#p:kit

Trigger Warnings: Blood, childbirth

“What the hell do you mean the baby’s coming?”

It wasn’t that Rye didn’t know Kit had been pregnant. It wasn’t even that it hadn’t occurred to him that a small human would soon be joining them. He just hadn’t put too much thought into specifically how exactly they would get from Point A of a pregnant Kit, to Point B of Kit plus an infant. Maddox’s words, orders barked at Rye to boil water while he yelled at Balthazar to find towels, reminded him that the older man had clearly put far more thought into how those two points connected.

Rye scrambled to the galley to find a pot, filling it with water and only spilling half of it as he ran back to Kit’s room. The pot shook as he held it over his other hand, a small flame erupting in his palm to heat the water. He silently thanked his time in the water tribe for teaching him control under pressure. It wasn’t something well taught in the Fire Nation, and without that control, there would be a solid chance he’d accidentally set the ship on fire simply for how nervous and freaked out he was. He looked up from what he was doing—trying to focus on anything other than the woman in pain in the midst of labor on the bed—as Balthazar appeared.

Rye offered his best attempt at a comforting smile. He wasn’t sure how much the young boy had thought about this eventuality either. “Did you bring the towels? It’s all going to be fine. We’re going to have a little one to take care of soon.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Balthazar or himself that this was normal. Something about the process, the amount of blood, all of it—just didn’t seem quite right. But Rye didn’t exactly have much experience, so he relied on Maddox to know what he was doing.

Ella wasn’t even sure what time it was when she dragged herself out of her bed and pulled one of the sweatshirts she’d stolen from Caiden over her head. The sleeves fell well over her hands even as she twisted the knob to her door, marching indignantly up the stairs (as quickly and menacingly as she could while she couldn’t see where she was going). She ran her fingers along the wall on the next floor, counting the doors until she came to the apartment above hers and pounded on the door. “Open up, fucktard!” She yelled. “Turn down your shitty music before I decide to beat your ass for it.”

When news of the celebration in Wisteria reached him, Rye had several thoughts. First was that Oberon wouldn’t go. That wasn’t even so much a thought as much as it was just an understanding. He would send people win his place perhaps, but he wouldn’t go. The second was that he likely wouldn’t expect Rye specifically to go. It wouldn’t be out of place for him to make the request, but everyone knew what this was; a way to make the Queen look better as everyone was thinking again about the Tithes, and wondering if she would submit another hundred humans to a bloody demise. So Rye didn’t really expect Oberon to encourage or help in any way. Perhaps send a few lower ranking nobles to offer polite pleasantries. But no, he all but demanded Rye would be going with him.

The third thing he thought, which honestly was more blind hope than an actual thought of it ever being true, was that Kit would remain in Belladonna. She had refused to stay behind even when Oberon demanded it of her, and now it seemed that he had requested her presence himself.

It was the day they were to leave for Wisteria when Rye finally was able to get a moment alone with Kit. As alone as they ever were, of course, though he didn’t even count Maddox and Maerel. They weren’t outsiders.

“Please tell me you’re only going along with this insanity to keep Oberon happy, and will claim to fall sick before we actually leave?” He asked by way of greeting when Maddox let him and Maerel in. “You shouldn’t be traveling. And Oberon shouldn’t be asking you to. Not in your state.”

Chasing down his half-brother’s runaway mistress-turned-Countess was not how Rye wanted to spend the evening. He was perfectly happy hiding away for the entirety of the masquerade with Robin, pretending anything outside of them didn’t exist for at least the evening, and avoiding anyone that may recognize him behind his mask. Unfortunately, that was not where he found himself. With an annoyed groan at the servant Maddox had sent to inform him of their escapee, a hundred apologies to Robin and a promise to make it up to him later, Rye set off to find Kit.

The main problem of course being that she wouldn’t run out without a fairly decent glamour. He knew already she wouldn’t use the same glamour she had during the war. Oberon would recognize it, and Kit wouldn’t risk that. Not if she was going to all the trouble of sneaking out. He looked form one face to another, scanning each person’s masquerade outfit for anything that would give her away. There had to be something she would wear but refuse to glamour. Then he saw it, finally. Kit’s mother’s ring.

Rye made a beeline for her, putting on a practiced smile and making a sweeping bow. “My lady,” he said, offering a hand to her. He didn’t want to give away her identity to anyone who may overhear, and he wasn’t sure she’d recognize him, but he hoped she’d indulge him for at least a moment. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for a dance?”

“Lord Hawthorne,” a familiar voice said, making Rye look up from Nissa. The stables were mostly empty aside from a couple stablehands that were tending to other horses. They didn’t bother Rye much, not anymore. He always requested to tend to his own horse himself when he was preparing her for a ride, and eventually they gave up trying to assist him. The servant that spoke now was one from the castle. One that Oberon favored, if such a thing could be said of the King’s temperament. It was more than this servant was quieter than the rest. He bowed so deeply that it looked like he may fall over, and was always quick to heed Oberon’s every whim.

“Yes, Ian?” Rye asked. Ian smiled a little as he straightened up.

“The King requests your presence,” Ian announced. “May I escort you to the throne room?”

Rye hid his dread at the request behind a polite smile. “That’s alright,” he answered. “You may tell my brother I’ll be along in a few moments. I just need to see to Nissa.” Ian shifted a bit uncomfortably, and Rye could tell he wanted to protest, but wasn’t sure how. He wouldn’t speak a word against a member of the royal family, but the King far outranked his bastard brother.

“I’ll escort Lord Hawthorne to the throne room, Ian,” a warm, though stern voice said. Rye relaxed a little when Maerel appeared behind Ian, resting a hand on the young servant’s shoulder. The guard bowed respectfully to Rye, a gesture only ever offered when others were present. Ian appeared to relax as well as he turned, nodding respectfully to the guard before making his way back to the castle.

Once they were alone, Rye’s feigned smile fell away. He sighed a he turned back to Nissa, and could see the slight smirk that turned up Maerel’s lips. “Do you have any idea what this meeting is about?” He asked as he removed Nissa’s saddle. So much for having a relaxing ride through the Wildlands.

It had been just over five months, and Rye was already more comfortable on the island than he’d been most other places he’d traveled to. More often than not, as soon as the anchor dropped, he was looking out to the sea again. He enjoyed training with warriors around the world, of course, and had valued the time spent with the Water Tribe, as well as in various Earth Kingdom cities. He’d never felt any sort of dread when his thoughts turned to when he would have to leave, though. He felt that kind of dread here, when he looked out at the ship. He knew training with the Kyoshi warriors would last longer—no one mastered a new art of fighting in less than a year or two at absolutely minimum—but he already knew he would wish to stay longer when that time came.

Perhaps it was in no small part to the man walking that was walking towards him when he emerged into the open air early in the morning. A smile stretched across Rye’s face. “Morning,” he said. Before he could ask, as he usually did, what training would entail for the day, a loud drum sounded from the shore. He turned sharply towards the sound, as more drums picked up the warning and sounded across the island. “Fire Nation,” he whispered in disbelief. No, no, no, no. Why now? Why here? Oberon had never expressed any interest or concern at all towards Kyoshi Island. He had never considered it a threat.

A heavy weight sunk into Rye’s stomach as he watched the dark smoke from the ships draw closer to the island. Had someone found out that he and Kit were on the island? Now the island was about to be under attack because of them. He turned back to Robin, opened his mouth to say—he wasn’t even sure. The truth? To apologize? To surrender himself? No, that would require surrendering Kit as well. Kit. “I need to find Kit.”

“Change of plans, men,” Ser Dryden announced loudly to the troop. They were lined up in an empty field, far enough back from the frontlines, near the safety of camps. “You get a few more days to rest up. But then, I expect you all ready to go.” He paused, waiting presumably for comments that he knew wouldn’t come from their troop. They knew better than to question any orders. “Alright, dismissed. Back to your tents. Except you, Hawthorne.”

Rye hesitated, eyes flicking to his left, to Robin, who only shrugged, eyebrows raised as he nodded towards Dryden. They would talk later; the words were clear in his eyes. Rye waited, standing at attention where he was until the last of the knights had left the field, heading back to their tents. “Ser?” Rye said cautiously as he approached their commanding officer.

“King Aven came to me personally,” Ser Dryden said. “He ordered me to delay the troop setting out again so soon. He said he needs to see you immediately. He should be in his tent.”

Rye saluted, waiting a moment before Ser Dryden returned the gesture, and he turned to leave. His steps became hurried as he went. How bad did a situation have to be for Oberon to order their troop to remain in camp because he needed Rye? He was a little winded when he reached the tent, only bothering to pause for a moment for the guard outside, before pushing past him. The guard looked annoyed and the impolite entrance, but he knew Rye. He knew not to stop their King’s brother from entering.

“Oberon?” Rye asked as soon as he stepped inside.

Oberon stopped mid-stride, where it looked like he’d been pacing around the tent, and looked up at Rye. He looked more miserable than Rye had ever seen him. His hands were shaking, his face was tight, almost angry and worried at the same time. His body seemed to almost drop at the sight of Rye, his shoulders relaxing and his face looking mildly less strained as he approached. Oberon’s arms wrapped tight around Rye. He returned the hug, though he was tense, nerves heightened as he looked around for some sign of what was wrong.

“Oberon, what’s happened?” Rye asked. Things couldn’t have gone south in the war; Rye had been on the frontlines. He knew what was going on. Nothing so bad as to warrant this.

Kit was having a god awful week. Month was probably more accurate. Everything had sucked since prom when Zuri showed up with someone who was clearly not him and laughing and slow dancing with a guy who wasn’t him. So, Kit basically decided to give up on girls since the ones he liked always turned out to not like him and break his heart and he was really tired of the damage. Dying alone sounded a lot less troublesome and as he trudged through the hall towards his next class it didn’t seem half bad. He wouldn’t have to share his chips or his favorite cereal. He’d just worry about himself.