I have been starved -- literally, starved -- for writing this past week. Unfortunately, when I caved and shoved life aside to write... it wasn't SaS, it was this random idea that came to me on the spot. So, here you have the first in a series of planned vignettes of Berethar as a young father. This takes place at the birth of his first child, when Berethar is 24.

Posting it here so that y'all who are dying for TJ's release can have some of my writing in the meantime. It's a nice short 870 words. Hope you enjoy. ^.^

***

Mrs. Earle puttered about the hot room, counting the rag-towels and stooping to murmur encouragement to the young mother panting on the floor, while her daughter Marianne tended the fire with capable vigor. Both women discreetly ignored the towering, broad-shouldered, male figure in the corner.

At least, reasoned Mrs. Earle, he wasn't kicking up the fuss young Mordred Kenhelm did. Twice the lad's wife had delivered now – twice! – and come the birth, he'd be fidgeting like a colt with fleas and hardly able to put two words of sense together. "Fair puts me in a muddle," she murmured, shaking her head. "A body can't think at my age with a bundle of dithery nerves not a yard away."

But Berethar Mycraí had made no sign of fuss or nerves, and so had been let to stay, though Mrs. Earle had her healthy suspicions that he was less than at ease. He had not uttered a word since their arrival, nor stirred from his rod-straight, crossed-arms stance against the wall. The only response he made to his wife's groans was that his eyes flashed away from their intent observation of the midwives, fixing on her, until one of the Earle women moved again.

If Mrs. Earle had been a less shrewd observer, she would have supposed that he cared very little for his wife, standing so severe and silent and aloof. But Alith Earle was shrewd, and furthermore very well acquainted with the varied manifestations of uncomfortable young husbands. Berethar, in her eyes, was no different from any other, and the policy was the same: act as though he were not there. Even if it were uncanny how he stood so dead still and watched her every gesture with guarded, almost jealous eyes.

The Eraharian girl's grunts of exertion were growing heavier, the straining harder. 'Twouldn't be long now. "Marianne, lass, see whether the babe-clothes are ready," she said, laying another rag down on the gritty wooden floor. She offered her own arm as a brace aganst the spasms. Short Alith Earle might be, dumpy, and none so young. But she was strong enough to assist a new youngling into the world.

And then a baby's wail was lingering on the stuffy air, and Ehla sank down spent against Marianne's ready hands. Mrs. Earle had it in her charge already, wiping it clean, tucking a blanket snug around it. "You've a son, Berethar Mycraí," she said as she settled the little one in Ehla's outstretched arms.

And Berethar moved at last. He crossed the room in two abrupt strides and bent down on a knee in front of his wife. Mrs. Earle drew back tactfully, though Marianne remained, lending her support to Ehla's tired frame.

Berethar's bearded, stern face was still unreadable. He looked older than he was, evidencing none of the joy and relief of a first-time father. His gaze searched Ehla's silently. He held out his hands in an unsure gesture.

They do say he's cold, thought Mrs. Earle. Land sakes, I'm glad I never married a man like that.

Ehla stirred the baby towards him, and Berethar accepted it. To Mrs. Earle's surprise, his touch was not clumsy or tentative like the gesture had been. "Halych," he said, directing the word to Ehla.

"Halych," Ehla repeated, her husky accent softening the last sound to a gutteral breath. "It makes a fair name."

Berethar looked down at the son in his arms, with such a look as if they were the only ones in the room; and yet there was a certain gravity to his manner as well, like a man conscious of the moment. He shifted Halych to one arm, the sure, careful hold never faltering, and drew a long knife from his belt.

The breath escaped Mrs. Earle in a slight squeak when she saw it naked and glittering in the firelight, but Berethar only worked the infant's hands tenderly loose from the blanket and closed the red, tiny fingers about the pommel. The spiraled carvings on the hilt glimmered darkly with the luster of burnished wood; the blue jewels flashed.

Berethar placed his hand firmly over both of Halych's. His voice spoke out low and measured above the newborn's whimpering. "Halych, son of Berethar, house of Hylfher, clan Mycraí."

And he passed the infant gently back to Ehla.

Mrs. Earle's opinion of Berethar had softened, and the touching ceremony of the moment had not been wholly lost on her, but the blade so close to the baby had rattled her badly. She did wish he would put it away.

But Berethar held the knife a little longer, studying it in a brooding way, his intent gaze flickering to his son and back several times. He looked neither relaxed nor ill at ease: only very much awake.

Halych was quiet for now. "Best to try and feed him shortly," Mrs. Earle advised Ehla, and having seen mother and baby comfortable in bed, departed shortly with Marianne.

When they were gone, Ehla's undemonstrative husband put a hand on her head, tilting her face back a little, and kissed her. "Llywytha, myrcùr míryona," he said. He bent and kissed Halych as well. Then he turned and softly left the house.

***

Enydhwyn translations:

Halych - Steadfast

Llywytha, myrcùr míryona - Well done, strong maiden. (myrcùr míryona is Berethar's pet name for Ehla. When in a teasing mood, he calls her dhred míryona (fair maiden) )

A/N: So there's a lot going on in this scene. I always struggle when writing anything with Berethar whether to do it from his perspective or someone else's, because Berethar is so reticent that it's practically impossible to know what's going on in his head, and yet it's important to show how other people see him as well.

Anyway, I tried to hint at each important part in some way. Mrs. Earle guesses (correctly) from her years of experience that Berethar is awkward and uncomfortable watching his wife in labor. Aside from the obvious reasons, this is also because Berethar, who has a hard time expressing love through words or touch, but prefers to show it through actions of sacrifice/service, is now bereft of any way to help his wife. He would do anything he could to assist her, but the fact is he's stuck, because he's never had a modicum of midwifely training in his life. So that's why he just stands and watches.

He also refuses to leave her, because, as a very non-trusting person, he wants to make sure the midwives don't step out of line. Although what they might do wrong is beyond me (and probably him as well) But Mrs. Earle does notice his "jealous" look.

Berethar retains some awkwardness and anxiety right after the birth. Mrs. Earle thinks he doesn't look relieved, and he isn't, really. He's thinking, "What comes next?" He's also thinking, from pretty much the moment he sees the baby, of all the years ahead and how he'll need to protect and provide for him, and it's kind of stressing him out. But it's not as though he doesn't feel love for Halych. He doesn't even have to think about loving this small human that belongs to him. Berethar's love is instant, ferocious, and completely unconditional. It doesn't come out in jubilation and hugs, but that's not Berethar's way.

Where ceremony is involved, Berethar becomes significantly more demonstrative. He feels safe releasing emotion under the banner of formality. I went omniscient at the very end so that the reader could get the full effect of this. Once the interfering visitors are gone (he doesn't want them to see him kissing his wife, boy, not even for an "occasion"), Berethar is free to act upon the solemn emotion filling him.

His use of Enydhwyn language, though, isn't a lapse, as though he were reverting to his native tongue in the height of the moment. As a matter of fact, he grew up speaking Enydhwyn, Eraharian, AND the common tongue (English) with equal fluency. It's simply the language that he feels is most appropriate to use at the moment, as it's the one that reflects his heritage and the heritage that is now descending to his son.

Then, of course, being his introverted self, he leaves to process all that emotion in a nice quiet walk outside.

You are probably all now very bored. Thank you for your time. <3