A Gift Unto the King

Arrangements

Morning couldn't come soon enough. At some point in the wee-hours, Lucas had managed to doze off, but it was hardly what he would call a restful sleep. Within the few, fleeting moments of slumber he was granted, he dreamt of horrible things. Everywhere he turned in his twisted dreamscape, he was met with gut-wrenching carnage. His village burned, and blood soaked the streets. Charred and dismembered corpses were strewn about everywhere he looked, and no matter how desperately he cried out, there were no survivors there to hear him. He'd try to run away, but each time he did, his dream would loop him right back to where he started. It was like existing in his own personal hell, and the sour taste of it all lingered heavily on his mind. In all his life, he hardly remembered ever suffering from such a severe night terror. It felt so real, he almost wondered if there was something more to it.

Having been startled awake, he now sat up in bed, wrapped in his blanket, attempting to forget about the rough night he'd had. His muscles were sore, but not as sore as usual, which he appreciated, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't have morning sickness nagging him out of bed. Aside from being incredibly exhausted—and a bit traumatized from his vivid night terror—it was shaping up to be a moderately decent morning.

Unable to ignore the dryness in his mouth any longer, he slid out of bed, and fetched a cup of water. Once his thirst had been quenched, he decided to shuffle back to bed. Just before crawling in, he stopped himself. With a touch of curiosity, and an equal amount of nerves, he drew a deep breath, and slowly lifted his shirt. Pushing the waist of his pants down slightly, he inspected his lower belly. His heart skipped a beat as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. There, resting softly between his hips, was a tiny bump. Small and unassuming, but there nonetheless. Frantically, he ran his hands over it, unable to believe his eyes.

It can't be! He thought to himself as he poked at the little swell. There's no way...

Unconsciously, he sat down on the bed, his attention still fully focused on his belly. There it was, the confirmation he'd been waiting for on bated breath. No longer could he trick himself into believing it wasn't true, because it was. Resting beneath his hand was the undeniable proof of that.

The emotions competing for dominance within him left him feeling overwhelmed and conflicted. He had received the answer he'd been dreading ever since Alistair's diagnosis; and yet, it was also the answer that his heart was begging for. To have a family of his own had always been a silent dream of his, but as a knight, he'd accepted it wasn't possible. But here he was, staring down at the impossible that had taken up residence within his womb. Eventually, the shock gave way, and his eyes welled with tears.

He'd never imagined he could ever be filled with so much joy and so much fear all at once. Growing within him was a gift more precious than diamonds and gold. A gift bestowed unto him by the man he loved, but a gift he could never share with him. The child would grow up never knowing their father, and Lucas would have to accept that; but as much as that fact weighed on him, he knew he wanted the baby, even if he had to go through it alone.

Stroking his small belly with his thumb, he smiled.

"Your life may not be easy, little one," he whispered affectionately, "and I hope you'll forgive me for that someday. But the world can be a wonderful place, too... sometimes." He half laughed. "And I'd really like for you to see it."

Aoife slept clear through the night in Vin's bed, forcing him to catch what little rest he could in the solar. He didn't sleep much, though, as every time he closed his eyes, he'd see her drained, weakened body in his arms. Even though he knew she was safely recovering in his chambers, the guilt of what he had done wasn't fading, and likely never would.