Falls

Though this child had not been conceived in a moment of sweet surrender—and as an expression of her utter devotion to the one who held her heart—in some ways, facing the trial of her labor was easier. Kvothe was still afraid, but of circumstances outside the child’s arrival and not of the birth itself. Knowing what to expect added a strange sort of comfort to the pains that came more frequently as she followed along at Tyr’s hip. Soon, the red woman whispered silently to her foal, soothing herself more than the restless creature that had always seemed to sense the dark core of her fears. And as if they were aware of the uncertainty that churned behind that single-syllable mantra, a final kick was given. I’m here, Kvothe let herself believe that it meant.

I’m here, and I’m strong. Now be strong for me, too.

“I will,” the chestnut Friesian vowed in a fervent murmur, needing to feel the resolve of these two words when her lips formed them. If Tyr heard her, the golden stallion gave no indication save to pause and scent the air. And though the tension did not leave his body, Kvothe knew from the silent communion of his touch that they had reached his sanctuary—even before the gravelly cadence of his voice announced it. Slipping her muzzle into the hollow beneath his throat in a brief show of her gratitude, the auburn mare felt her insides give another twist and knew that she had only moments left. But it was not until her kind companion spoke that she felt the final shackles fall from her and the last remnants of her fear burned away by the brilliant flare of hope that filled her. I will be here through it all.

Whatever else had transpired between them in both the past and the present, nothing could hold more significance to Kvothe than this promise. She had once told Medusa that she would place this child’s safety above all else. That she would allow it to know its sire only if she could be certain that Tyr could be trusted. And in those handful of syllables, she found both her answer and the strength that she needed. Exhaling a warm breath into the patchwork of his coat, Ironclad’s beloved pulled away from the stallion who had become her guardian, found a comfortable nest of old needles beneath a towering pine, and slowly lowered herself to the ground.


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Even damp, she could see that the boy would share the soft gold color that had once chased her to his father’s side. Erasing the evidence of his passage into the world, Kvothe’s tongue traced the dark line of hairs that trailed down the ridge of the colt’s spine—and then the bold white mask that covered much of his face. As with Pike, she saw little of herself in this child save the dark chocolate of his eyes… but the sight of them warmed her no less than her daughter’s. Like any mother who had just completed the harrowing trial of bringing a child into this world, Kvothe was filled with a relief so sweet that it allowed her to forget everything else—if only for as long as the endorphins lasted.

She was beginning to tend to the boy’s long, white-stockinged legs when he abruptly moved, attempting to straighten them and stand. And while her son was no more successful for this first attempt than any other newborn, pride swelled in her chest and sent her own gaze searching for the stallion who still lingered nearby. “Did you see that?” She said, her voice husky with a combination of excitement and affection for the yet-unnamed boy. “Already, he’s strong. A warrior. A-a little lion.” With the last word, her eyes found the colt again, raking over the tawny color of his skin again. Watching him struggle to stand again, she recalled a story that Narene had once told her about the king of all beasts, and her smile was transformed into something both wistfully sad and fiercely proud. “Aslan,” She murmured, tasting the syllables of the great lion’s title.

And the boy—having only just failed his third try—rose into a shaky stand to stare up at her, his small ears cupping forward as if to claim the name as his own.