The day had come. Instinct was driving her, step by weary step, and she made her way to the small place in the castle she'd created. She could not reach the Duke; she'd left a few messages in the likeliest places, scattered through eras he was most often in. She'd sent another message to Justine, in the form of a cortex send to Haven. It was the best she could manage, before she had to make her way to the birthing hut.
She had changed into something that would not interfere with the birthing, but halfway across the chill castle stones, she had to pause, curling her arms carefully around the precious treasures within. Gods, everything was starting to hurt. Getting shot with iron-tipped arrows was the only thing she could remember having hurt worse.
She collapsed after toeing the door nearly closed, panting, trying to catch her breath. There was no time. No Duke, no help, nothing if things went wrong...just her. She sternly lectured herself that women had done this for thousands of years and been just fine...but she never had. In all her years, in all her various forms...she'd never gotten pregnant before.
Finally, she felt she'd recovered enough to get settled in place. She staggered upright, foot tangling in one of the purple velvet pillows padding the floor, and felt a warm gush of fluid down her legs, the temperature of blood. For a moment she panicked, thinking that's what it was, but she looked down and realized. This...was part of the process. She'd read up on this. This was normal, right?
Right?
Right. Olive pillows it was. She crawled to the other side of the little room, collapsing when she was clear of the small pool soaking into the rug.
She had no idea what to do. She had no idea how to breathe. She tried not to make noise, because she was in the castle, and there were still...things...creeping through the portals they had not managed to close. But at some point even that failed, and she bore down screaming.
With a sense of profound dread, she watched the door silently creak open...and Justine peered around the ancient wood. She collapsed back against the pillow, nearly in tears, and Justine moved to her side, moved behind her, holding her in place. Soft kisses of encouragement to the top of her head. Good. Good. She was not alone.
The first kitten born was a male, and some small, primal part of her was happy she'd provided a true heir to the line. He was golden-furred, as his father had been when she'd caught in the first place. But she wasn't done. She bore down, pushing, pushing, to birth the second kitten.
The second kitten born was a little girl, but she was only golden--and a leopard--as long as it took to shake some of her fur clean of fluids, and then she shifted. Her round little head, definitely not leopard in proportions, tucked under a weak, unresisting arm, and she felt her lips twitch into an almost-smile at the tiny kitten purr she heard.
No spots on the second one, though, after the first moment of existence. Would she be able to get them back? She had no idea. But she laid back, satisfied, tired, and then...felt something kick inside. Not...just two? But...she'd thought it was just two. There were still...
She did sob, now, when the realization sunk in to her pain-slowed mind. She wasn't done.
She bore down with all the energy she had left, no energy remaining even to scream, and finally, panting, sheened in sweat, she collapsed against Justine, spent. The only reason she was still upright is that Justine's arms--and legs, at this point--were wrapped around her, holding her steady.
The unexpected third kitten had done the same thing as the second--another little girl, the third one, that came out spotted and golden, and turned dappled grey with grey-brownish, uneven spots.
She used the last of her energy to look around the small enclosed space. The golden-spotted boy was laying beside her, starting to drift off. The grey-dappled girl was staring at either her foot, or Justine's, in utter bemusement. And the pale-furred girl...
The pale-furred girl sat with her little head against her knee. She almost wept again. Sentimental idiot, she thought, but...it was done.
Her eyes drifted closed, and the last thing she heard was Justine activating the comm. She made out "priest of Naamah", and "Mont Nuit", murmured into the receiver, but...she was tired. Her babies needed fed, and she would do that, she could stay awake long enough for that, surely. In just...another...mommmm...
In the firelit room, surrounded by old stone and older energies, and the strength of Justine's arms around her, she did what she was later sure many new mothers had done after giving birth: she passed out cold.
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