The rhythmic sounds of scratching of writing filled Keris’ room. She crossed out lines, rewrote them -- the process would loop at different intervals. She’d never expected writing a letter would be this hard, after all. It was one letter. It just, only happened to be to her blood father, a supposed E’ros. A master courtesan, if she’d heard right. This letter needed to be perfect. How else does one write to a master crafter claiming to be a blood relative and not assume that you’re looking for a handout, if not perfectly?

It wasn’t as if she did want something from him. Perhaps to meet him face-to-face, have a bit of tea? She was too pregnant to have anything more than tea with more than a modicum of caffeine in it -- and certainly not after how she’d been so sick lately. The healers had fussed, for she was in good health -- yet occasionally she would get massively sick for a few days, and bounce back, or spend a day or two unable to go far from the bed when she utterly had to. Despite not being overly large for seven months into her pregnancy, he’d been urged to mostly bed rest for the past just over a month and to take the troubled pregnancy easy as she could.

It had been more of a pain than anything, truthfully.

At least when she was floating around working, she’d been able to socialize. Now, however? She saw healers. Mostly healers stuck out to her. It was a completely lonely experience, if Keris had to be honest. Sure, healers and midwives checking in on her was nice, but. It had settled in just how alone she was at the Weyr. Her mother gone, her father no longer speaking to her -- her blood father might not even be aware of her existence. She isn’t even sure if she’s al only child or not. Yet the walls of her room often feel like they were closing in, feeling more of a tomb than shelter.

So, she’d set about to gently puttering between her bed and desk, trying in vain again, and again, to write some coherent thoughts to let her (as far as she knew) living family be aware of her. Aware he’d be a grandfather soon.

Isn’t that a hell of a scary thought.

A hand comes down to rub her swelling belly gingerly, feeling the ever-soft flutter against her hand that pulled an unbidden smile from the soon-to-be mother.

“Yeah, soon, little one. You aren’t due here for a while now.”

Yet the odd sensation in her lower back had made her worry. A pressure that came every now and again, wrapping around her pelvis. Soreness, she’d been assured. Long periods of bed rest could cause such soreness. Keris believed it -- she had no idea what it was, yet it worried her all the same…

Up on her ledge, Carica almost growled at the healer as they entered. The little queen had been acting off all day, fidgeting from ledge to ledge. Keris gently hushed the suddenly angry queen, gently rising to meet the healer -- and was unprepared for the sudden rush that hit her. The ground swam in a rush, eyesight a bit blurry as she staggered -- pain radiates down her spine as she suddenly feels soaked. The pain is white-hot, sending Keris gasping for air as there’s suddenly hands steadying her, guiding her to her bed and begin to prepare. The room feels soft, fuzzy, distant as the pain lances up her. Carica suddenly shrieked, snapping Between in a rush, eyes blinding white as the queen found solace somewhere else in the white-hot rush of emotions from her bond.

Panic is a windstorm in Keris’ ears, praying that the muddied words of “early labor” and “wrong, wrong” flood her senses as healers were suddenly in her room and around her bed. While she hadn’t been too keen during her pregnancy, her little parasite had grown on her--her child coming too early. She was alone, with no one around her. Her child might not survive. She might not survive.

For the first time in a long time, Keris was scared.

The tears fall hot and fresh as she’s coaxed to push, things would be okay. But how could they? Her baby was too early, way too early. The pain is so great that her vision wants to shut down and let her rest. Hide from the pain like she did all other pain. The hands clutching hers feel like they slip away, even though she can see them in her grasp, holding firmly. Sweat ran down her face, leaving trails to cool off her blazing face, and the petite woman near screamed as she pushed hard--and it all stopped. It was quiet, too quiet. Healers are leaving her side to check on a tiny blur she can’t really see through the tears in her eyes, while others tend to her clean up.

Yet it’s agonizing as Keris slowly comes back to herself, hearing the gentle mumbles as she’s cleaned. The healers fussing with their back turned -- and no wail to be heard.

Her child..

Where was her child…?

“Give..” The weakness in her would be embarrassing if Keris gave any sort of damn, swiping at the healer next to her, bright amber eyes dark with spent energy and the low brewing of illness. “Give me my child..”

There’s a few glances cast her way, almost apologetic. It makes her grit her teeth, ready to snap at someone as the sudden need to see her baby floods into her. Only for one to turn, a cleaned baby in his arms that’s suddenly passed to hers. “He won’t cry..”

But he was alive, and oh-so tiny. Keris gently tucked his frail form into the crook of her arm, gently hushing as his limbs shook. With a tenderness she wasn’t aware of, she tucks her newborn son up close, fingers skating along the gentle softness of his shoulders, the little bit of fuzz on top of his head. “You’re early, little one.. Just like your momma though, huh? I was never much of a listener, either…” Tears rolled afresh, gentle this time, as she took in his snuffly breathing.

He was way too early, and she was already not in good health…
But he was alive, and that was all that mattered to Keris.