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The splitting cries of a child go unheard by most of the castle, the size enough to space everyone far enough from the source of the noise that they wouldn't have to deal. Unless of course, you'd happen to be the king's advisor, who sits now at the foot of her bed, a swaddled mess of blabbering that is the unknown creature in her arms.
She holds it as if her own, cradled so, so carefully, cooing hushes and reassurances not understood, in dead attempts to soothe and halt the wailing.
It seems almost that in the past two days, the child has only grown louder. No matter her searching she never finds what ails her little one, what causes her such harm that she screams through the night. How she wishes she could, wishes for a moment the noises would stop.
Olivia was not born to be a mother. She'd never claimed to be, never wanted to be. An artist, a fighter, an advisor — never a mother. Not on her own, and the thought of being with another has hardly ever passed her.
And yet, here she is now, the little human in her embrace, pleasing for the noise to cease from the young one. She feels she could cry herself, as begging hushes slip from her over and over. Eyes heavy, dark bags drawn under them. Her breath is labored.
She stands, running a hand through her own hair. Another shrill cry sounds from the bundle in her arm, and she lays her free one over her eyes, hissing through her teeth as another headache forms.
“Please, please, ” she mumbles, like the child can understand. “No more, please. Don't cry, little dove…”
Yet it doesn't stop. She exhales through her teeth, harsh and stressed. She tries not to let the young one know of how she feels ( though of course a child wouldn't understand nor care ), but two days have passed with almost no break. Olivia doesn't understand how one can sob so much, frankly.
Pacing in circles a moment, she wracks her brain for solutions, for anything she might not have tried yet.
And somehow she's brought back to former thoughts once more — never a mother on her own, never a mother with someone else. There isn't a soul in the castle she seems to trust, but —
. . A worn sigh leaves her, shoulders slouching in defeat with her own realization.
Olivia doesn't particularly need others. Life goes easier without connection, she's always told herself, but this — maybe she can't do this alone. Maybe she does need someone else. If for anything, to stop the damned crying.
“Alright, alright.” she coos, fixing the baby's blanket around her. “Come now, I'll— we'll make it better, shh, shh…”
Fixing her robe back over her shoulders, she does her best to tie her hair back up with one hand. As if she needs to be presentable for where she's going.
The door to her room opens and closes just as quickly, a quiet click of the lock nothing compared to the still present crying.
As she treks down halls for the thousandth time she finds exhaustion catching up to her, posture slouching, feet aching. She'd not realized in the past days, not a moment to think of herself between work and the child placed in her care.
She finds dread and hope mix in her chest with each step.
It's a longer trip to the lower quarters than usual — not that she visits often, and though, it really may be her own drowsiness — young Marcy's wailing quiets just a bit. Maybe the long silent trip is good for her.
The moment of peace comes to an end when she steps to the door she needed to find. She lifts her fist to knock to the wood — when she does, the baby whines — praying to anything holy that it would still open for her.
And miraculously, it does. It takes a minute or a few, and the clang of objects moving, but it opens. Olivia doesn't think she's ever sighed so heavily before.
It's just a crack at first, and a quiet ( clearly exhausted — oh, lord, had she woken her? ) “Hello?”
“Yunan—” She starts, and before she gets another word out the door throws open, and there she is.
General Yunan, out of armor, standing tall and proud as always. She's in a black tank top and matching shorts, plethora of scars on display, hair unkempt. Olivia had definitely woken her.
“I'm… I'm sorry to disturb you, General, but I—”
“Shit, Liv, you look awful. ”
A bat of silence passes. Olivia laughs despite herself, bringing a hand up to try and fix her hair half-heartedly.
“Sorry—” Yunan rushes to say, “I didn't mean that, I just… I mean, y' look tired. When'd you last sleep?”
“I'm not quite sure. It's— she's just kept me so busy I haven't gotten a moment to myself, I…”
Yunan nods along as if she understands, and her eyes flit down to the bundled blanket in Olivia's arms. She remembers then, vaguely, when the king had announced the arrival of the odd new creature from another world. And even more, how his personal advisor would be the only newt fit to care for the thing.
It's like it clicks in her brain, Andrias had handed Olivia a baby and told her to be a mother with no other information. No wonder she's exhausted. No wonder she's at her door.
“I want to... ask you for help, I suppose.” Olivia mutters, hushed with shame, “I know it's my job, and… and you've no obligation to help me, but I…”
She makes some vague gesture with her free hand, before it falls to her side in defeat. She lifts it again to push back some of Marcy's hair as a distraction.
“I don't know.” she finishes. “You were all I could think of.”
Yunan does not want to address the odd feeling that swells in her heart at that, nor does she want to look away from how Olivia's face darkens while she turns again to the child.
She certainly doesn't want to address the implications of being asked to parent alongside the woman. So she won't.
“Alright, alright,” Yunan breathes, holding her arms out when Marcy's cries turn into almost-screams right in Olivia's ear. “give 'er here.”
Olivia lets concern flash across her features for just a moment. She meets Yunan's gaze, and finds some odd, soft understanding lies there.
She sighs, fixing the blanket over the human's body before handing her off.
Yunan cradles her in her arms, as one should a baby. She stares a while— she hadn't gotten a chance to see the creature up close before this— curiosity blooming despite concern and fear. Its skin isn't like an amphibian's, it's got no tail, and there's a little bump on its face instead of a snout.
It's weird. It's cute in an odd way.
She coughs, then, stepping to the side with the door. “Quick, here. Come in.” she says.
And Olivia does, getting herself in the room as quickly as possible. It'd been a while, but it felt all the same.
That big shelf in the corner that holds the majority of awards won in the general's life. Her bed, which is dramatically and ironically smaller than Olivia's own, truly only fit for one person. Which makes sense, Yunan wouldn't be having another in her bed anytime soon.
Olivia thought. She hopes. Why does she still hope that?
Nevermind.
The door clicks shut behind her, Yunan walks around her to the bed immediately. She leans back against it, a steady breath drawing from her as she watches the little human continue to wail in her arms. She runs a finger across it's forehead, like she's checking for a fever.
Olivia's brows furrow as she looks away, scanning the room again. She doesn't know if she should sit on the bed too, or at all, she doesn't want to impose. She looks around for nothing or anything.
A moment passes, and the crying stops. Her ears almost ring with the sudden silence, bringing a hand up to press against her temple with a sigh of relief.
When she looks back to the scene, Yunan has her finger in the baby's mouth. Olivia grimaces. She can't imagine that feels pleasant at all.
She takes a step toward her, and when there's no objection or movement to signify discomfort she goes on. She turns around to hoist herself onto the bed as well.
“How, uhm… how did you do that?” She mumbles.
Yunan laughs a bit— like it's funny — and doesn’t look to Olivia as she speaks.
“It’s teething, Liv. It’s a baby.” She says. “Big man in charge didn’t give you anything for that? No toys, food ‘n’ all?”
Olivia shakes her head, looking down to the little human’s face. She seems so much more peaceful, eyes closed as she gnaws with no teeth. Truthfully, Olivia didn’t have much experience with children. Raised in the castle with little to no others and no siblings, and in all honesty a childhood so abnormal no one could call it normal. Heavens, how did Andrias think she was the one for this assignment?
“No.” She replies, still quiet. “He didn't give me anything. He said I was competent enough to know what to do on my own.”
Yunan doesn’t respond, but gives a long hum. Like she’s thinking about how absurd that sounds, or contemplating stealing the kid herself because how on earth had Olivia even managed to keep it alive this whole time? It’s almost laughable. Almost.
But instead of judgment, she just prods a little further. “What have you been feeding it?”
“Just baby foods from the markets. She likes the ones without bugs more.”
“Maybe her species doesn’t eat bugs.”
“I’m sure I can work around that.”
“You’re sure? ”
A long pause. Olivia’s robe slips from her shoulders, she moves to fix it with a huff. She runs a hand through unkempt hair, like she suddenly cares how she looks to the other woman.
And despite herself, she laughs, a quiet, soft laugh.
“I'm not.” She says. “Stars, I'm— I'm not, Yunan.”
And Yunan finds it in her to laugh too, gentle with sympathy for the situation the other's been put in. “’n’ that’s why you're here, right?”
“Something like that.”
Olivia's robe slips again and this time she lets it fall, hitting the bed deftly. She sees Yunan's eyes flit to her briefly, and then back to the baby. She thinks to speak. And yet she doesn't. She thinks to reach out. And yet.
Cold breeze speaks of nothing, the air feels heavy. That feeling strings in her heart again. That thought hits her mind, chest burns with a dull want she thought she'd stomped out long ago. A hand brushes her bare shoulder. And yet. And yet.
It feels so odd to be there again. Feels so wrong to question if her presence is wanted in this room, in this bed. After everything that's happened, everything she's done, they've done. It feels wrong to feel as if they're strangers.
She wants Yunan to know that, wants her to know how desperate she'd been to keep things together in the end. Wants her to know how she longs to reach out, to speak. She wants to cry how not a day passes without thought of her, without longing and waiting and hoping for her.
And yet. And yet.
“I’ll do it.” Yunan says.
Olivia looks to her, broken out of whatever ocean of through she'd stuck herself in. “What?”
“Helping you with the kid. That’s why you came down here— I’ll do it.”
Too many things swarm her chest at once. Of course that's why she'd come here— maybe, because with all honesty who knows why she was there, what drew her to this room of the hundreds available. Maybe she'd wanted something else, something more, who knows? — but she'd only half expected the general to agree.
Maybe she should have expected more. Maybe she'd still do anything for her, like she'd promised in soothing whispers what seems like forever ago. Maybe she should ask.
( She won't. She never will. )
“You don't have to,” she breathes, “I know it's asking a lot. I understand if it's asking too much, you aren't obligated.”
“Olivia.” Yunan says, and for some reason it shuts her up.
The hand on her shoulder drifts up, pushing back strands of hair that slipped from their place and close to her eyes. A palm presses against her cheek, soft and reassuring.
The action feels too intimate for a friend asking a favor. Too intimate for any of this.
But then again, Olivia was the one who came to her in the dead of night. The one in her bed, asking her to basically raise a child alongside her. Maybe she'd made it intimate. Maybe she wanted the intimacy.
She doesn't want to address the feeling in the heart. She doesn't want to think about how her face darkens and she swears Yunan's does too. So she won't.
She leans into it.
“You need my help,” Yunan mutters, “and I'm going to help you.
You weren't made for this job, and you know it. You've got enough on your plate as is, and God knows you— ha, well, Liv… for once, you're clueless. Let me help you.”
Her eyes close. She breathes out, slow and heavy.
“Okay.”
The hand falls from her face and her lips jut down in soft disappointment. Her eyes open again. She looks down to Marcy instead of to Yunan's gaze, brows raising with surprise at the sight of the human sleeping, something she hasn't done in what feels like days.
“Okay,” Yunan echos back to her, standing up. “You wanna take the kid back for tonight, or you handing her off to me?”
Olivia slides off the bed too, deciding it's appropriate, and their little meeting is seemingly coming to an end. The question makes her heart stutter.
“She should stay with me, but…”
Yunan sways on her feet. She's not looking at her now, instead to the door, humming.
But. But. And yet. And yet.
“Can I come to yours?” She asks then, voice so sure. Olivia's almost surprised by the boldness. Almost. But she knows her.
She thinks on it. Although, stars above know it's all she wants. To say yes, to beg her back into her life— but the risk is so strong. To invite her back in, to take this offer and let it all unfold in her chest again with the looming threat of another forced heartbreak. Eyes follow, and hands hover and threaten to grasp and break the two again .
She doesn't know if she could take it. If they could take it. But she hopes, and she longs and the word pries from her throat like it's burning before she has a moment to stop it.
“Yes.” she says, fervently, like the offer would drop in moments if she doesn't. Like this is her last chance to grasp at the falling pieces of her star still burning. “Come to mine.”
And Yunan's already stepping to the door, twisting the handle as she cradles the baby securely against her chest. She pulls it open, bowing slightly as she holds it for her companion.
Olivia pulls her robe back over her shoulders as she walks out first. Yunan follows immediately.
Olivia's heartbeat is in her ears. She tries to focus on the soft sounds echoing the halls, but she lands on the breathing and soft muttering coming from Yunan instead.
That's okay. She can deal okay.
“You really never got her to quiet down on your own?” Yunan asks, seemingly to break the silence.
“Oh. Ah, once. On the way down to yours,” Olivia says, fiddling with the fabric of her robe. “Other than that, I haven't found a way.”
“We could take her on more walks through the halls, then.”
“We could. She hadn't quieted down in the morning when I had, though. I'd met with Andrias early this morning, to ask for a servant to head to the market for me. She'd still cried then.”
“Maybe she likes the quiet.”
“That'd make two of us…”
Yunan snorts, chuckling. “Three.”
By the time they reach the upper floor's hall they're hushing one another, like they're schoolgirls sneaking off someplace they shouldn't be.
And by the time they're swaddling the baby up to lay in her crib, it's like no time in the world has passed. Like they're back before the hands of the crown had struck them, like it's okay to be there together again.
They stand over the crib together, watching the little human drift off after she'd woken up very briefly during the little chats between the two newts. Her eyes close quickly, this time she doesn't put up much of a fuss. Maybe Yunan was too good with kids, Olivia had never seen her so calm.
“Hey, Liv,” Yunan says, whispering now so she doesn't re-wake the baby. “y' ever give the little thing a name?”
“Mm. Andrias hadn't when he'd assigned her to me,” Olivia recalls, fingers tracing the little engraved designs on the wood. “He told me he didn't care. So, I supposed it was my job.”
“And?”
“Marcia.”
A drawn silence falls.
“Like Marcia Newton?” Yunan asks, softly, like it's sensitive.
And it is. Because Olivia mutters right back, “Yes, like my mother... I've been calling her Marcy for short.”
“That's honorable.”
Yunan's hand falls over Olivia's much smaller own, thumb running across it like she's trying to soothe. Olivia doesn't need soothing. And yet she doesn't push her away.
“Thank you.
And thank you for… being here. To help me with this.”
“Mm. You needed me, and you know I'd do anything for you, yeah?”
A skip in her heart. “Yeah. Thank you.”
It takes maybe twenty minutes for little Marcy to fall back asleep completely. By that time, Olivia's in that big, lush bed of hers, fixing sheets and setting her robe to the side as she waits. Yunan is in the bathroom washing up, fixing hair that will be messied again the moment she lies down.
And it is, Olivia notes as the other finds her way beside her ( and makes some sly remark about how large the bed is, how many people could fit in it, how it's unbelievably big for someone her size, and on and on before Olivia halts her. ) She notices how the blonde strands stuck up and out, losing it's usual shape.
Olivia sleeps on her back, Yunan knows. And yet she still faces her as she drifts off, muttering sleepy replies to what little conversation they were still somehow holding.
She manages something akin to a goodnight , and Olivia's left to be when she's out.
She stares at the canopy of her bed— the one Yunan had bought her, ah,— when thoughts swarm her. She looks to the sleeping woman beside her.
Some part of her thinks to reach out. She wants to tuck that hair strand that sticks out back with the rest of her hair. She wants to trace shapes across her skin. And yet she doesn't move. She wants to bury her face against her neck. She wants to huddle against her chest and beg to be held like she's young and pathetically in love again. And yet she doesn’t. And yet.
And yet—
She closes her eyes. She hopes to all she doesn't dream of the other next to her.
She knows she will. And yet she lets herself dream anyway. She knows it hurts. And yet. And yet.