sylvan's world, it was no wonder that things spiraled the way they had. Soon enough, the tender feelings they shared in their private moments were at the forefront once again. The pair retired to their bedroom with what each hoped was a clear mind.

~*~*~

Sylvan sat bolt upright in the bed, a cold sweat pouring from her body, a pain unlike anything she'd ever experienced clamping around her midsection like a horrible vise. She had no idea what time it was, only that the night time hour was late; even the crickets ceased to sing their nocturnal chorus. The naked form of Arahim lay tangled beneath the bedclothes, oblivious to the sudden movement. Again came the wave of pain, and it occurred to her with a dreadful certainty that the time was nigh for their child's birth.

Mind spinning with thought overload, Sylvan whispered into the darkness, "Arahim!" A quiet, mumbled response was accompanied by a slight movement, but no more. Frightened and suddenly annoyed, Sylvan reached over and shook his arm.

It seemed he knew the reason behind her actions before he was fully awake. In moments he was up, dressed, ready to leave. In silence, they left the house and made their way to the moongate at Luna.

Even at this late hour, the streets were full of life. Merchants hawking their wares, paladins swapping stories of battle, people idling their time surrounded them as they stepped to the stone circle encompassing the gate. With a wordless nod to each other, they crossed into the portal and arrived in Ilshenar. Hurrying, they arrived at the gypsy camp where only days before they had been received by his family, and mourned the passing of his father.

Panic was threatening to overwhelm Sylvan; the pains were close together, not at all what the midwife had told her to expect. She had no idea if something was wrong, or if she had simply missed the earlier signs she'd been told of.

Immediately, at the camp, the pair were surrounded by those who were awake. Arahim spoke quietly to someone Sylvan remembered having been introduced to--a cousin of some sort. The girl nodded, and disappeared, dispatched to the duty of finding the woman who would accompany the birth.

To the graveside of Kallianos they went, and waited for the arrival of help and their child--preferably in that order. Together, beneath the stars of Ilshenar they sat upon the rough, hand woven blanket. Both were pale, quiet, frightened, but excited. There was no need to speak aloud; they understood one another perfectly. When the pain came every few minutes, Sylvan waited it out patiently and stoically, Arahim's hand closed around hers in reassurance.

It may have been moments or hours, but soon enough the girl and the midwife arrived. A tea was given to Sylvan, and it made her forget the pain--in fact, it made her almost giddy as the potent concoction coursed through her veins. Time became liquid.

When next she was fully coherent, the giddiness gone, she realized that Arahim was whispering close to her ear.

"Christopher is here, and he's beautiful," came the soft words.

Sylvan looked up at the sky, and realized it was soon going to lighten with a new day dawning; she smiled, and promptly fainted.

[Sylvan Sherwood]

---

The midwife and her attendants quickly cleaned and swaddled the newborn, proudly handing the infant who would be named Christopher to his father.

Arahim received his son, awed by his tiny perfection. Christopher seemed to stare up at his father, capturing Arahim in his forest-green gaze. In those scant moments while the women busied themselves with bringing Sylvan back around, father and son bonded. It seemed that here in this predawn hour, silent promises and expectations were exchanged between them.

The child had come into the world quietly, almost as contemplative as either of his parents could ever be. An observer would have likely had the idea that already, this babe was keenly aware of all around him. Perhaps, even, eerily so.

His son held close, Arahim knelt at the head of his own father's grave. Sylvan could see that Arahim was speaking, yet could not hear his words. She wondered briefly to whom his words were directed, which generation of the bold and strong men were being addressed by the paladin.

Knowing that all was well, Sylvan made herself as comfortable as she could given the circumstances. She did not protest the strange, alien, and varied ministrations of these dusky gypsy women, nor did she give pause and think of the bizarre chain of events over these last few days and weeks.

*~*~*

Waking from a restful nap, Sylvan blinked away the remnants of the last calming and pain relieving concoction administered by the midwife. She heard a beautiful voice, singing words to a song she'd never heard. As she listened, she felt serene and at one with herself and this strange world she was slowly coming to love. She felt complete and turned her face gratefully toward the early Ilshenar sun.

Then it occurred to her. It was the voice of Arahim, singing to his son.