In Which Celina Takes the Motherly Approach

March 11, 1181

"A little lonely out here, isn't it?" Celina kept her back to the door as she shut it behind her, a quick scan confirming that yes, it was only her son-in-law here. She bit her lip, annoyed. Having just come from the bedroom herself, she knew that Rona's labor was proceeding well--slowly, but well--but surely most men, with their limited knowledge of such things and little to gauge by but sheer duration, wouldn't have guessed that with a birth of this length. How could the men have thought for a second it was a good idea to leave the father-to-be without comfort and distraction?

Then again...

"They were getting impatient. I told them they could go." Ashe peered around Celina toward the door, like he wished to tell her the same. Rona wouldn't have had that, though. Neither would Celina herself. "They weren't much help anyway."

"Maybe not, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?" He sniffed, lacking the will to argue. He'd always been a detached, fatally pessimistic figure, but she'd never seen him cranky. She would excuse that on the grounds of his not having slept in a day and a half, and hoped he paid her that same courtesy should her own lack of rest get the better of her. "May I sit?"

"Aren't you needed in there?"

She shook her head. "Everything's fine in there, though you wouldn't know it from the time it's taking. Besides, Rona sent me herself. She said you needed me more than she did." Rona, for one, had an arsenal of friends and family and trained professionals at her side. "She's right."

Ashe didn't say anything, but rustled toward the arm of the couch anyway. Celina took that as a sign and sat down in the vacant spot beside him. "You really shouldn't slouch like that. You'll ruin your back." He straightened; a welcome change from her own sons and her other son-in-law, no doubt. Then again, Ashe's own mother hadn't lived long enough to nag him.

"Is Rona still angry with me?"

"No." Not any angrier than any laboring woman ever is with her husband, she'd wanted to say, but the strained melancholy left little room for joviality. "She was never angry with you. Frustrated, maybe." Well... definitely. And Celina could understand that. But after as much long and hard thought as she'd given it, she could understand Ashe's behavior too--even if she didn't advocate it. "You're so out of reach. You'd both be so much happier if you'd stop pulling away."

His choice of response was once again none, but Celina had raised ten children. She knew it never took long for their own silence to wear them down. "It's more complicated than that."

"I know, Ashe."

He squinted--patronized, almost insulted. At least he was looking her in the eye now. "With all due respect, no, you--"

"No." He blinked. She took his stunned seconds to muster up every drop of sincerity she had. The poor kid would need it. "I mean... I know."

A stare. It occurred to her that she might have been wrong--imagination running wild, middle-aged mind finding hints where none existed, some deep-seeded guilt over not intervening when she'd had the chance. But he never asked what she was talking about or confessed to some more plausible thing he might have assumed or told her she was out of her mind. He simply looked at her, struck to ice like a deer faced with a hunter, and asked, "How?"

"I've lived here long enough to know that odd things happen in these parts. You're not even a first, if Lord Severin's sources are to be believed. And after everything that happened with Farilon, I'd be a fool to not at least acknowledge the possibility." If he'd taken any reassurance from that, she didn't see it. Perhaps a more motherly approach was required. "And really, dear, your story has a few too many coincidences to hope no one catches them. The pieces are there for those who wish to put them together."

Ashe slumped again, though she let it slide this time. His back had to have been the last thing he cared about just then. "You think I'm a freak."

"No." She ached to give him a hug, or at least a gentle pat on the shoulder, but she feared he'd shy away. He always did, whether it was with her or with Rona or with Dalston's old cook coming around with bits of cake for the young servants. He was a survivor. What more surefire way to survive than to assume everything a danger? "But I think you think you are."

She almost hoped he'd argue, but as she could have guessed, he didn't. "Ashe, sweetheart--"

"Does Rona know?" He might as well have asked if he was dying.

Celina shook her head. "On some level, she might have her suspicions. But you know Rona. If she knew--knew she knew--she wouldn't have reached this point without letting you know it."

"You won't tell her, will you?"

"Of course not." It wasn't her secret to tell. "But you should."

Ashe sighed. A bad flu had gone around the castle once, when he'd been about nine or ten, and he'd caught a bout of it. So had Rona. Celina had confined them both to Rona's bed and nursed them back to health personally, wiping their running noses and shoving chicken broth down their throats and hiding unpalatable remedies in every meal. Rona had spent enough of those few days asleep that she scarcely remembered it. Ashe probably recalled even less. But for Celina, it could have been the day before. If she listened, she could almost hear young Aspen's strained, small voice after every little courtesy Celina paid her: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"I... I know it's stupid. And selfish. I don't think I can tell her if I don't know she loves me." He raised a hand to his throat and fiddled with the key around his neck. How many times Celina had done the same, a little skeptical and a little self-conscious, but counting on the chance that it was in fact lucky. "And yet, she can't love me if she doesn't know."

"Well then." Celina smoothed over her skirts and turned her head all the way to the side, leaving herself nowhere to look but Ashe's face. "It seems to me that she can't just wake up one day and decide to love you. You, however, can do the same and decide to tell her."

She watched as he sat back and let that sink in. She didn't expect him to say anything. He'd always been clever enough if he'd let himself show it. He knew she was right. That didn't make it any easier for him.

"I'll tell you what: some time soon, after things settle down here with the new baby, why don't you stop by my place and we'll have a good long talk about all of this over a nice afternoon snack? I know you like that mixed berry cobbler I used to make on the children's birthdays."

As always, he took a moment to assess, but it ended in the desired nod. "All right."

"Good. And oh--looks like we made those plans just in time," she mused as the bedroom door opened and Xeta stepped through, baby in arms. "Aww, who's this little one?"

"This is your grandson, Mother." Xeta's answer was swift and matter-of-fact, not without the obligatory smile over her new nephew but very clear that it was, in fact, obligatory. Celina knew why. Xeta had hoped to at least have the makings of another baby in her before Rona's was born, and as far as anyone knew, that hadn't happened. That was another child who could use a good long talk and some mixed berry cobbler. "You can come a little closer, if you like. He doesn't need that much air."

"Of course he doesn't." She stood, Ashe following her example, then stepped around her son-in-law to wave at the little fellow, staring back at her out of Rona's golden-brown eyes. "Nice to see you've finally decided to join us in the world after all."

"Is Rona all right?" asked Ashe as he looked the baby over.

"She's fine--wants to walk around even, if you'll believe it. But she has been in that bed a while, so I suppose I can't blame her. Here."

Xeta handed the baby over to Ashe with the exhausted abridgment of the care newborns required. The boy's father took him with a little more ease. In terms of body, anyway. "Um. Hello."

The baby kept looking at Celina, but she nodded back to Ashe. Most likely by sheer coincidence, the baby took to staring upward until his father raised him to his shoulder.

Ashe whispered something for his son's ears alone, barely more than mouthing, but Celina could guess at his words. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

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