Day Two-Sixty-Five: Widow'd Mama

I knew we were getting close to Goblinoster when the rain began to fall. I've heard that rain follows goblins like deer flies follow supple flesh, and the city, even from a kilometre away, didn't disappoint.

Sheets of water lashed us on Barrel's back. He landed and tried to form shelters that could keep us out of the wet, but his skin could only shift so much, and we were all soaked by the time we saw the edges of the city. I think Barrel enjoyed the water, as it cooled him down and allowed him to fly further than normal, but the rest of us were miserable.

More miserable.

Goblins are sneaky little bastards with spies everywhere, so I wasn't surprised when we spotted a welcoming committee of sorts, waiting on the outskirts of Goblinoster: a squad of trolls and goblins. The goblins, almost all warriors, stood and waited for us around the legs of their massive beasts-of-burden, ordering their trolls to remain steady and ready their massive boulders for an aerial bombardment if the dragon winging towards their city tried anything funny. That's what I imagine they said, anyway, based on the greeting we got when we landed.

"Welcome to Goblinoster, ya pack of bedraggled, pasty-faced humans," hailed Grylock the Ambassador, standing safely beside one of the trolls. He raised an eyebrow at Edmund. "Well, 'cept you, son. You could use a bit of time indoors, the looks of it."

Edmund countered with poetry. I can never remember what he says. It was something witty about Grylock looking a little too green and maybe needing a doctor. They had a moment.

Grylock turned to me. "Mrs. the Guard, I think? Only met ya a couple times. Where's your hubby? Wouldn't mind riding him around again, he makes a good steed."

My eye twitched. I opened my mouth to say something. Instead, a fire erupted in my brain, all of the fatigue and accumulating sickness and… other things… jumping out of me at once. A headache about as big as the earthquake that demolished my home split my skull. I wobbled, my vision darkened, and I heaved three days' worth of grass onto Grylock's head. Then I passed out.

Dreams. Dragomir always used to complain about bad dreams. I woke up a few times, in the early morning, and found him talking in his sleep. I never really have dreams, myself, but for once I did.

I dreamed I was in a white room, surrounded by white furniture, white blankets, white curtains, white white white. I was laid up in bed, and when I tried to get up I rocked back into the sheets, because I couldn't rise over the swell of my belly. It was too big, too bloody round and heavy to let me up. I struggled, but nothing worked.

The room brightened. Now I was trying to look over my belly, to see if there was something in there with me, but that damned pot grew and grew and grew, and before I knew it all I could see was my own tubby flub. It pinned me to the bed, not letting me see there was somebody else in the room, but I could hear them - and they said something that chilled me, speaking in a low, formal, even voice:

"You have given them a weapon. It is time we balanced the scales."

I couldn't say anything back, because then my stomach burst, splitting open and pouring white light everywhere. It didn't hurt, mind, but it was a damned shocking sight, and I was so surprised that I couldn't even cover my eyes. A good thing, too, because I got my first look at what's in my belly: a little baby boy.

He looks just like his daddy.

As the boy smiled at me and the light faltered, I woke up. I was in some goblin doctor's office, watched over by a bunch of ugly, midgety, green nurses. One of them hailed me when he noticed me opening my eyes, smiling his hideous goblin smile and pointing out that, yes, I was awake. Must've been educated for years to come to that conclusion, eh?

They reassured me that I was safe, told me my companions were in the next room, and then joyously informed me that I was pregnant. They must have figured, since my belly was still flat, that I hadn't known. No wonder they looked so weirded out when I didn't seem to care.

One of them called in Edmund when they found me awake. He told me what's happened: we've been detained until King Gok and his advisors can find out what went wrong in our old castle. A lot of things are happening back east, most of them potentially not good, and Gok needs us to fill him in on the details.

Eventually. Little bastard is taking his time.

After apologizing for not being able to do more - as if he could have done much of anything - Edmund handed you over, diary. He said Dragomir had entrusted you to him, but… he figured I would be better suited to taking care of you. He's illiterate, so I guess that's a good idea.

You're all I have left. I'll take care of you. Promise.

I've been in the same three rooms ever since waking up. A week has gone by, and there's a tiny little bump in my stomach, a knot that continues to grow. It doesn't hurt me like it did with the first monster, though: this one is cool, and calm, and… orderly, I suppose is the word. I don't think this birth will be bad at all.

But… the boy… he has no father. My Dragomir is dead. I know he is, I don't know what I'll do, because my life has fallen apart, and even though I can put it back together on my own, I'd rather he was here to help me.

I miss you, my sweet idiot.

Libby