Weeks passed, and the world seemed to soften around them.
The winds grew gentler, no longer howling through the halls but whispering against the stone. Evenings settled into warmth—hearthfires crackling, the air sweet with honeyed tea and quiet conversation.
Tirian found himself growing used to it.
To Orielle's laughter echoing down the corridors. To the soft hum of her voice as she sorted through baby linens. To the way her hands would rest unconsciously over her stomach when she thought no one was watching.
She's become so ingrained in my life... I can't imagine living one without her. The realization came long ago, but it's becoming more and more of an understanding as each day passes.
Pearl found out in true Pearl fashion. By bursting into the chamber without warning. "Orielle!" she exclaimed, already halfway across the room. "I heard you were with child!"
Her gaze dropped immediately to Orielle's stomach, squinting as if sheer effort might reveal something. "Oh my stars—you're still so thin! I can't see anything!" she said, circling slightly. "But—oh! You're glowing. You are glowing!"
She grabbed Orielle's hands without hesitation. Orielle let out a startled laugh that quickly turned into delighted shrieks as she matched Pearl's excitement.
"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you!" Orielle said quickly between laughs. "The physician said it would be safer to wait—just in case, with everything going on and—"
"If word spread," Tirian cut in calmly from across the room, "it could make her a target. It's better to keep it quiet until she begins to show."
Pearl turned sharply toward him, narrowing her eyes. "I'm family," she said flatly. "Why wouldn't I know?"
Then, with a small huff, she crossed her arms. "And with the constant physician visits, it wasn't exactly difficult to piece together. Thankfully, it's good news… not bad."
Orielle squeezed her hands, beaming. "Yes! It's wonderful news!" she said brightly. "Can you believe it? There might be a little Tirian running around one day!"
Both Pearl and Tirian reacted at once. With identical concerned expressions.
"A little Orielle would be better," Pearl said seriously. "I agree," Tirian added without hesitation.
Orielle stared at them for half a second— Then burst into laughter.
Pearl's gaze flicked back to Tirian, something dawning on her. "Tirian, you sly—" she started, then stopped herself, making a face as if the thought alone disgusted her. "Honestly… who knew you were capable of such things."
Her attention snapped back to Orielle just as quickly. "May the gods bless this child," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "With your looks and personality."
She glanced sideways at Tirian. "Because Tirian…" she grimaced dramatically, "…we should pray. Extensively." She rose dramatically, worry in her face. "we should go to the temple soon!"
Orielle laughed harder, wiping at her eyes. "You make it sound like having a little Tirian would be a disaster."
"It would be," Pearl replied without missing a beat, pointing directly at him. "Though… I suppose we'll thank you—somewhat—for the good news."
Tirian blinked, clearly taken aback. "I feel… unfairly attacked," he said slowly.
Pearl grinned. "If it's a boy, and he inherits anything from our side of the family, let it be my charm…" she paused, considering him critically, "…and perhaps your jawline. You do have that going for you."
Tirian opened his mouth— Then closed it again. At a complete loss.
Orielle laughed covering her mouth.
From the doorway, Ulric had been watching in quiet surprise. He stepped forward at last. "Orielle?"
The room stilled slightly as all eyes turned toward him. "Father!" Orielle exclaimed, her expression lighting instantly.
She moved toward him, slower than usual but eager all the same, until she stood before him.
For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then he pulled her into a gentle embrace, holding her the way he had when she was a child.
"You've been through storms, my angel," he said softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm glad the sun has found you again."
Orielle's composure broke. Happy tears slipped down her cheeks as she held onto him, her joy quiet but overwhelming.
Tirian watched from where he stood, something warm settling deep in his chest. For a moment— Everything felt… right.
Then— A shadow of thought crept in. This peace… It feels too still… too fragile… Will it last?
His gaze lingered on them, the warmth and laughter filling the room. Or am I just waiting for it to break?
He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought away. Not now. For now... I shouldn't dampen the mood.
*****
Outside, the world continued to turn.
Leaves shifted in color. Winds changed direction. Days stretched longer, then shorter again. And within the palace, their laughter settled into the quiet rhythm of passing time.
Spring came—and went.
Summer followed, pressing heavy heat against the stone walls of the palace. The air grew thick, slow, almost suffocating at times.
Orielle felt the weight of time differently now. Each passing day marked in the steady rhythm beneath her ribs.
At thirty-two weeks, her belly had rounded fully, no longer subtle. The healers assured her the child was strong and healthy.
But the palace no longer felt as warm as it once had. Not with Tirian gone so often.
Rumors had begun to spread beyond the palace walls, two months prior. Whispers carried by travelers, merchants, and frightened villagers. Talk of unrest. Of small uprisings. Of scattered groups testing the kingdom's defenses.
Most of it felt like noise. Distractions. Because beneath it all, there was one truth no one dared ignore—
Varakor was moving again. After months of silence, his forces had begun to stir.
Tirian had been chasing every lead, riding from one report to the next, refusing to let anything slip past him. Which meant he was rarely here.
Orielle exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing the curve of her stomach.
The latest rumors arrived coated in fear. Villages burned. Fields set alight. Crops trampled into ruin.
Whispers of arsonists moving through farmland in the dead of night.
Servants spoke in hushed tones of red-and-black banners sighted in the marshlands—Varakor's colors.
Knights passed through the palace with urgency, carrying fragments of information that never quite formed a full picture.
And Tirian— He rode north. His letters came, though rarely. Short, but filled with love, at least.. in the only way he knew how to show it. But still carrying the faint scent of smoke and iron.
Always ending each letter with. Don't worry. I'll return soon. Keep our little crumb safe.
Orielle read those lines more times than she would admit. Holding onto them. Even as unease settled deeper in her chest.
Far from the palace—
Tirian stood within the remains of a scorched encampment. The air was thick with ash.
His armor was darkened with soot, his cloak torn where a blade had grazed it. Around him, soldiers moved in grim silence, dragging bodies, tending to the wounded, gathering what little could be salvaged.
At least this rumor was real. But it wasn't enough. Where is their main force…? The question gnawed at him.
"How many?" he asked, his voice rough. A nearby knight straightened. "Thirty-six dead, sire. Eight taken alive."
Tirian nodded once. "Keep them contained," he said coldly. "No food until they speak.The knight obeyed, and ran off with urgency.
Then heavy footsteps approached. Sir Beararn removed his helmet as he drew near, his expression unusually tense. "Your Majesty."
"Report," Tirian said without turning.
Beararn extended a weathered leather folder, sealed with an unfamiliar crest. "We followed a lead," he said. "A village chief shared information, matching the Varakor heir's age. He was living under another name in the chief's farm village."
Tirian turned slightly now, taking the folder. "Go on."
"He claimed he arrived not long after the heir was said have disappeared," Beararn continued. "Though he lived quietly. No signs of influence or power. He had a wife… and a child."
Tirian frowned, flipping open the folder. "A child…?" he muttered, scanning the pages. "And?"
Beararn hesitated. It was subtle, but enough to make Tirian feel the discomfort, causing his chest to tighten.
"Your Majesty…" Beararn said carefully, "this may be larger than we first believed."
Tirian's eyes moved across the inked pages. Skimming past the names he already knew, the dates he already knew, "Most of this is already known," he said. "Prince Zaccai… he disappeared when I was nine. Rumored to have killed his brother before fleeing."
Beararn didn't respond immediately. "There's more," he said at last.
Tirian turned another page— as he reached the name of the farm village, and his brows slowly knit together. "what is this..?"
And froze.
The sounds around him seemed to vanish. His grip tightened slightly on the paper.
No…This must be some king of joke.
His eyes scanned the line again, reading the new name the heir went by. The name didn't change.
His expression shifted—first disbelief, then irritation… then something sharper. and he just laughed, dark and humourless. "That's impossible," he said through his teeth.
He read it again. laughing louder causing many knights to look his way, but all could tell, this laugh.. was not one they wanted to hear.
"The gods must have been laughing... watching us... run in circles..." he let out a terrifying huff of slow air, and his eyes darkened even more. "This... do not let anyone know of this.."
Beararn nodded, a shiver running down his spine. "yes sir."