A Happy Event - Eventually.

[Cinnabar]

There is an expectant mood at the new-completed Calomel Hall, a sense of nervous excitement that grips many of the residents, and some far more than others. If guesses and estimations and calculations are correct then sometime soon - very soon - Governor Calomel and his wife will welcome the arrival of their first child.

Various of the farm's tenants have taken to loitering around the kitchens for both warmth and news of the situation upstairs, in the tower that comprises the Calomels' private quarters. After months of waiting, of uncertainty and hope and at times anxiety, finally the day is near enough that preparations have been put in place; the services of a reputable and experienced midwife have been secured and a bedchamber in the Hall made ready for the delivery, with copious clean linens and a fire kept burning in the grate at all hours.

The Governor has taken to carrying out his duties from home since Midwinter, a steady stream of couriers braving the chill of Myrken winter to carry papers and reports between the Meetinghouse and the Calomel farm. When he does briefly venture out of the house Cinnabar wears an expression somewhere between delight and distraction, features alternately creased with worry and split by a giddy grin. He finds it increasingly difficult to stay still for any length of time, a state of affairs that grows only more pronounced as the days pass.

No battle, no siege, no trial or ordeal of Myrken Wood has tested the young Governor's nerves so sorely as these interminable days of helpless anticipation.

[Wendy]

The sun shines on a particular Myrken Wood morning, defying the predictions of scholars that had been expecting a cold, steel rain. Cambree Calomel has been roaming the floor of her private quarters since the dark was present.

Her habit of visiting with the people downstairs has seen it's end, since she is no longer able to go up those steps without aide for the flight - and wouldn't rather be a burden.

Weighing on her mind is the importance of a safe delivery for the tiny Calomel at rest within her womb. Until recently, she wasn't this concerned over what is going to happen, but new feelings have arisen. She has unearthed a world of worries. Uncomfortable thoughts have endured her pacing, this morning, and proceed to exhaust her mind.

Sunlight smacks against the thinly shaded windows. The hearth pounds its steady heat into the room. The tea house madame is restless, and nervous, and just about to reclaim her space on the couple's bed when her strides come to a halt.

For a speechless moment, all Cambree can do is stand fixed while birth water spreads between her feet. A slow glance toward the bed snaps awareness into place, delivers breath into her lungs, "Oh, God. Oh God, Oh God, the floor!"

Linens. The emergent need for them has her lunging for those lining her bed (rather than taking the time to find the pile that was saved for this moment).

The bed's top cover and sheets are reeled by hardworking arms. In a dance, one cloth is thrown to the floor while she uses the others to towel. The non-stop flow has her heartbeat kicking in rapid response when she throws out a call for help.

[Cinnabar]

"Cam? Are you alright?"

There is an immediate response from across the hallway from the main bedchamber, a smaller room which Cinnabar has been using as a makeshift study; a chair scraped back across the floorboards and hurried footsteps before he reaches the doorway, blinking at the incongruous sight. At first there is uncertainty as to what mishap might have occured - some kind of spillage, an overturned pitcher? - she's still standing, though, which is reassuring. So what's the problem?

It's a matter of brief seconds before things fall into place, the urgency in her tone and the need for linens, and then his eyes widen in startlement and his mind scrabbles for the plans and preparations that they'd agreed upon.

"Now?"

[Wendy]

"I need more," says his wife, who suddenly realizes that there are events pertaining to a child's delivery that she may have forgotten to share, "Hurry!"

Their bedcover is damp and rumpled under her feet. She hasn't moved from the spot, nor has the leakage ceased. Holding the clutched ball of bed sheet against her body, she nods in the direction of a neatly-folded stack.

This is not how she'd imagined their life as a family would begin. Perhaps time allowed her to romanticize the details of her former pregnancies.

Every crease in her body shows the jump of her pulse. Her green-eyed gaze moves to search the room for other helpful accessories. There are curtains, there are furniture coverings, she gasps, taking note, in case they run out of linens before this ends.

Glancing down to where her hands rearrange the bulk of wet fabric, her smile fades. Concern pinches at her brow, "Is there anyone downstairs?" Lavender? Daveney? Trude Kaczmarek? Their midwife?

Stark clarity is in her eyes when she finds Cinnabar again. Warm color floods her cheeks and brow, "It won't be long now."

[Cinnabar]

He's already moving to the stack of folded cloth, grabbing the first linen from the pile and hurriedly unfolding it before handing it over and seizing another. There's uncertainty as to how many of the sheets they might need, or might even have available - ah, there's more in the chamber they'd made ready, and clean water and a fire besides. Her question has him frowning briefly, having kept to his study for most of the day thus far.

"There've been people in and out all morning - I'll send word." For the farm women, for Mistress Roslin the midwife, for... well, anyone who might help. He's about to turn and hurry for the door before his brain catches up with him. "No, wait, let's get you to bed first. Can you walk?"

[Wendy]

Cambree's head shakes, "Not yet." A grim smile is dues for anxiety. "I mean, I can, but I wouldn't." The flex of her hand against a clean, well-folded bolt of fabric suggests remaining in place is now best. "Once it stops..." she chuckles, then gazes around the room. Both hands are in use applying pressure while in this compromised form of a bent waist and spread legs. The heels of her feet bunch the covering on the floor. Her breath is paused. She's thinking...

"...but, you can help me with my robe." The luxurious gift should not be made to suffer the consequences of the next few hours. "I hope it hasn't been soiled," she grimaces. Her silent prayer is that the Midwinter gift will have been spared; though, there is less hope for the linen shift that also falls from her shoulders.

Carefully, and with one hand on the absorbent sheet at all times, she begins to remove the heavy garment.

[Cinnabar]

"It doesn't matter."

There's some small and dismissive noise at that concern over the robe, which he helps her peel off before tossing it over a bedpost without a second glance. His attention is entirely for his wife, and there are more important matters in hand than mere garments - providing a steady supply of linens, unfolding another sheet to drape about her shoulders, scuffing the floor cloth to keep it from tangling her feet, pressing a brief kiss to her brow. Support and assistance in as many ways as he can manage.

"What else can I do?" Attentive and ready to aid however he can, though very much unwilling to leave her on her own until he's certain she's comfortable - or as comfortable as might be managed, given the circumstances. Yielding to her experience in such matters now, alert and awaiting her direction.

"What else do you need?"

[Wendy]

It comes to mind that she could ask for someone else to do this, but the thought wears off. Her smile grows. "Nothing more than you've done already." The sheet to keep her warm was a kind gesture. Those on the floor that have been rendered useless are soaked and can wait for the midwife and what students she is training.

She would reach out to give his hand or arm a squeeze, but the moment suggests that the smile ought to do the trick. Her voice is light enough to be reassuring, but it could be obvious that she is hiding discomfort.

"Thank you..." and "Are you going to be alright?"

[Cinnabar]

"I'm fine. Really." The tightness to his grin and quickness to his movements might hint otherwise, but he's composed enough to wrap an arm around her shoulder to offer what comfort he can. He glances for the door, then to Cambree, keen to get help but not before he's seen her to the birthing room.

"Let me know when you're able to move. Plenty of time." Whether that last is to reassure her or himself is open to debate, of course.

[Wendy]

This makes her grin. "Mm," she agrees, "Plenty." Hopefully not too much of it. The bowl of her abdomen tightens, stealing away the opportunity to appear civil and conversational. She checks below to see whether the flood has thinned and is relieved to notice a much slower outflow.

Her shoulders bow to the pressure of these events. Rather than rest against Cinnabar, she must choose to be active. Ache is mild compared to what is to come, so there are no complaints to speak of. "I think it will be all right to go now." Face flushed, she quickly studies his own - just to be assured of his words.

They may not see one another again until there is a baby present. Not knowing what opportunities they'll have, she presses a kiss against his cheek.

"Go on," she firms up, "Let's get Roslin."

[Cinnabar]

It takes but a few minutes to see Cambree safely ensconced in the makeshift delivery room - there'd been some fussing with pillows, with yet more linens, with setting a kettle of water over the fire, with a half-dozen other frantic preparations, and with making sure she was in bed, because that's why it's there. But finally, finally he's satisfied enough to leave her long enough to get help.

A rattle of footsteps on the stone stairs heralds his arrival in the kitchen, disshevelled and anxious in a way that he'd done his best not to show in front of his wife. A hurried explanation make matters clear enough, and the room is abruptly filled with a hubbub of activity; slaps on the back and words of support and encouragement for Cinnabar from the menfolk, while the women sensibly get on with the more practical matters.

A child is sent to run and fetch Mistress Roslin and her assistants - lodging with one of the tenant families for the last few days, and well-recompensed for their troubles - while one of the Council couriers who'd been warming himself near the stove ducks out soon after and hurries for the stables. The news'll be all over the farm within a half-hour, and further afield within an hour of that.

[Wendy]

News does travel quickly within the Wood. One might recall a group of monks that had instant messages of the Governor's every move at one time. Surely, they would hear of this before the bairn sees daylight for itself.

Cambree waits for the sound of Cinnabar's footsteps to drown in the staircase before she flips the covers from her body and sits up. The presence of pain is constant beneath her waist, but tolerable, aching, thought not suffocatingly so.

Changes are expected through the course of the next few hours. She recalls that the birth of her first son was different from the second - and so it could be another new experience this third time.

When Roslin and her team have arrived, they will find her wrapped in yet another bed sheet, standing by a chair that is nearer to the hearth. Her shift is a pool of ivory on the floor.

No formalities are spared here, "It's been a little while since I've felt anything," she offers, expecting that a surge of activity will arrive at any moment, but she is as yet unsure of when.

[Glenn]

Kitchen? Who would think to go looking for Cinnabar in the kitchen? Anyone who lived in a manor home like this, maybe. Glenn, who had not, who was staying here for the last day or two at the request of Cinnabar and Cambree, for moral support, if nothing else. In fact, the moment the news broke, Glenn started looking and there was likely some near comedic crisscrossing as he went everywhere but where he ought to be, with a few near misses.

Finally though, he would all but crash into the Governor, would join his hand to the patting of backs. Glenn wanted this to go well for so many reasons, for his friends' sake, and in a more indirect way for he and Rhaena's as well. She had told him something rather dire as it pertained to herself not too long ago which might affect their ability to have children in years to come. Still, it was his job to put up a good front for Calomel. There was a bottle of brandy in his free hand, just in case his friend needed to take the edge off. And there were a few bottles of stronger things in pockets... just in case he REALLY needed them.

[Cinnabar]

Perhaps a little overwhelmed by the situation, nevertheless Cinnabar's expression brightens considerably once Glenn arrives; the young man will have to move fast to avoid a broad embrace, and the brandy is noted with considerable interest. He's not had anything to drink yet, but the excitement and nervousness of the moment seem to have an effect on the Governor to the point where he's finding it very hard to stand still or keep his thoughts straight.

"Glenn, my friend; I really have no idea what I'm doing." Out of his depth more than ever before, and perhaps it shows in his helpless grin, or his pacing about the kitchen.

"I think everything's being taken care of. So what do I do now?"

[Glenn]

The brandy was good, too. Glenn had gone all out for this. In fact, the young mapmaker had picked up the bottle back during their expedition north to Ricathair and had been hiding it from the governor ever since, saving it for a special event and really, if this didn't count, what did?

"First of all, Cinn." Really, asking Glenn about such things was a bit of a fool's quest. Glenn knew about libraries and terrain and veiled girls and rapiers. Babies and deliveries? Completely outside his range. But some things were universal. "Don't admit for a moment to anyone that you don't know what you're doing. Past that, and I think you and I can say with some real certainty this time, at least... Cambree knows best on this one. I think this is the one time where the man of the house has to manage the household, for a few hours at least. Let's have a drink and try not to break anything."