RP:Welcome Prince Guillem Jauzon

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Part of the Vakmatharas' Jar Arc

Summary: A curse has swept over Larket which makes the unborn grow far too fast in their mothers' wombs. Four women have died giving birth to newborns who are as big as 6 months old. Three infants have died. Only one mother has survived, and Josleen fears her own belly is growing too rapidly. The Fort Doctor tells her she has nothing to worry about, but the King and Queen hire a witchy midwife named Matilda for a second opinion. Matilda realizes the child is fully developed and insists they induce labor now, 5 months early. Matilda was right, and Josleen gives birth to a healthy baby boy, Prince Guillem Jauzon, named after a Larketian hero that Macon is partial too because as legend has it, Guillem once punched Hind in the face.

King and Queen's Chambers, Fort Freedom

The discovery of a curse that has claimed four pregnant Larketian women’s lives has been accompanied by a sweeping panic that has possessed every pregnant woman in Larket, and has not spared the Queen. Two newborns in the span of weeks have grown to the size of 6 month olds, already sitting up on their own, grasping spoons, and chewing on teething rings as their first teeth wiggle out of their weeks old gums. Since news of the second case broke, Josleen has not been able to shake the feeling that her stomach is too large, her baby too strong. Doctor Julius assured her that they have no reason to believe that this curse breached the castle. Indeed, the woman affected so far are from the southern and western quadrants, frequent the same market (but so does near everyone in Larket), the same restaurants (ditto), and two women even shared a doctor. ‘Neo-natal heebie jeebies,’ he jokes. ‘The same as seeing ants and then feeling them crawl on your skin.’ She hated him for that comment, and the condescending tone with which he said it. Noticing her expression, he said more gently, ‘This is your first pregnancy, Your Majesty. You have no way of knowing what is normal and what is not.’ He also warned her that stress and hysteria are detrimental to the baby and that she should take up meditative and calming hobbies. So the bard picked up the violin again, but found little comfort in the haunting notes and minor chords that come to her, their mournful melodies straying from what Dr. Julius had in mind. She has slept little and lightly, and this morning when she woke she swore her stomach had grown five inches in circumference overnight. She didn’t tell the King so as to not alarm him yet--he’s alarmed enough as it is. Instead, after breakfast, she visited Dr. Julius again and told him of her concerns. Again he dismissed her concerns as paranoia and new mother anxiety. Frustrated, she returned to her room to wait for the King to come in for his post-training bath. First she read her book, but the words would not stick in her head. Then she tried playing a card game with Floria, but failed to keep track of cards and grew frustrated. Lastly she picked up her violin and practiced a somber piece she’s been favoring of late.

Macon felt ants crawling on his skin after that comment from the doctor, assuming that he was there for that emergency checkup prompted by the multiple reports of pregnancies falling into peril. He is in disagreement with the calm, unconcerned, and patient approach of Dr. Julius and would prefer that every precaution be taken were the decision left up to him, though he is uncertain of what those precautions would be. The Rage Knight’s main concern is with his pregnant wife above the health of their unborn child, who isn't quite real to him just yet. So it is for the best (in terms of panic level) that Josleen's perceived belly growth is kept to herself. Anxiety like this makes for good training sessions, in the opinion of the King, who likens them to the ones during the conflict with Frostmaw. So he is sweaty, winded and bruised when he returns, shedding his armor, hanging up the Rage Axe and preparing for that bath to the tune of the queen's somewhat dreary song.

Josleen finishes the movement when her husband walks in and puts her violin away as he shrugs out of his armor. The bath has already been drawn for him, and Josleen drops in the warm water a masculine-smelling bath salts that she bought many months ago, and which only see use when she stealth bombs them into the tub before the King steps in. Not wanting to bombard him with her anxieties so soon before he’s had a chance to relax, she starts with small talk (“How was training?” “That’s a nasty bruise. I hope you gave Cal a bigger one.”) but her faraway tone and nervous hovering near the edge of the tub, like a hummingbird positioning itself before a flower to extract what it really wants, give her away. Finally she gets to it, when Macon is mid-sentence. “I’m really worried.”

Macon lets on that the anxiety boosted training went well, and that Cal ended up with a bloody nose as the counterpart to the bruise she points at. He doesn't give news of the latter proudly, as injuries like the two in question are not the desired result of the exercise sessions and are most often the result of one or both of the participants making a mistake. He notices the bath salts eventually after the questioning is well underway, but says nothing. She tells him she's worried and he takes a hand out of the water to lay it over one of hers, likely on the edge of the tub giving how closely she hovers. He is definitely worried too, maybe just as much as she is, but he is skilled at playing his calm role when needed for her sake. “The doctor says there is no reason t’worry.” Obviously they've selected the best physician in the field, but when he disagrees with the advice being given he has no issue suggesting that “We can bring in someone else t’look at you,” in an attempt to ease her concerns.

Josleen sits on the edge of the tub and interlaces her fingers with Macon’s. When Macon repeats Dr. Julius’s concerns, she pulls an exasperated face, as if she’s had enough of Dr. Julius and his patronizing reassurances. “Yes,” she says to his suggestion. “I want to bring in a midwife, someone who has been alongside women at every stage and has been pregnant herself. I should have done this sooner.” She shakes her head as she recalls how Dr. Julius said many midwives are uncredentialed hacks, not as skilled as a learned doctor like himself. She buries her face against her free hand, breathing deeply to keep the panic at bay. Has she waited too long? Would her choice to not hire a midwife prove to be a fatal mistake? She exhales jaggedly. "I wish Muzo were here. This is the worst timing for his research mission." [Unbeknownst to the King and Queen of Larket, Muzo's researching Reginae's undergarments.] “I just know something is wrong.” She pulls her dress tightly over her belly so Macon can clearly see its outline. “It’s growing too fast. And the baby feels too strong. When it kicks, it knocks the breath out of me. I’ve only ever heard of that in women who were much further along than I am.” Her words speed up breathlessly. “Dr. Julius treats me like a hypochondriac, like I am making myself short of breath. I am not. This all feels wrong. Gods, and if it is as I fear?” She pulls her hand from his and teepees both hands over her nose and mouth, swallowing hard against the nausea that rises.

Macon nods, “Then tha’ is wha’ we will do. Send for one immediately.” The typical Jauzonian impatience applies doubly to anything concerning the Queen’s well being, so much so that it is almost a wonder that he isn't shouting for a midwife to be sent for right this second. Despite them butting heads (literally) during their last encounter, the King is in agreement that it is a shame that Muzo is away tending to his snake queen, or doing research or whatever. The Rage Knight looks down at the belly being accentuated and can't help but smirk slightly at the possibility that Josleen is overreacting per Dr. Julius and that his baby is simply the strongest ever. You shouldn't smirk at your wife getting the wind kicked out off her, but technically that is what he does here. He didn't want her to stress unnecessarily, or even out of necessity, so he gives one more reassurance that “We will make sure there is nothin’ wrong.”

Josleen misses Macon’s smirk, too consumed with the worst case scenarios playing through her mind. She nods at his reassurances without believing them. Something is wrong, she can feel it. The next day at breakfast the King and Queen learn that a sixth woman in Larket has given birth prematurely by three months, and yet the child is far too large. During the birth the woman bled excessively, and is now in critical care. The child survived, but it’s unclear if the mother will last the day. The panic is also spreading. A young family fled the city. Some blame witches and a coven’s meeting room was vandalized, though no one was harmed--yet. The midwife arrives after noon and Josleen sends for Macon so he may be present while the midwife examines her. The queen lies back on her chaise in a thin gauzy dress that opens vertically over her belly. The midwife, Matilda, rubs oils on the belly that today, even to Macon who is not versed in pregnancy, looks ready to pop, 5 months too early. Matilda, who calls herself a ‘midwife and natural healer’ to avoid calling herself a ‘witch’ to survive in a witch-hostile Larket, kneads into Josleen’s belly. “The belly is bigger than usual, but there can be many causes of this. The most common is miscalculation of the conception date.” Matilda glances between Macon and Josleen to confirm that they are sure of when they conceived. “Could be twins, or unusual abdominal muscle parting,” she smooths her hands down the front of Josleen’s belly, “But, no, it isn’t that. In rare cases there may be dangerous swelling and fluid in the womb which, if caught early, can be treated effectively. What concerns me is that you say when the baby kicks you feel out of breath?” Matilda frowns at that and smooths her hands along Josleen’s sides and just beneath her rib cage. Matilda’s eyes suddenly widen, the hairs on her arms stand, her skin goosebumps. “...Are you absolutely sure of the conception date?” Her alarmed look bounces between Macon and Josleen. Then to Josleen, “You aren’t experiencing any contractions?” Josleen shakes her head and Matilda wrings her own hands and licks her lips anxiously. She then searches Josleen’s belly again and provokes the baby to kick. Macon can see the little foot kick up under Josleen’s ribs. The Queen hisses sharply in pain, takes a moment to catch her breath. Matilda looks to Macon, “Your Majesty...the baby needs to come out now.”

Macon, with the latest instance of early birth endangering the mother, has become anxious, and has trouble not letting it show while they wait for the midwife. Perhaps more vetting would have prevented this witch from being permitted into the castle to examine Josleen, but there simply wasn't time for the usual due diligence in this case. The King is fairly certain that they are not five months off on the conception date, what with how closely their efforts were being monitored in order to defeat the half-elf curse. The prospect of undiscovered twins or some other complication is also not given much thought by The Fury Knight given that Dr. Julius has been monitoring the pregnancy fairly closely. So he doesn't allow himself to get excited for anything of that nature. Then the midwife/witch dismisses those possibilities as well and starts to become alarmed, culminating with an announcement that Macon cannot quite believe he heard correctly. Slate eyes widen, “Wha..? Wha’ do you mean?” He stares at Josleen for a moment panicking perhaps slightly less than she is right now after hearing that the baby must be delivered now. He looks behind him for help and finds none, “Send for Dr. Julius!” he growls loudly to anyone within earshot. “‘Ow?! Why?!” he demands of Matilda in his frantic effort to understand what is happening.

Josleen motions for Macon to come closer and take her hand. Her panic manifests as silence at first, heavy breathing, acute stress that constricts her body from feet to crown. Matilda explains to Macon as patiently as possible that the baby is fully developed and has flipped much earlier than is typical, in units of months. That’s why he the baby kicks Josleen beneath the ribs and sends the breath out of her lungs. The rapid development is consistent with this strange new curse, and if they wait any longer, at the clip the belly has grown in just two days, by tomorrow, inducing labor may be far too dangerous for the Queen. She may die in childbirth if the baby, who is now on the larger end of the normal range, continues to grow at such a rapid pace. By tomorrow, they would have to cut the Queen’s stomach to pull the baby, which is far riskier than inducing labor right now. Labor can be induced with an herbal chew that, if the Fort keeps the herbal stocks fresh, she could go brew right now. Floria, hearing the King’s shouting, arrives and is told to go fetch Dr. Julius. As they wait for the doctor, Josleen looks to Macon for his calm and finds none. This situation exceeds their experience and knowledge. “Macon, I feel she is right. I feel it. The baby is too big. We should do as she says.” Do as the witch says.

Macon grits his teeth, fights a frown and loses, and looks somewhat determinedly at the midwife after Josleen says to believe her. “Do it.” He squeezes his wife's hand back, assuming that she squeezes it in pain or fear at some point. “You'll be alrigh’,” he promises without much conviction. The herbs and Dr. Julius arrive simultaneously, ready to chew and ready to chew out respectively. “What is the meaning of this!?” the physician snaps in the direction of Matilda and any other non-royals present. “Your Majesty,” he begins, unclear as to which of the monarchs he is speaking to as he looks between them for whichever of them will listen, “I promise if you do this you will lose the child and put the queen in danger unnecessarily.” The witch growls while Macon looks between her and the doctor unsure of which one to listen to. “Look, you moron!” Matilda snatches the doctor's wrist and pushes his hand against Josleen, just below the ribs. Once again the situation causes a pair of eyes to widen, “How is-...” The initial shock disappears extremely quickly and Dr. Julius is back in his expert element, barking orders for everything he needs to make this delivery happen now to everyone, including Matilda, “Administer the herbs now.” Macon is stuck in a whirlwind of bodies and birthing accouterments with Josleen at the center of it all, “You'll be alrigh’,” he repeats, a command this time.

Josleen is overwhelmed. Everything has come so quickly. She was looking forward to enjoying nine months of pregnancy, bonding with the baby, preparing for its arrival, and now the day has come five months too early and she’s terrified and wholly unprepared for the baby and for what will happen to her body imminently. She chokes down tears and a whimper. Matilda, despite being a witch in Larket with plenty of reason to hate the royals, sits alongside Josleen on the chaise and reassures her, holds her hand, strokes her arm soothingly. The witch admits that this early in the pregnancy, there is a chance the herbs will not properly induce pregnancy, but even so, the side effects are minimal, just nausea, maybe vomitting. If labor is not induced, they’ll move on to plan B, but let’s not think of that yet. This is the best course of action to take. She explains what will happen next. Matilda will go prepare the chew. After about 20 minutes, the Queen should start to feel contractions and then it’s a matter of time--could be done quickly, could take hours. The midwife repeats that Josleen is making the best decision for her child and herself, and this seems to calm Josleen enough to speak and give Matilda the go-ahead. The witch already had permission from Macon, but King or not, the midwife is loyal to the mother and takes her cues from Josleen. Matilda leaves Josleen’s side to prepare the chew and Josleen gestures for Macon to come closer and hold her. She asks Floria, “Send word to my mother.” Then as an afterthought, “And the king’s.” Matilda gives Josleen the chew and, knowing that she has some time before she’ll feel any contractions, she says. “Can I have a moment alone with the King?” The room clears and Josleen immediately presses against Macon, buries her face against his body and weeps. She’s too distraught to form any words. This isn’t how she expected her delivery to go. It’s too soon, too tainted by an evil curse of origins unknown, too dangerous. Why does this keep happening to them? But she can’t speak those words. She doesn’t have to. He knows. She just weeps.

Macon has had his time to panic and not be the Hard Larketian Stone that Josleen should expect him to be when she needs him to be. Now that decisions have been made and things are all but out of his hands, he has returned to to being the harshly composed king that she knows him to be. He holds her close in the somewhat awkward position they are in with her lying down and him standing, and glares out at nothing, through the walls of the fort, visualizing the witches that he -knows- are behind this curse. Sven help them if anything happens to the Queen or the baby. Sven help them regardless of what happens now. A pulse of the Rage Aura goes out, the first noticeable one since the king of Larket was restored by Muzo this time around, and he holds Josleen silently for as long as she or the contractions and baby deliverers will allow.

Macon’s rage resonates in his also-infected Queen, and the also-infected heir inside her. The baby kicks his mother twice, and hard. Josleen hisses, and her own rage transforms her grief into something more pointed and lethal. “Whoever did this to us--all of us, the other mothers too--must die,” she says softly, even impotently as she is in no position to get any revenge, and even if she could, no way of knowing on who. Her fear, sadness, and anger exhaust her before she’s even suffered the first contraction. The bump of rage helps her compose herself enough to suck it up, sniffle, and scoot down so that Macon can sit on the end of the chaise. Her enormous belly demands most of the daybed and limits the number of positions she can take. So she ends up on her side with her head in Macon’s lap. Nonetheless, she wants him close, his strength a resource she can tap into when her own fails her. “I’m so scared,” she says at last. Josleen doesn’t speak the terrifying ratios: four of the six women, dead; one of six, critical. “Will you be in the room when the baby comes, or will you wait outside?” In Josleen’s mind, her delivery was going to be traditional and perfect. As she imagined it, Macon would pace in the hall outside the bedroom door, waiting for the good news, but shielded from the animal pain, writhing, and grimacing of his wife, protected from seeing her body split open and spill and thereby the illusion of herself as an effortlessly perfect doll would remain intact. That illusion was disrupted once already in Muzo’s laboratory when the Queen went under the knife, and scared for her life, preferred to have Macon present rather than shield him from confronting the viscera of her body. Now, once again scared, she’s ready to compromise on her perfect vision of what her delivery should be like and grapple with the (yet again) bleak hand dealt to her.

Macon could not agree with Josleen more. The ones that have done this to her, to their family, and to all Larketians, are their enemies and deserve no mercy from the Hard City. As much as he hates them right now however, they are his secondary concern, and she is his first far and away. He slides into the position that the queen makes room for him to slide into, though if she is on her side then this won't be where he will stay exactly when the time comes for the delivery. In that perfect birthing vision that the royals perhaps shared without knowing it, Macon has no need to be present. The best of the best surround Josleen and there are no complications. Everything goes as scripted and none in the royal family have any fear to speak of, except of course Augusta whose pipe dreams of a royal divorce are heavily impacted with a baby now solidifying the family. In this situation though, leaving Josleen to face this alone is out of the question so he tells her, “I'll be ‘ere,” as calmly as he can while smoothing the hair at the top of her head, playing the rare role of comforting Rage Knight.

Josleen nods in his lap and sniffles again, though she’s no longer crying. Jessa lets herself in without knocking, a rare slip of decorum borne out of maternal panic. “Oh, Jos,” she cries as she races to the daybed and awkwardly embraces her only child, kissing Josleen’s temple then squeezing her hands as she pulls away. “You’ll be alright, sweetie.” Another peck for Josleen, then Jessa turns to Macon and warmly embraces him too, a rare tender moment between the King and his mother-in-law. Jessa has never fully let down her guard around Macon, but the circumstances trump any suspicions she harbors. Besides, seeing Macon sits with her daughter’s head in his lap, comforting Josleen, has thawed some of the ice in Jessa’s esteem of him, and she knows he is worried even if he can’t show it due to his hard persona. She says to him as she hugs him, “Don’t worry, everything will turn out alright.” She then sits on the floor beside the bed and holds Josleen’s hand. “I asked a courier to send word to your father.” “...You did? Are you sure? I know you’re still hurt…” Jessa shakes her head and smiles kindly. “He’s your father.” Not long after, Josleen winces and hisses. “I felt a contraction, I think.” How could she know? It’s her first child. “I’ll fetch the midwife,” Jessa says. Matilda and Dr. Julius take turns timing the contractions. Matilda asks Josleen to walk around the room, which Dr. Julius questions and second guesses, but Matilda insists. Jessa says she paced back and forth until she was crowning. It hurt, but helped, and Matilda nods. Josleen listens to her mother and the other woman in the room as the authorities on birthing. Nonetheless, Macon may be surprised by how long this is taking. In fact, Augusta has plenty of time to change into mourning clothes for the occasion, and hop a carriage across town and join the family before Josleen’s incapacitated by pain.

Macon is somewhat surprised by Jessa’s show of affection towards him, but makes no show of that surprise, maintaining the hard persona that she is currently seeing through. The King has long been aware of his mother’s ‘spies’ inside Fort Freedom and has alerted Josleen to them as well. Allowing them to exist within the staff to leak fort minutiae to Augusta Jauzon is no skin off of his back. Because they exist, there is little need to send for his mother as she is aware of the situation before perhaps anyone outside of the fort. She arrives (in that mourning attire) while Josleen is pacing around, to the sight of a slightly frustrated Dr. Julius, who has been shown up once on the order for inducing labor, and overruled on this pacing. Augusta can't even get through her greetings to her son and Jessa before she calls out, “Josleen, dear, you should really swing your arms more naturally… and turn right once in awhile. You don't want the baby to come out lopsided.”

Josleen's breathing becomes more labored as the contractions intensify in pain and frequency. She tunes out Augusta, which is easier to do than usual as her body prepares itself for labor. She’s distracted by a slew of new sensations she’s experiencing for the first time in her life. Again, Macon may be surprised by how long this is taking. Josleen’s water breaks, and still Matilda isn’t seating her for the birth! Maybe if Macon had read the fatherhood books Josleen bought for him he would be less surprised by the fact another hour comes and goes and Josleen, though in pain, keeps moving. Finally Matilda prepares an array of blankets and firm pillows on the area rug for Josleen to seat herself, explaining that the firmness of the ground will help her push. She flips a dresser so that its smooth back will provide a headboard for Josleen, with a pillow for comfort. Dr. Julius protests that this is undignified for a Queen, but Josleen sides with Matilda again. Childbirth strips women of their ranks anyway, makes them all animal. (Also, why ruin a perfectly good and expensive chaise or bed? Not that Josleen is thinking of that now.) Josleen asks Macon to sits beside her and hold her hand, but please do not look back at the mess that will happen down -there-. Jessa sits opposite to Macon and takes Josleen’s other hand. At last it is time to start pushing. Matilda’s bedside manners are impeccable as she helps Josleen breathe, push, and pace herself. The Queen screams with each push, her face purpling from the effort. She sweats profusely, forgets to breathe in places until reminded, and clamps down on Macon’s fingers with an unyielding vice grip. Jessa winces as she suffers the same, but does not withdraw her hand. Despite Josleen’s fears and sadness hours ago, in the moment of delivery she’s completely absorbed in the effort, her face determined. She doesn’t panic or give up, but pushes through the pain boldly, even impatiently. Matilda announces the baby is crowning, almost here, keep pushing. The baby screams, it’s powerful little lungs proving it’s of strong, royal stock. “A boy,” Matilda announces as she places the ruddy, wrinkled newborn in Josleen’s arms. The baby screams its hello to the new world, perfectly formed, and of a hefty-but-not-abnormal size for a newborn, proving Matilda was right to induce labor now. He has a brown head of hair like his father, and eventually opens slate gray eyes, only to close them again for a second (very) loud bought of fussing. For Josleen, all the terror, anger, and pain of the past few hours evaporate. She can’t stop smiling down at her son, and intermittently at Macon, Jessa, and once even to Augusta. Grandma Jessa doesn’t impose on Josleen and Macon, giving the new parents all the time they need to coddle the baby. There’s a reverent hush in the room. Matilda and Dr. Julius quietly clean up what they must (cord and all), congratulate the parents and excuse themselve. They’ll be just outside, if needed. Josleen kisses the top of the baby’s head then lifts her nose to nuzzle it along the underside of Macon’s chin. What an intense sequence of extremes, from fear to rage to pain to bliss.

Macon agrees with Dr. Julius in this case that delivering on the floor is not befitting a queen, but he isn't about to argue that point for the physician that is being undermined left and right now. (Can't ruin a bed, but ruining a rug is fine?) It is hard to imagine an amount of gold that could be offered to Macon right now that is large enough for him to want to look down there at that ‘mess’ right now. So he takes his seat on the floor, back against the wide dresser, with his legs out in front of him, so that he is to the side of and above Josleen when she takes his hand. There's shouting and hand squeezing that threatens to break his fingers, but doesn't because they are Hard Larketian Stone™, and Macon doesn't really know what to do with himself, or even where to look really. He can only look at Josleen, screaming and purple, for so long at any one time, and Jessa on the opposite side of the Queen is only good for mutually sympathetic, wide eyed glances every once in awhile. So he kind of just sits there, backseat coaching, repeating some of the commands the midwife and doctor are giving and adding some spotty words of encouragement that come out in mild roars like ‘almost there’ while having no knowledge if that is true or not. When all is said and done he is sweating slightly less than his wife, and sitting in wide-eyed silent wonder at his very early newborn, inkling of a grin tugging at his open mouth. At the back of his mind, fury towards the witches that caused this early birth is dormant, just for now.

Grandmas take turns fussing over the baby, even Augusta is reduced to baby gibberish for such is the power of newborns. “You’re a handsome little guy, just like your father,” she coos. Jessa pulls a face at Josleen, amused by Augusta’s baby voice. As the grandmas take turns carrying the baby, Josleen kisses Macon and whispers that she loves him. The new mother loses track of time. Somewhere in there she nurses the baby for the first time, and he is sponge bathed, and she bathes and settles back into bed with him. In the wee hours Kyl’oriel arrives, greets Macon, Josleen, Augusta and the baby warmly, and lastly Jessa, his hello achingly croaked, the man still very much in love but stubbornly refusing to back down from his idiotic, prideful plot. Eventually Kyl’oriel is given a guest room, Augusta goes home, Jessa returns to hers and the new parents are left alone. Josleen lies on her side with the tiny baby between herself and her husband, unable to keep her hands off the infant. “You came so early we still don’t have a name,” she coos. There’s been a lot of cooing. Even Kyl’oriel, an elf, mumbled in baby voice, “Welcome, little one. And your little button nose.” Gigi whimpered something like a coo. It’s a disease. She smiles at Macon. “What do you think of George? After your brother?”

Macon loves his wife possibly more than ever and tells her as much, just not in as many words, of course. When Kyl’oriel arrives he greets his father in law coldly in triumph. Josleen has had a baby, extending Kyl’oriel’s genetic legacy, which was previously thought to be impossible outside of the methods the mage is pursuing. If ever there were a time that he could gracefully back out of his idiotic scheme, this was it, but the King of Larket will not let that happen without extracting a sense of victory for himself (and maybe Josleen), which might be a deterrent for the elf and his pride in and of itself. The Rage Knight changes and bathes last, waiting to watch over everyone who takes a turn carrying his baby with his usual severe, scrutinizing presence, before he can leave the newborn with just Josleen after everyone else has left. When it comes to names, he has secretly kept ‘George’ in his back pocket to honor his late brother and he can't help but smile warmly and feel that usual twinge of pain when George Jauzon is brought to mind. He knows Augusta would love this choice of a name, and the look he gives his wife thanks her for the sentimental suggestion, but he shakes his head. Now that the time has come, he can't pull the trigger on this homage to his brother. He doesn't want his son to be a reminder of this loss and pain. “I don't…” he pauses to think, very rare for the king, and then doesn't even finish his thought, moving onto his own suggestion, “Wha’ about Guillem? The Larketian ‘ero.” There is a tale of him punching Hind in the face that obviously Josleen has heard before.

Josleen and Macon will soon, in a few days, come to learn that Kyl’oriel, while proud of Josleen and happy to be a grandfather to her child, does not regard her child as a proper legacy. He is not fully elven. This revelation will wound Josleen more deeply than she will be able put into words. But for now, blissfully unaware of that imminent disappointment, Josleen tries out the name Guillem. She repeats it twice then smiles and nods. “I like it. A name befitting a Prince. Guillem,” she repeats to the child. She leans across the child to kiss Macon again then lie back and just stare at baby Guillem until sleep takes her. Don’t worry, the parents will be woken up soon enough by baby Guillem.