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goldcrest <3 romance is dead, keris took it all and now there’s none left. also knowing roughly how kier will react to the pregnancy announcement but not the specifics has me like LOOK MA NO HANDS, REVERSE PSYCHIC. booyah baby. ps world’s longest starter, no pressure to length match, i can’t shut up, you know me <33
Ever since Eris’ announcement after his lives debacle, Kier had been a different cat. Yes, there had been uncomfortable feelings surrounding his mother’s betrayal, certain paranoia and insecurity and a brief bout of agoraphobia, but all of that paled in comparison to the all-encompassing joy of his mate’s news. He felt lighter, happier than he had ever been, like he was high up in the clouds, and he walked around with a stupid, lovesick smile on his face; with so little going on behind his eyes, just a haze of happiness, he could have wandered off a cliff and not realised. More than once a warrior had had to suddenly shout at him, or physically drag him backwards, when he had been about to walk into the pool of water in the main cavern. Love had made an idiot of him. He didn’t have any of the fears about parenthood he’d thought he might have, especially considering how young he was; really, it felt like it hadn’t even fully sunk in yet — that, or he was just so in love with Eris that he felt raising kits with her would be the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Either way, his chest felt like it was permanently filled with cotton. Not a single fearful thought could get through.
Now, late at night, Kier lay with his cheek resting on his mate’s stomach, his head rising and falling with each of her breaths. It was still too early to feel anything, but just knowing there were kits growing inside her, knowing their hearts were beginning to beat and flutter, knowing that one day soon he would be able to hear them… It made his heart swell with such emotion, such warmth, that he felt he was going to cry. That smile that had become familiar to all of NightClan spread across his face again, impossibly loving and impossibly dazed. He felt like he was in a dream. Finally raising his head, he dragged himself away and stood up, resettling himself closer to Eris’ head. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, closing his eyes and bowing his head to touch his forehead to her cheek. He hadn’t stopped fussing since the day she told him — he’d been a babbling idiot then, the blood on his fur forgotten in the face of such a world-altering revelation, in the face of such euphoric disbelief, and he hadn’t stopped since, ordering the camp to be kit-proofed as best it could be and personally running around the territory to fetch her whatever craving she had. “Do you need anything?”
All the Clan knew that Eris wasn’t the only she-cat Kier had gotten pregnant. There was a rogue, one Kier had struck some sordid, mutually beneficial business deal with — kits for him in exchange for food and riches for her, and then she would be on her way. He was always fully open with Eris about his efforts with the rogue; it was no secret, and he always made cruel jokes about the she-cat when he crawled back into their nest in the early hours of the morning, what she had done poorly or failed to do, what she had been lacking in, what Eris so excelled at where she languished, and lavished love on Eris afterwards. It was just business. But, because the universe had a twisted sense of humour, the rogue had fallen pregnant at almost the same time Eris had. When the deal had been struck, he had just become leader and had wanted a legacy, the practicalities of which were meaningless — it didn’t matter who the she-cat was, didn’t matter who the kits were; it was about him. He hadn’t been planning to have children with Eris for a long time, if ever — the thought had barely crossed his mind, only flickering across it once or twice in half-conscious, pre-dawn hours, more a groundless imagining, a what if, than anything; they had only just become mates, had just become royalty, were so incredibly, unbearably young, wide-eyed and idealistic even if that idealism centred on their own invincibility, were still getting to know the world despite all the facades they put up — everything was new and different and all his love, all his focus that wasn’t on NightClan, was on her. He didn’t want to rush anything; he was just enjoying the newness, the settling into life with each other, the getting used to sharing a world with someone else’s mind, body, heart.
And then he had gotten the news from Eris and his whole world had shifted, softened, lightened. Expanded. Despite the horror of what his mother had done, he had been walking on air. A day or two later, the rogue had told him she was pregnant as well — but that arrangement had been old news, irrelevant now, insignificant; he was having kits with his mate, accidental and unplanned — he didn’t need the kits of some business deal. He’d waved her off, dismissed her, too happy and focused on Eris to care. If he decided to keep those other, meaningless kits when she had them, he’d just hand them to one of the loyal nursery queens to be raised and not give them a second thought; all his attention was on Eris. On their royal litter — but, more importantly to him, on the litter borne of the cat he loved most in the world, more than any crown, any throne. If she asked him tomorrow to give it all up for her, he would. He loved these kits she was carrying, loved them to madness — but Eris would always be the be-all of his life. The moon. The stars. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth.
Brushing his muzzle down her cheek, he pulled back to look at her. “Have I told you how happy I am?” he breathed quietly. “How in awe I am of you? You’re growing life, Mousey.” His eyes rounded in wondrous disbelief. The den loomed dark and empty around them, and yet it felt like home, like a vast thing, conquered and domesticated. Water lapped quietly against the mound of rock their nest sat atop; moonlight washed silver across the rock walls; the camp beyond was silent. They were alone; happy and alone. No more than a young, expecting couple in love, the blood and tyranny forgotten past the walls of their private nursery.
It was all so strange. Eris spent nights awake, staring at the ceiling of their shared cave, thinking over scenarios and ideas, worrying over their health, imagining how they looked, fearing herself. Especially the last one. She'd never felt so apprehensive before — or maybe she had, she'd simply blocked it out — especially in regards to herself, and the sudden weight of becoming a mother filled her with a new, terrifying fear. What if she was like her own. It was a nagging thing, always at the back of her mind, waiting and watching and making her heart skip. Despite her excitement, her overjoy, her infatuation, she was scared. On edge. Following the assassination of Kier at his lives ceremony, her own worries, and the amplification of her emotions. Illness wasn't uncommon for her, often she was left with the sniffles following a rainstorm or a spike in cold weather, but the constant, weakening morning sickness always left her in a sour mood, and she felt more clingy than usual.
Finally, though, she was able to get a good night's rest, a dreamless, peaceful sleep, paw resting delicately on Kier's head, tail still twitching as she lay almost motionless. At the sudden receding warmth, she drowsily perked her head up, only slightly, so that it just hovered above where it previously lay, eyes half-closed, mouth dry and open, "huh? Fine," she grumbled, flipping over onto her stomach, tucking her paws underneath her, legs splayed behind, like a half-failed loaf of bread. She squished her eyes shut, attempting only for moments to miraculously fall back asleep, but at her continuous shifting, she realized the possibility was unlikely, and so she slowly pushed herself up into an unsteady sitting position. She sniffed past her clogged nose, but still she smiled as he brushed her cheek.
"Isn't it so exciting? Little microlives," she purred, pulling him close, letting her head fall into the crook of his neck. It was quiet, only the sound of them and the water, and she cherished it. She pushed him away suddenly, sharply but gently, paw still on his shoulder, "what are we going to name them?" She gasped, because the thought had never once crossed her mind, "oh, we don't have much time. I need inspiration," she stretched, slowly and elegantly, before standing fully now, exhaustion seemingly leaving her as if it never existed.
As his mate sat up, and then pulled him closer, and then stood up, Kier stayed lying down the entire time, endlessly patient as she manhandled him this way and that. She was always wriggly; he'd long since gotten used to being woken up in the middle of the night, to groggily reaching out a paw, eyes still closed, and gently massaging whatever joint was aching until she could settle down and go back to sleep, pulled close against him. When she rolled onto her stomach, he softly brushed his paw up and down her back. He fought the urge to ask worriedly if she was sick; he knew she was, was used to her frequent bouts of illness, and yet he was as worried about her now that she was pregnant as he always was. As soon as he chose a medicine cat, he'd put them onto mocking up some cure, some tincture; her allergies, her susceptibility to changes in the weather — the might of his anxiety about her gave him secondhand, sympathetic symptoms. Whenever her morning sickness turned ugly, his own stomach roiled with queasiness like he was the one suffering; he always lingered by her in agonised concern, shushing and whispering encouragement, stepping over any sick without a second thought despite his usual fastidious germaphobia and just flicking his tail and a throwaway little murmur at a waiting attendant to clean it up, eyes never leaving his mate. Sometimes he felt like he might cry, because she was so brave, or because he couldn't go through it for her.
"Ohh, don't get up," he groaned when she pushed him away and herself up, a quiet whine in his voice, his paw slipping down her foreleg as she moved away. "You're sick and pregnant — perfect excuse to stay in bed all day." Oh, we don't have much time. "We have plenty of time," he reassured her softly, tipping his head back against the stone and parting his jaws in a wide yawn; as she stretched, he rolled his cheek against the ground to look at her, mouth still slightly open from his half-finished yawn. His eyes widened slightly, eyes flitting up and down her body, and they may as well have been lustful hearts. Eris had never looked as beautiful to him as she had recently — radiant and vibrant and powerful, even as she herself felt weak and sick and fearful. Closing his mouth so he didn't drool, Kier pushed himself up and padded over to sit close beside her, just far enough behind her that he could rasp his tongue soothingly over her shoulders, trying to release the tension in them. A shaft of pale blue moonlight fell over them, swimming with dust motes.
"I was thinking," he told her quietly between licks, not looking up from his gentle work; the smell and warmth of her damp fur filled his senses, "if you'll allow me to name one or two, a little nod to my ancestral loch might be nice. If only to spite my mother." Though he was still behind her head, he looked up and gave a little grin. After a brief moment, he went back to grooming her. "Oh, she'll hate being a grandmother. It'll make her feel old." Still grooming, eyes mostly closed, he grinned around his tongue. "But we don't need to decide on names now," he continued quietly, eyes slipping shut again. "It's bad luck." And to Kier, luck was everything.
"Perhaps," she mulled over the words, disregarding them moments after, "but aren't our outings always so much more interesting?" She crouched back down in front of him, muzzle inches from his own, "and all this dust and dirt and stone," she huffed, sitting up, tail twitching impatiently, though she wasn't annoyed. She almost forgot what it was like to be irritated by Kier, and she laughed at her former self for being so aggravated when they first met. He was the little worm that had wiggled his way into her cold, dead heart. There wasn't much she truly, genuinely regretted, but turning up Kier in that little tearoom would have been one of them.
Eris tittered at the mention of his mother, but it was an irate thing, hardly concealed resentment towards a she-cat she had only seen once in her life. It had ended brutally regardless. Perhaps there was an underlying distrust and hatred of all mothers, feelings towards her own projected outward towards those both deserving and undeserving, but Rhiannon had truly proved herself to be a thoughtless beast. Eris settled into a purr, "yes, of course. I hope the thought makes her feel absolutely terrible."
She stood and whisked towards the exit, no longer waiting for the lazes of her husband, hardly heeding the words of bad luck or whatever other whimsical thing he believed — she loved hearing about it from him, of course, just as much as he loved hearing all her theories and experiments and hypothesis' from her, but she hadn't yet dabbled in the science of magic yet to truly be for things like karma and luck. She had only just started trying to look into the existence of Starclan and Gods and life after death in addition to the peculiar cases of the two cats who had come back to life without any external help. It all made her brain hurt, she had no time for whatever rituals he happened to meddle with.
Still, despite her rush, she stopped at the exit of their luxurious little space, and waited without fulling turning, only greeting him a half-tilted glance over her shoulder.
When Eris looked back at him, Kier was indecisive for a long moment, half ready to follow her, half ready to insist she come back to bed and be on the safe side. He sat there, looking agonised and uncertain — before finally relenting and standing. “Don’t give me that ‘come hither’ look, Eris,” he grumbled, rushing to the little stash of herbs he kept in a crack in the stone by their nest, hurriedly pulling out a few stems and sorting them into a rushed wad before picking them up in his mouth and scurrying down the slope after her, slipping once or twice on the slick rock. “You know I can’t say no.” She could get him to do anything with that look. His voice was muffled by the herbs as he said it, joining his mate and brushing his side against hers. When she’d first told him she was pregnant on that terrible, wonderful day, the day he’d died and the day he’d first said the words I love you, he’d told her she would have freedom in everything, that he’d never stifle or control her — and he wasn’t going to go back on his word. He’d meant it. But if she insisted on going out when she should have been resting, then he’d scurry along behind her anxiously, offering snacks and water and carrying an emergency bundle of herbs — for pregnancy pains, for nausea, for sore joints (because they were always sore as it was, how must she be feeling now that she was carrying extra weight on her thin legs?), to staunch bleeding in the worst case scenario he dared not think of; and if it were to happen, oh, there would be no question of who he would choose to save between his mates and their kits. It would be her, it would always be her. But irrespective of that unthinkable situation, he was more than happy to be her lackey, her worried, fretting servant — insisted on it, in fact. It was no different to how he usually was with her, anyway. If she needed inspiration, needed a break from the airless cave, needed excitement, then he would follow.
As she headed out of their den, he resisted the overwhelming urge to tell her she shouldn’t be rushing about — that she should be taking things slow, being careful. He almost physically bit his tongue to stop himself, looking like he’d bitten into a lemon. Nothing was harder for Kier, now that he’d gotten a taste for saying whatever terrible thing came to mind after a childhood of silence, than holding his tongue. But, finally, it became too much and he blurted out, hovering anxiously at her shoulder with a pained, helpless expression on his face, the herbs dropped at his paws, “are you alright? Where are we going? Do you feel okay? Do you need to rest? We can rest. Are you thirsty? Maybe I should bring some— some damp moss— where’s moss?” He turned in a quick circle, not truly taking anything he was looking at in. “Moss, moss — there’s got to be moss somewhere, this is a damn cave. Where do they get the moss to make our nest? Who does make our nest? Have you ever seen them? It’s just always there. Maybe we should go back and find out. This is going to bug me. Isn’t it going to bug you?” As he spoke, he was pacing increasingly panicked circles around Eris, tail-tip flicking more and more anxiously; he hardly seemed aware of what he was saying, or even that his mate was there at all, just building into full blown panic.
Finally realising what a disaster he was being, he stopped in front of Eris, looking defeated and guilty, and let out a breath. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining your outing. Would you like to go on your own? I can wait in camp — you should have fun, Mousey. It’s a myth, isn’t it, about pregnancy and exercise? There’s no harm in it…” Even as he said it, his eyes travelled down doubtfully to her chest and he brushed a gentle paw across it. “I do worry about your lungs, though,” he admitted quietly. Despite the oppression he inflicted on the nursery queens because it satisfied some cruel hatred in his heart, he was more up to date on modern medicine than he let on; it was just that he chose to forget, ignore, or disbelieve it. With Eris, though, he made a conscious effort not to treat her as he did any other pregnant she-cat. It was a gargantuan learning curve. Closing his eyes for a moment, he bowed his head and then looked up again. “Of course you must go — of course. Go look at the stars or what have you. But maybe I ought to stay behind — I get so worried, you know, and you don’t need that…” He stepped forward and tenderly, apologetically, touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed. In this, he was willing to admit he had so much to learn, and even more to unlearn. It was just that the feeling of having to confront all his… biases towards she-cats created a terrible surge of cognitive dissonance, a flood of things he had to pick and choose what to take out and address and what to try and force the doors shut on again, and that made him panic in a way he never had before.
Now, he had to learn that he could just let go and breathe and enjoy the experience of expecting kits with his mate. That they could parade through the kingdom they owned, run amok like they couldn’t when both of them were kits, and no harm would come to them. To her.
"Precisely," she purred, teasing. Despite the fact that she knew he would do anything for her, go to the ends of the earth if she asked, she was never truly demanding. Truthfully, she didn't want him to do anything because she asked, she wanted him to do it because he loved her, and she adored the way he still looked at her with utmost awe and fondness, even though, deep down, she knew she was too flawed to be loved that way by anyone else. It was a gift that he was as terrible as her. The way he fretted and offered safer alternatives to her need for excitement, the way he still went along with it anyway when she didn't listen, it was stupid and lovely and everything she adored. He was vocal about it, she savoured it quietly. She gave him an amused side-eye.
"Ruining? No, no, never," she laughed, continuing out of their shared cave, leaving the fresh scent of the water behind for a saltier, dryer air, "no need for moss, and no need to worry about my lungs. They've always been like that," she rolled her eyes, shoved him along gently like he were a child unwilling to go outside and she was his exasperated mother. "I didn't take you as someone so easily scared, go on." She hesitated before completely leaving their sanctuary, adjusting the little bits of her fur that still stuck out and making sure no pieces of moss still clung to it — she used to be uncaring of her appearance, going out the same way she had went to bed, if she did at all, residue of leaves and dirt, and whatever she'd experimented, but now she took the time to always check herself over when facing her clan. Filth was for the lower classes.
Eris walked out with as much grace as she could muster, glaring down any warrior, kit, or apprentice that looked in her direction, loyalist or not, as she passed. The sliver moon only offered the barest amount of light, leaving the camp darker than before, and when she exited in the upward tunnel, there was hardly a proper shift. She tripped over a stone, catching herself ungracefully and cursing, because still she was unused to not knowing where she was putting her paws.
"Yes," Kier replied, anxiously matter-of-fact, as she shoved him ahead, "but 'always been like that' is not a good enough reason — if you think about it, that's actually more worrying because—sorry," he finished as she shoved him again. Ending up outside their den in the main cavern, he staggered briefly and then immediately, in the next step, was Aloof, Dignified Tyrant Kier. He stayed like that until Eris tripped on the slope; then he let out an accidental, teeth-clenched snort of laughter high in his throat, because, really, he felt right now like he was pretending to be the Kier he usually was and he was actually cross-faded to hell, close to the giggles. It was the strain of having to be infallible and courtly all the time, likely; truthfully, despite how it often felt, even to himself, he was very young, and being under constant public scrutiny, constant criticism, constant insurrection, constant stress, was taking a toll, even if it was what he'd wanted. He was organised, he was meticulous, he was incredibly good at what he did — it was just that what he did happened to be terrible, and that somehow outweighed his brilliance. All he wanted was to be praised... The lack of it was destroying him. Right now, though, he just wanted to be free and stupid for a bit, and now, high above the rest of the Clan at the top of the slope, half lost to the dark, giggling with his mate, thinking they were being quiet but actually fully audible and visible to everyone below, it was the closest he had come. Shushing her, he followed after her, slightly hunched, into the open pine forest.
Sitting back against the stone beside the entrance to the camp below, Kier let out a contented sigh, feeling the burden of NightClan melt off his shoulders. Dropping the herb bundle — which he still had, just to be careful — into his waiting claws, he held it there and grinned lazily up at Eris, eyes hooded. "Where to, Mousey?" After a moment, tossing the bundle into the air and leaving it to thump against the ground behind him uncaringly, he pushed himself off the stone and padded over to wind around her, pelts scraping together, the feel of her so soft and warm. He sat down close beside her, snaking his paw across to rest it on her slightly swollen stomach.
"Have I told you how radiant you are pregnant?" he purred, muzzle brushing the back of her ear, his hopeful, unrepentant grin and dark, heavy eyes just visible. He couldn't get enough of saying that word, couldn't get enough of her. Kier, ordinarily, was incorrigible enough; Kier with his mate pregnant had to be physically held at bay. The second they were alone he got bedroom eyes.
