Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 28, 4586 AR (part I)

The moment alone between mother and son was interrupted by another knock on the door. Kalëni did not answer, singing on in a whisper to the sleeping baby. The door opened and Guiran came in, carrying a basket in her hands.

"It's time, my lady," she murmured, stopping by the bed. "Believe that one day you may meet again. Sarenrae will watch over you.”

Kalëni did not find the strength to respond. She overcame the intense urge to remain attached to the baby and extended him to her personal servant. She shuddered when Guiran held him, when she did not feel the light weight in her hands. Her arms remained extended for three long seconds, before they were bended against her chest, embracing an invisible presence that was emptying.

Guiran nested the baby in the basket, making sure he was tightly covered, and, beside him, left a small message and a leather bag.

Kalëni watched them leave, her eyes filling with tears. When the door closed, an excruciating pain filled her chest. She folded herself and wept until she had no more tears, until she felt empty.

*

The city's strongest lights had not yet come to life, to simulate the day in the underground city. Guiran strode along the empty streets. A scarf hid her dark hair and part of her dark features. She did not want to take the risk that some early morning passer-by might recognize her.

She stopped in front of a building carved out of the inside of the mountain, like so many others. It was tall and austere, like a mixture of church and asylum. The wide wooden doors were closed. She looked from side to side, making sure there was no one around, before climbing up the three front steps that led to the entrance of the orphanage. She set the basket down. Despite the cold, the little boy did not wake up.

"May the gods protect you," she murmured, with a regretful wish.

Then she stepped away, not daring to look back, so repentance wouldn’t overcome duty.

It had been over an hour. The lights that mimicked the day unfolded, illuminating the streets and awakening the inhabitants. Inside the basket, Ayalal shifted and shrank in the cold, without waking.

After the first early morning activities, one of the doors of the building opened inward. At the entrance, a young woman still in her teens, frowned when she saw what was waiting for her. She approached cautiously, as if the basket might be trapped, and peeked inside.

"He's dead," she murmured to herself as she stared at the pallor of the newborn’s cheeks. She put a hand to his face, feeling the coldness of his skin. As if by reflex, the little child sneezed.

The girl jumped and pulled back her hand immediately. She took a deep breath. He was not dead after all. But she shouldn’t dally. She hurried to pick up the basket and ran inside. Her voice rose in the corridor, distressed, as she headed for the kitchen.

“I found a baby!”

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4586 AR (part II)

Tiredness eventually overcame Kalëni, forcing her to finally fall asleep. When she woke up, the night had taken over the town. She was startled for a second, feeling, at the same time, her whole body aching for the sudden tension. However, she relaxed as she noticed the baby's presence beside the pillow. He had a little finger in his mouth, which he was sucking, and he was looking at her. She brought her face close to his, smiling.

"Good evening, little one," she murmured. His eyes were the same as his father's. At first glance, and in the dim light, they looked blue. But they were in fact a light shade of violet.

Ayalal seemed to be watching her with curiosity and, slowly, took the finger out of his mouth, holding out a small hand toward her in a somewhat vague movement. Kalëni brought her face close, letting his hand touch her, exploring her cheeks and lips. She kissed the little palm, making it withdraw a little, while the little boy gave an exclamation, perhaps in surprise.

Without getting up, she took the newborn and nestled him on her chest.

"Are babies always so quiet?" she wondered, surprised at the lack of crying. The midwife had washed the little boy, while Kalëni was asleep. Was it possible he had cried and she hadn’t noticed?

She offered to him one of her black tresses, letting him play a little. He examined it, extending his other hand to it.

"Aren’t you hungry, Ay?" she murmured, as the baby entertained himself. He did not look like it. Babies cried when they were hungry, right? The woman was not sure.

She held her breath for a moment and sat down, leaning against the headboard. Then, she tried to breastfeed him. At first, the baby drooled, trying to figure out what was happening, but slowly began to suckle.

Kalëni was staring at him, a sweet smile on her lips, when someone knocked on the door. She looked up as it pushed, and a woman, not the midwife, peered at her.

"Lady Kalëni, I am glad to see you awake and well," she said, giving her a sincere nod.

She smiled at her, still nursing the baby.

"Come to see him, Guiran," she murmured. “He's so sweet...”

The woman hesitated, before entering and closing the door behind her. She approached the bed and peered at the little baby.

"Yes, no doubt, my lady. But you can not be fond of him," she reminded her. "He will not be yours."

The happiness vanished from Kalëni's face. For a moment she had forgotten why she had traveled in secret to a city as remote as that one, in the mountains. She had forgotten why she had come in anonymity, like a criminal in disguise, three days earlier.

"He will always be mine, wherever I am," she whispered, unable to contain the tears. "He came from me, he is my son, even though he may never know.”

The baby stopped nursing and looked up, somewhat disturbed by the realization that something had changed, perhaps in the heartbeat of the mother, or in the voice that now was trembling.

"Yes, my lady," murmured Guiran. "Before dawn, I will deliver him to the orphanage of the city. We'll have to leave in the morning, and no one can know he's yours.

Kalëni was silent for a moment.

"Get out," she said in a forced tone. “Get out, Guiran”.

The woman bowed slightly, uncomfortable with all that, and hurried out. Before closing the door, a "I’m very sorry" still reached the young woman, ripping from her a sob of pain.

Ayalal let out a kind of protest and extended both of his pale arms to her, as if recognizing her pain. Kalëni embraced him and, for the little child, regained control of her emotions. Sweetly, she began singing an old lullaby in Elven. By the light of the fireplace, the melody accompanied mother and son, as the hours coursed through the night.

Monastery of the Seven Forms, Calistril 27, 4586 AR (part I)

"Take a deep breath, my lady. Now, push”.

She gasped and squirmed. Pallor had taken her face, while the beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and slid down to the chin, mingling with tears on the way. She closed her eyes and wrung the hands on the sheets before obeying the midwife.

An immense wave of pain went through her body, ripping out a muffled scream. She felt something between her legs, and it did not seem to be the midwife's hands.

"Once more, do not stop now. Courage!”

With difficulty, she took another deep breath. It was as if someone was stealing the air from her and, with it, the little energy she had left.

This time the scream was less controlled, as the whole body contracted with strenght she thought no longer existed in herself. And, finally, something slid from within her.

Leaning on trembling elbows, resisting lying down on the back on the bed, she tried to see over the bent knees. Someone had put a cloth on them, which prevented her from looking between the legs. The midwife took a pair of scissors and cut something.

“My ... my baby?” she murmured. The tone was weak, imploring. “How… how is it?”

The midwife looked up.

"Lady Kalëni, now you can rest ..."

“My baby?!” She let out a sob, staring at her almost desperately. That was the emotion which still held her in that position, expectant and, at the same time, fearful.

The other woman did not respond right away, returning to what she was doing. Kalëni wanted to get up and take the child in her arms, she wanted to see them, to feel them, to hug them before it becomes impossible. However, she felt that if she moved much more, the body would not hold. Even her sight was starting to falter, swaying between the clear and hazy. In fact, she was not even sure she could keep herself alive.

After a few minutes, she saw the midwife smile a little, with a faint relief softening her expression.

"He's a boy and he's alive," she said, picking up a small being and wrapping it in a woolen shawl. The winter chill got inside through the cracks of the underground city, trying to freeze the houses. Not far from the bed, a hearth tried to fight it while lighting up part of the room.

When the little one was taken to her side, the young woman peered at him, with a craving tightening on her chest. Despite the blood that still stained him, the little face, with closed eyes, was extremely pale. She could see the hesitation of the midwife now. In another child, he might have been confused with a dead body. A few strands of black hair appeared on his head, and his ears with pointed ends were the same as her own. A little half-elf ... her little half-elf.

She smiled and dropped back. She inhaled and breathed out. Her eyelids threatened to close, but she did not allow them to do so. Not yet. Kalëni stretched out her shaking arms and, with great care, took the child, pressing it to her chest. She bit her lower lip, preventing it from trembling. The baby was serene, breathing lightly, and she would not disturb him with her own crying or the sorrow that undermined her chest. He deserved more than that. She let a finger slide down his cheek, in a tender touch. His soft skin offered a strange coldness, possibly inherited from his father.

"My little Ayalal," she murmured, offering him a kiss on the forehead.