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Abnur Tharn had prepped everything for the young Altmer, Lansaska, in one of his private homes that wasn't located in Cyrodiil. It was actually somewhere in Auridon, hidden from the public eye. Even his own bed was used to give the high elf his comfort while he was in labor. The sacrifices he was willing to make for a mer that he almost considered as his own son.
He pushed the door open to his room quietly and observed Lansaska thrashing about on the bed. The elf's water had broken hours ago while he had been outside helping Tharn clean fish for dinner. Lansaska had stood abruptly from his duty of cleaning the scales off their meal, startling Tharn in the process when liquid gushed down the back of his legs, soaking his breeches and the ground at this feet. Lansaska merely had to look at Abnur in distress and the Imperial was helping him to the bed.
There was a knock at the front door and Tharn quickly went to open it. “About time,” he greeted irritably. “I have an Altmer screaming and bleeding in my bed.”
The female Khajit quirked an eyebrow at the Grand Chancellor, unfazed by his brisk speech. “It was not easy finding your place, yes?” She hissed before brushing past him and into the bedroom. She stood at the foot of the bed, trying not to gawk at the sight before her. Not only was it a male Altmer giving birth, but it was the Savior of Tamriel. “This one stands before a hero, it seems,” she trilled happily. “This one would be more than honored to help the Champion to bear his young into this world.”
Tharn rolled his eyes impatiently. “I'm sure he would be more than happy to greet you if he wasn't in so much pain, midwife! Get to work!”
The Khajit clicked her tongue at the Imperial. “This one has a name. Shamada-ko. I will cut your tongue out if you do not refer this one as such.”
Abnur sneered at the Khajit's spunk. He couldn't say that he didn't like that in any woman that he has ever met, whatever the species. “Very well, Shamada-ko. I'm leaving our dear hero in your care. He is carrying a Ayleid half-breed afterall. Very precious cargo you have there.”
“Tharn,” Lansaska retorted between clenched teeth. He cried out as a contraction hit him, almost making him bend in half. “Get it out of me! Its killing me!”
Shamada-ko chuckled as she crawled up onto the bed behind him and forced him to kneel instead of lying down on his back. “This will be easier for you and the baby. Seeing as you're a man, keeping your spin curved outward instead of inward will be smoother.”
Lansaska took deep breaths, allowing the Khajit to maneuver him however she pleased. Drool dripped down the sides of his chin, as his eyes became unfocused. “It's...it's a bit better,” he murmured. He then let out a groan when he felt the shift in his lower regions. The baby was coming! Fuck!
Abnur barely budged from his spot by the door as he watched with concealed interest as the infant's head first appeared between Lansaska's legs, and then slowly the rest of its small body, landing with a wet plop into the Khajit's hands. He hadn't been there when any of his wives had given birth to his sixteen children. He briefly wondered if he was making it up by being their for his makeshift son.
He approached the bed as Lansaska fell to his side, not caring that he and the child were still attached by the umbilical cord. Using his magic, Abnur summoned hot water into the bowel on the nightstand, and pulled out some clean rags from the top drawer.
“Thank you, Tharn,” Shamada-ko purred as she grabbed the cloth to wet it and started cleaning the child. “Its a boy. Very healthy.” The sides of her muzzle lifted in a proud smile. “Would you like to cut the cord, Tharn?”
“I think not!” Abnur scoffed. “That is not my child, nor do I care to have any attachments to it...” He stuttered at the hurt expression on the Altmer's face. “Oh, for gods sakes!” He retrieved a pair of surgical sheers from the Khajit's pouch and carefully positioned it at the cord before clipping it. “Satisfied?”
Lansaska nodded faintly as he reached out to grab Tharn's hand. “Thank you for everything, Tharn.”
Abnur knelt by the bed, grasping the Altmer's hand in defeat. “Don't say I don't do anything for you.” He remained with Lansaska well into the night, even after the midwife had left. He sat in the chair next to the bed dozing uncomfortably, and somehow keeping watch over the blessed miracle and his mother at the same time. Abnur knew he would be watching over Lansaska's brat as he grew up. Who says being a guardian angel wasn't overrated?
16 Years Later...
“Errandil! Must you harass the poor senche?” Tharn smacked the young half-breed mer against his pointed ear. “How do you like it?”
The young elf yelped and concealed his ears from anymore strikes from Abnur Tharn. “He doesn't mind! He's made of ice!” Errandil scowled at the older man as he wrapped his arms around the senche's ice cold neck. “He loves me, don't you boy?”
“You're lucky he doesn't love the taste of your flesh,” Tharn retorted. “Now come. Your mother is expecting your return today.”
“Oh?” Errandil chirped. “Are we almost to the Rift?”
The battlemage sighed irritably. “ Yes. Your mother is completing a mission for the High King Jorunn.”
“You know, Uncle Abnur, ever since he completed his mission with Queen Ayrenn, he travels way too much! What's up with that? I'm kind of tired of chasing him around.” Errandil was sulking a lot these past days, Tharn noted. He understood that the boy had friends he wanted to be with, but these travels were life lessons for someone his age. Lansaska wanted his son to grow up to be a good mer, instead of a stuck up Altmer or Ayleid that ran prominently through their blood; even more so since Errandil was a combination of the two.
Tharn stopped in his tracks, taking in the path that lied before them. It was still a few miles before they got to their destination. “Let's take a rest, Errandil.” He took a seat on a nearby boulder before he continued. “Your mother only wants you to be a good person. He thinks these travels will broaden your view of the world.”
“I should be a king of Tamriel!” The young elf stated, as if he hadn't heard a word the man had said, and was grinning ear to ear. He was obviously egging Tharn on to tell him about the part of his race that was extinct. It was his favorite past time with the battlemage.
“You have no idea how close to the truth that is,” Abnur grumbled under his breath. “And give the stories a rest, would you? Your mother knows more about Ayleids than I do. Ask him, you intolerable twit.” His tone was light, merely teasing the teen. It was getting harder each day for Tharn to keep the secret that Errandil's father had actually been a king.
Errandil took the taunt and chortled. “Okay, okay. I'll stop. And you're right of course. I can't wait to see mom. I miss him.”
The older man nodded solemnly. He didn't have much to say at times like these. His age was totally catching up to him.
The ice senche growled restlessly by his master's side. The mount had been given to the young elf by a Khajit living in the northern, snowy wastelands for saving his family from a group of bandits. As a matter of fact, that was one of the boy's first accomplished missions he had handled on his own. Ever since then, the senche and Errandil had been inseparable.
Abnur shifted as he stood, using his staff as support. “Let's go, Errandil. The day is getting late, and I really don't want to be caught out here at night.”
Errandil made a sound of confirmation as he mounted his ice senche. “Onward then.” He shot his hand forward with enthusiasm. “To mother!”
The battlemage snorted. “Youth.”
To Be Continued...