Country Air

"What do you think about taking the winter off, Ims?" Garrick sat down opposite her, grinning over the stack of reports on her desk. "You haven't had a vacation since never."

Imogen rolled her eyes as she looked up at him. "A vacation? Seriously? What, you think I'm going to abandon Bodhi to the wolves?"

"The wolves will keep; it's late enough in the year nobody's getting through without a dragon. Even the gryphons won't come this high once it gets a little colder, especially when it's peaceful."

"Gar..."

"I got a letter from my cousin Darcey. She's the one kept the farm after her ma walked with Malek, you remember." He didn't notice the way a little hint of his country accent snuck in when he talked about his mother's family, but Imogen felt herself get fond when she heard it.

"If there was something you wanted, you could have just lead with that." Imogen leaned back, giving him her full attention. "What does your cousin need?"

"Her husband's stuck in fucking Resson, too sick to travel. His summer husband's able to keep him, but she just had her second kid and she's worried about wintering with two littles and her sister in the house and nobody else. Darce thought maybe she'd like to have us for the winter, if we can get away."

Imogen fought to keep her face still at 'just had her second kid' but the rush of feelings was overwhelming: a twist of jealousy in her gut that she pushed away, before she imagined how she'd feel if she had a newborn and no Garrick around.

"Maybe a change of scenery'd be good," Garrick continued. "Some country air. A distraction, you know?"

She shut her eyes, willing him to stop talking, and the look on her face must have been awful, because it worked. When she opened them again, he was fidgeting with the letter, re-folding and unfolding it.

They'd been practicing this, Garrick learning to stop talking when he ran out of things to say and Imogen using feelings words instead of sarcasm all the time. She still used plenty of sarcasm, just... not when she didn't mean to. Not when she actually had things she wanted to say.

"I don't want you to coddle me, Tavis."

"I'm not coddling. I'm caring about you."

Imogen looked down at the recommendations on her desk and sighed. "I'm gonna go talk to Bodhi. Because your cousin needs help, and because you're lucky you've got family to help. Don't make it about feelings and we'll both be happier."

"No feelings, got it." Garrick grinned at her anyway, and her traitorous heart stuttered the way it had since she was twenty.

If anything, Bodhi looked pleased that Imogen was asking about it. She knew she hadn't been at her best, but if Bodhi thought she needed a break, she probably did.

Garrick was thrilled when she told him they were good. He wrote back to Darcey letting her know they were coming and spent the next two weeks going into town almost every day to pick out presents and treats. Everything had a story when he brought it back to show her, how it reminded him of something his father had brought for him or his mother or his cousins.

Almost everything. When they were packing to leave, she saw him slipping some baby things in that he hadn't pointed out to her. She started to say something about him fucking coddling her, but her eyes were burning, too, so she didn't. Fuck. She just ignored it. It was stupid baby shit. He hadn't hidden it, he just didn't rub it in her face. She wasn't going to fight about it.

Imogen wasn't sure what to think about the way it felt to pick her words. She and Garrick had said for years that bickering was their love language, and she'd have sworn to Amari that he didn't take her barbs seriously, but when they'd started talking about the options they had now that they weren't waiting for the next attack…

He didn't like the idea of raising a kid that way, and once she was honest about it, Imogen didn't either, but she'd been doing it for so long that she didn't know how to stop.

Talking to the speaker of Malek in Amari's temple, the one who taught the art of letting go, had been hard as anything they'd done together, somehow. It was probably the thing that had held them together during the last year while she and Bodhi put Tyrrendor back together even as she felt like her body was betraying her.

But it had been good, lately. A couple of nights before they left, he'd woken her up in the middle of the night whispering how good she looked in the moonlight, how much he loved her, and she'd let herself believe him without any snarky commentary.

It was good to just be loved.

Maybe Garrick was right and this was what she needed.

Imogen felt strange, climbing down from Glane's back and looking around the farm where Garrick had grown up. She'd thought maybe it would feel a little familiar to her own childhood. They had a barn, even if they kept sheep in it instead of horses, and even if there were fields for crops alongside the fields for grazing.

"Sheep taste better than horses," was the extent of Glane's opinion on the matter. "We'll be close enough to hear if you need me."

Garrick's cousins didn't look like him the way Bodhi had looked like Xaden once upon a time, but the one holding the baby had the same dark curls as Garrick, and so did the toddler that hid behind her skirt as Imogen walked toward them.

She tried not to think about a child with her eyes and Garrick's hair running around her own ankles. She didn’t get to have that, Amari had made it clear. She had danced with Malek too many times to create new life; he would claim it every time she tried.

The woman with the baby looked at Garrick like she couldn't quite believe he was there. Garrick had been writing to her for a couple of years now, but Imogen tried to remember what he'd looked like the last time she would have seen him. Gods, he'd been such a skinny kid.

"Wee Garrick, look at you!" The second woman was leaning heavily on a cane as she came out from the house. Wee Garrick? Imogen snickered.

"Okay, Ims, this is Darcey and her sister Etta, and I think there's a little Birdie hiding behind her mother. Do you want to come out and say hi?"

The girl stepped out slowly and looked up at Imogen. "Candy hair?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Imogen had to smile at that. The kid was cute. "Sorry, kid, I'm not edible. I think your Uncle Garrick brought you some actual candy, though."

Birdie looked at Garrick, and Imogen wondered how her eyes kept getting wider. How was that physically possible? But Garrick was like… four times as tall as her. Maybe she found him intimidating.

"Piggyback!" the kid yelled, throwing herself at Garrick, and Imogen burst out laughing. Not intimidating, then. Garrick held out the chest he'd packed all the gifts in, lowering it toward the ground so Birdie could clamber on. Then he raised it up while she made some kind of happy, shouty noise, until she could step right off the chest and onto his broad shoulder. She made herself comfortable, holding onto Garrick's hair in tiny handfuls while they walked into the house.

He had to duck to get her through the doorway, and the little girl giggled. Imogen's heart clenched again.

They sat in the front room together and Imogen listened to Darcey and Etta tell all sorts of stories about Garrick and his brothers that she hadn't heard before, while he handed out his presents and snuck Birdie bits of candy when she asked.

Afterward, he went out to chop wood and Imogen watched from the window as he worked, his sleeves rolled up even in the chill. Maybe we should come in the summer when I can watch him do this shirtless, she thought. The wood split easily under his axe. She remembered watching him fight with one dozens of times, but he looked just as comfortable splitting wood.

They built up a routine quickly, since there was a lot to do and not much variety in it. Garrick made breakfast, he took care of the sheep, he fixed up the things that needed to be fixed up before winter came on. He chopped wood in the afternoons, and no matter what she was doing, Imogen would stop and watch him.

Imogen was the daughter of a minor noble, and she’d always lived in places where there were staff to keep the household running. The sheer amount of work required to keep six people warm and fed and the house clean was staggering. She knew how to do basic tidying, a tiny bit of campfire cooking thanks to RSC and the war, how to keep herself and her dragon and her horses clean, but she hardly knew what she was doing otherwise. It didn’t help her dignity that Darcey and Etta were politely mystified about her ignorance. Garrick, on the other hand, was comfortable doing anything.

As the days turned into weeks and the snow fell, Imogen couldn't help thinking that maybe he looked more comfortable here.

"When are you going to shave?" she asked him when he had three days of stubble. Imogen had just kissed him and made a face at how prickly he was; Birdie did the same, and Etta had laughed.

"I was thinking I'd let it grow in, like I do when I'm on a long patrol."

"But you always shave when you come home, so I don't have to deal with you being all… prickly."

"Too much prickles," Birdie agreed.

"It's bath time, little bird," Etta announced. "How about you let your Auntie Imogen do your bath tonight?"

"Nooooooooo," Birdie yelled.

"Come on, kid, it'll be fun," Imogen tried, leaning down to pick her up. Birdie immediately became boneless, somehow managing to flop out of Imogen's hands and into a puddle of toddler on the floor.

"No, I want mama!"

"Your mama's trying to get your brother to sleep. You gotta be quiet or you'll wake him up again."

"All he does is yell and sleep and poop." As far as Birdie was concerned, this was a solid argument.

Imogen couldn't really disagree; they were always trying to get the baby to sleep, or to keep him asleep. She was still trying to get the hang of changing his diaper without getting peed on, and it felt about as successful as getting Birdie to do literally anything for her.

As in, she was not succeeding at all.

"How about I get you clean, little bird?" Garrick asked, and magically Birdie seemed to find all of her bones again. She jumped up and ran toward the little bathing room at the back of the house. Garrick just shrugged sheepishly at Imogen and followed her.

"I think I'm going to turn in early, Etta," Imogen stood. "Do you need anything?"

"Go ahead, dear, I'll let your Garrick know."

Imogen frowned to herself as she went into the room she and Garrick were sleeping in and changed into her pajamas. It was colder than she was used to out here. The house she'd grown up in was only a little closer to Aretia, but it was in the other direction, and that made a bigger difference than she'd expected.

In Aretia she didn't usually bother wearing much in the way of sleepwear, but just getting changed was enough to get her shivering and make her stomach turn as she pulled on one of her quilted flight underlayers.

She had the same problem in the mornings, where getting dressed meant feeling miserably cold and losing her breakfast if she ate too much. Then she spent half the day feeling terrible and the other half beating herself up for the fact that she was supposed to be here to help, not to be taken care of. She was channeling energy from Glane just to feel the heat of his power in her veins, pulling in enough that she constantly making new warmth runes, but they didn't seem to stay charged. Darcey and Etta swore up and down she'd adapt to the temperatures, but once she was measuring it in weeks instead of days, she felt like giving up.

Instead she got up and went into the kitchen, because she was nothing if not a stubborn bitch. She was not going to let a stomach bug take her out.

Garrick greeted her with a kiss and a plate with a single egg and some apple slices; she couldn't help but appreciate how closely he paid attention to what she could tolerate, at least.

"I've got a surprise planned for you today, Mimsy."

"Don't call me that."

"We're going into town today! I got to thinking we could make it a proper date, get something nice to eat around lunch, maybe find you some warmer clothes. And I worked it out with the lady owns the next farm over, she's letting us borrow horses."

"... Horses?" The level of sunshine that Garrick was emitting with his smile gave Imogen a headache this early. She reached for her coffee.

"I thought maybe it'd help to do something that reminded you a little of growing up," he shrugged.

That was too much. He was trying so fucking hard to make this work for her, on top of everything else he was doing to help keep the household running. Imogen choked down the lump in her throat, not sure whether it was her breakfast or a sob.

Amari's braid, what was wrong with her? She was going to fucking cry over... over... over her stupid, sweet, perfect husband trying to do a nice thing for her?

She felt like she couldn't even appreciate him because she was busy beating herself up over it. Even with her eyes burning, though, she got dressed, adding an extra scarf around her face to hide how red she looked.

Imogen heard a knock on the door as she finished bundling up, and when she came out there was a stranger laughing with Garrick.

"-told my sister I'd stay the day, just be keeping an eye on Darcey and little Ry so you don't have to be worrying yourself while you're out there."

"Kind of you to stay, and thank you for coming out with the horses," Garrick said, taking her cloak. The first thing Imogen noticed about her was the blonde braid that tumbled free of her hood, falling down past her hips. The second thing she noticed was that the woman was good-looking, round-cheeked and curvy, the kind of farm girl you saw in idyllic paintings.

"I keep telling her one of these days I'm going to find myself a husband and she might have to manage without me. Having you around might maybe make her nervous."

"Having him around should make anyone nervous," Imogen snapped, announcing her presence.

Garrick didn't flinch, but the woman did. "Ouch," she whispered, just loud enough that she probably didn't expect Imogen to hear.

"Ims, this is Lucia. She brought the horses from the next house up the road. She lives up there with her sister's family. Lucie, this is my wife Imogen."

"You weren't the one from your family we banked on marrying a city girl," she laughed lightly.

"Yeah and didn't a whole mess happen between then and now," Garrick's face darkened a little, but he shook it off. "Besides all, Ims is no more city than I am, she grew up raising horses in the north. If I'd brought her here when both you were twelve, I bet you'd have been good friends."

"And I'm guessing what's why you wanted to borrow them, then? Well, aren't you a romantic."

"That and it's not exactly practical to have dragons taking us ten miles and back." Garrick reached for her and Imogen let him take her hand. "Speaking of, we should be getting up the road."

The scarf turned out to be a good choice, not only because it hid most of her face but because the temperature outside was cold enough to be a personal insult. It felt like she'd been channelling almost all the time since they got here, trying to keep her body temperature up, but today she was definitely pulling more than usual to try to compensate.

Imogen had been riding horses for as long as she could remember. As long as she'd been walking, probably. And no, she hadn't ridden a horse in years, but it wasn't like you forgot how, especially when you've been riding a dragon in the meantime. The larger horse was obviously for Garrick; the second one was small enough that he could look the mare in the eye, which was definitely not the recommended horse-to-rider ratio.

She'd never thought about Garrick's size in comparison to horses before. Next to dragons, it didn't make much of a difference whether the rider was Violet's height or Garrick's, everybody looked small. But she'd be lying if the thought of comparing Garrick to a literal stallion didn't make her cheeks heat up.

Ah well, she could use all the heat she could get.

The ride started out easily enough. The horses picked their way through the snow on the road toward town, and Garrick kept checking in on Imogen.

Something was definitely wrong, though, and Imogen was rapidly realizing she couldn't pretend otherwise. She not only felt nauseated, but she was dizzy. Only about fifteen minutes into the ride, she reined her horse to a stop and jumped down, just barely making it to the ground before she lost her breakfast.

Garrick was beside her in a minute. "Ims? What is it?"

"I got motion sick." It came out as much a statement as a question to herself. Imogen couldn't understand it. She'd never gotten motion sick, even as a first year rider when Glane wanted to show off.

He was frowning, as baffled as she felt as he offered water from the flask at his belt so she could rinse her mouth out. “Let’s get you back home,” he said. He bundled her up in front of him on the big plow horse like she was a child, fastening the reins of the mount that was supposed to be hers to his saddle.

Back at the house, he tucked her into bed with a cup of tea and then went into town on his own, leaving her fighting nausea and tears in equal measure.

He came back with treats and supplies and the village healer, a woman who performed a thorough exam, asked some questions, and collected a specimen from Imogen that she added to a potion she had in her bag. She smiled. “Is this your first?”

“My first what?”

The answer left Imogen a sobbing mess as she explained Malek’s curse, hope and joy stolen by blood and pain, four agonizing times. “But I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry. I can’t promise, but I can say that this level of nausea and fatigue is a very good sign, and I’ve never had a patient yet who had such a hard start that didn’t get a good ending.

“This can help with the nausea,” she added, placing a jar and a bag on the bedside table. “Add a teaspoon of this,” she tapped the jar, “to boiling water and steep for five minutes. You can sweeten it if you don’t like the taste. Mint leaves steeped in boiling water can also help. These,” indicating the bag, “are hard ginger candies. You can suck on them.” She also showed Imogen pressure points on her wrist that helped with nausea and motion sickness. “It will likely go away in time, though each person’s experience is unique and I don’t want to make promises your body won’t keep.”

Imogen was fighting back tears again as the woman took her leave. Garrick came in and sat on the edge of the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sick,” she said, crying despite her best efforts. The healer had said that was perfectly normal as well.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head, brushing at the tears. “She said the nausea was a very good sign, that my body was adjusting to. To a healthy pregnancy,” she whispered the last words, barely daring to say them aloud.

“Amari’s tits,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "That's amazing. You're amazing." Garrick hugged her tightly, burying his face in her neck.

Imogen couldn't help noticing how different he smelled, with none of the soap he used at Riorson House or the smell of dragon on him, instead his sweat mixed with woodsmoke and horse.

After a few minutes, Garrick pulled back and looked at her. "Do you think you can eat? Lucia put stew on this morning and it oughta help warm you some to get dinner in you."

Right. Lucia was still here.

"Give me a few minutes to put myself together."

"I can wait with you."

"Garrick, I'll be fine. I'm no more fragile than I was this morning. I love you, go."

He squeezed her hand and let her shoo him out of the room. She needed to pull herself together. She wasn't going to get her hopes up any further than they already were, but she wasn't going to ignore it. It was just something that was happening.

Okay. Time to get up and go eat, and for fuck's sake, she was going to keep it down.

Imogen hung back from the kitchen, watching Garrick and Lucia chat as he set the table and she served up the stew. They were laughing at something she couldn't quite make out, and Imogen took the time to look at the woman again.

She was still beautiful and welcoming, but the longer Imogen looked at her, the more she thought about Garrick describing the woman as someone who had a lot in common with her… or with the girl she used to be.

"Imogen, my dear? Are you feeling right?" Darcey asked, coming up behind her.

"I think so," she ventured. "Garrick said there's stew for dinner."

The stew was warm and hearty, and Imogen ate slowly and quietly, mostly lost in her thoughts. Now that she'd put her finger on it, things fell into place. Long, blonde hair that had never been shorn off by a foster mother to teach her a lesson. A pretty face that hadn't been hardened by fighting, with no battle scars on her jaw. An older sister she raised horses with, even. Jealousy. The feeling was jealousy. Imogen pushed the thought away angrily.

It wasn't really Lucia she was jealous of. Lucia might look like her life in a warped mirror, but she wasn't who Imogen would have been without the apostasy, and more than that, the Garrick she'd married wasn't the man he would have grown up to be otherwise either, any more than either of them was still the kid they'd been when they met.

But she still wondered if Garrick was happier here. Happy enough to want to be a seasonal husband, maybe? Would he want to leave her half the year with a newborn, the way Darcey's husband had left her expecting? There was no reason he had to be in Aretia all year, not really.

No reason except that she wanted him there.

Her instinct was to pick a fight with Garrick so he'd stumble around and say what he was thinking without meaning to. Instead she excused herself to go lay down.

This was exactly the sort of thing they'd been practicing, though, and after she stretched back out on the bed, she went through the steps. Ground herself in the moment. She was thirty two and married and held the second-highest position in the government. She was not twenty and newly arrived in the quadrant, barely able to process her attraction to Garrick in between people trying to kill her. She wasn't twenty five and fighting battles weekly to protect her kingdom and unable to put her feelings for Garrick into words without insults for fear that she'd open herself up to being hurt. She wasn't even almost thirty and fighting venin at the edge of the cliffs while her body betrayed her for the first time, before she'd even realized what was happening.

Now was not then. Now she was safe, and her kingdom was safe, and her unborn child was possibly, impossibly safe.

"My dear?" Imogen opened her eyes. Darcey was standing in the doorway, looking in on her. "Etta's got the baby and our Garrick's seeing Lucia and the healer off. I wanted to be checking on you. She said you were to be fine and all, but I know he's been worrying."

Right. Healers were healers, quadrant-trained or not; it was Imogen's choice whether to share. Her first thought was to hold her tongue, to send Darcey away, but she made herself reconsider.

"Can I talk to you about something?" Imogen asked. She sat up and made room for Darcey beside her on the bed. "Garrick seems so comfortable here, and then that woman today made a comment about finding a seasonal husband, and I couldn't help think… I was wondering what it's like to be a seasonal wife."

"You're thinking Garrick's considering it?"

"I don't know, but I want to have a better idea before I ask him about it."

"It's hard sometimes," Darcey started slowly. "I'm afraid you've only been seeing the hard parts, what with my husband being gone out of season. It's been a hard year. A year ago we had one little and five adults in the house. My youngest brother-in-law went off to Aretia last spring, wanting to be a rider like our Garrick, and then my father-in-law got spirited away by Malek all of a sudden at the end of the summer, just before my husband was due back from Resson, so there wasn't time to do much beyond making the best of it.

"When it's good, though, it can be making things easier. Garrick's ma never wanted to leave the farm forever, and his da never wanted to stay, but they made it work there where they would've been sad otherwise. My husband's got his husband in Resson, and they're sweet as pie together and he loves doing his pottery there in the summers; even if we set him up a kiln here, the humidity's off somehow, he explained it to me once. But I'd rather have him half the year then not at all, and so would his husband, and he doesn't have to choose either.

"And most of the time it means more family, not less. I loved his da like my own, and our Garrick's ma and da were the same as parents to me when they were with us. Even though they hadn't been back home in a few seasons, when Navarre broke faith, Etta and I mourned for losing all our brothers at once. We didn't even get word Wee Garrick had survived at first."

Imogen bit her lip, torn between crying and laughing. "I'm sorry, I know it's not the important part, but I just can't… can't think of him as Wee Garrick."

"Well he wasn't always that big!" Darcey laughed too. "He was the youngest of all of us, and kept a little on the scrawny side next to everyone else."

"Oh, I remember, it's just been too long. There was a summer when I shot up and gave him a good scare, but it didn't last long. He didn't really fill out until he got to Basgiath."

Darcey took a deep breath and smiled at Imogen. "You know you don't need a seasonal wife if you want more family. I know you had a sister went on like our brothers did… if you ever need to borrow one, I'm right here and I know our Garrick would share."

And just like that she was right back to wanting to cry. Fuck, was she going to be like this the whole time?

"There's something I should tell you, so you know why I'm so useless," Imogen said. "The healer told me I'm pregnant."

"Well and that's wonderful," Darcey hugged her gently. "I'm guessing our Garrick can't wait."

"I've had difficulty before, so I think he's trying not to jinx it."

"Don't you be worrying about what you can't or can do. The household is handled, and family cares for family."

"Thank you." Imogen returned the hug, a little more tightly than before.

"You rest up. Growing a person's more work than growing sheep is, and I would know."

Garrick looked in on her a couple of times before bed, to the point where she told him to knock it off because it was making her nervous. She practiced thinking about what she wanted to say to him, so she could use the words she meant.

When he climbed into bed with her that night she snuggled up against his warmth.

"Are you enjoying my inability to complain that you're too hot to sleep with?" Imogen asked him. The man was a fucking furnace, and especially in the summer she tended to declare that he needed to be at least eight inches away from her at all times. She wondered if winters like this were part of why he ran so hot.

"I am. I know it'll only be lasting until spring." Gods, that accent. She remembered teasing him about it when they were kids, until he'd learned to lose it in the summers. She hadn't thought about it in years; he probably hadn't fallen back into it in that long. On top of everything else, it was one more thing that made her feel like he belonged here, almost like he was a different person here than he was in Aretia.

"It's nice having you warm me up, for now."

"I've got other ways to be warming you up, if you're up to it." She could hear the flirty tease in his voice, and she wanted to think it sounded different than the casual way he'd talked to Lucia earlier. Maybe she was reaching. She didn't know for sure.

"Maybe not right now." Not that she didn't want to, but she wanted to talk first. She waited to see if he'd say anything else before continuing. "Are you happy here, Gar?"

"In bed with you? Nowhere happier."

Imogen snorted. "You know what I mean. Here on the farm. In the country."

"It's been a good change of pace, and I'm liking it fine, but I don't think that's what you mean to be asking."

"I keep thinking about what that woman said. Do you wish you could do this every year, like your father? Would you want a seasonal wife?"

Garrick took his time thinking about his answer, just long enough to make her anxious. "No, I don't think so. I'd miss you, for one thing."

"I was just worried, I think because you've seemed at loose ends since the war ended."

"It's nice not to be fighting all the time, but it does take some getting used to," he admitted. "I'm keeping busy, here and there and all."

"What have you been doing while I'm busy with Bodhi and the Assembly?" Imogen realized she hadn't paid much attention, mostly because as soon as he got her back he tended to ask her about her day. "You said you were helping with classes for the riders?"

"Nothing official, but I've been helping with sparring and weapons training, and with rune classes. The longer it's keeping peaceful, the more I can do, seems like. And I've been trying to get the forge back in order, it's been too long since we had a proper weaponsmaster or smith that wasn't just us fussing over keeping the luminary running, and last year Sloane found a mess of her mother's notes on what kind of experiments she was doing with runes from around when she created the stones, and thought I might want to look through it. Fucking brilliant, Colonel Mairi was, and I don't understand all of it but it's been fun trying to figure it out."

"And I was worried you were bored!" she laughed. "I haven't been paying enough attention to you, have I?"

"You're busy, and… well, sometimes you laugh me off, sure, but sometimes you take me all too serious, so I was a little worried if I mentioned the forge and all that, you'd be feeling like it was one more thing you and Bodhi had to take care of properly. But I can just be at it, without making it more work for you, so that's what I've been doing."

“You’re sneaking around being all competent, just like you used to for Xaden,” she said, pausing for the surge of grief that always came when his name was mentioned. “I think - there are so many things that used to have people to do them, before the Apostasy, and there were never enough people, after. Bodhi and I talk about it every now and then; what’s important and what can wait, and what we still don’t have enough people to worry about yet. We keep getting stuck on the weaponsmaster, and here you’ve just been doing it.”

"It just needed done, so I did it. I didn't realize you were here looking for someone," Garrick said it slowly. "If you'd asked-"

Imogen realized that she knew what that pause was. He was hurt, wasn't he? She'd listened and caught that. It felt a little like unlocking a new lesser magic, the way it clicked into place when it worked.

"We weren't looking for someone, Garrick. More like it'd come up and we'd put it on the list of things we needed to figure out. If we'd thought about it for more than five minutes, you'd be the obvious person to ask about it, either if you want to do it or if not, you'd be able to find someone." It still came out abrasive, because of course they'd ask him, and why hadn't they thought about it, anyway? Imogen should have. They'd been talking about the same things in circles, she and Bodhi and the Assembly.

Maybe they all needed to step away for a few months, or at least a few weeks, to come back and see what they were overlooking. Who they were overlooking? She'd write to Bodhi about that in the morning.

"If either of us knows about loose ends I think it's you right now, Ims."

She sighed heavily. "Okay, yes. I came out here thinking I'd be helping too, but Birdie hates me and I'm too sick to help with anything. If anything, I'm one more person Darcey has to take care of."

"Birdie doesn't hate you. She's just being a wee one, that's what they get up to."

"Easy for you to say, she doesn't scream no no no no for five minutes any time you try to pick her up."

"Sure enough she does sometimes, until I get her distracted. And Darcey doesn't have to take much care of you. I wonder if it'd help to get a full sheepskin cloak on you, to be keeping you warmer. Next time you talk to Glane, ask him to be peeling the sheep before he eats them so we can make you one."

Imogen cracked up. "Peeling the sheep, Gar?"

"Sure, like fruit, I'm sure Chradh would if I asked him." He grinned. "I was calling it that when they sheared them, when I wasn't much older than Birdie. I don't remember but I got told about it for years."

"That sounds like something you'd have come up with," she shook her head. "Guess you're meant to be a city boy after all."

"You tell me that you'd be looking at that fleece come off in those fluffy sheets, leaving the little shorn one behind, and it wouldn't look like it's being peeled!"

“I’ve never really thought about it, but I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I also think you’d have more luck peeling it yourself before the dragons eat it than asking them to skin a sheep neatly without soaking it in blood and innards.”

"Maybe I'll just go into town again and get you one already made. We need to find you something to do with your hands, too, even if you're not feeling well. That ought to help you feel like you're not just laying about." He thought about it for a minute. "Did you learn to spin as a kid? That's one of those Amari crafts, like weaving, maybe that'll be helping you too if you're making something."

"I haven't touched a spindle since we moved to Aretia after my- after my tenth birthday." There were already enough feelings trying to shove their way out of her chest, she wasn't going to add that one. "I liked the kind you dangled and spun, because I could walk around with it. With the great wheel I could at least walk back and forth, but the little one was my favorite. And I liked weaving, too. I liked picking the colors and watching them build up into something bigger as I went."

"I know I've seen spindles around the house. Birdie's just about old enough to start learning the basics too, you could do it together. And Etta said she used to be weaving on her mother's loom before her arthritis got so bad, I bet I could fetch it out of wherever they stashed it for you."

Imogen tried to picture herself spinning with Birdie at her feet, and she found she didn't hate it. She was never going to be a farm wife in skirts, or even in pants, but she could do something productive. Not as dramatic as hammering out a peace treaty beside Bodhi, but that was okay. She was on vacation.

And doing some work she could offer to Amari, asking for her blessings, couldn't hurt either.

"Now that we’re good and done talking," Garrick interrupted her thoughts by kissing her neck, working his way down to her collarbone, "how do you feel about celebrating?"

"I don't exactly feel sexy in my long underwear," she started to laugh at him, but he pushed her top up until he could reach her breasts. Garrick resumed his small kisses in a neat circle around her nipple and bringing his tongue to play with slow licks until Imogen had to shove his hand down toward her legs.

"I need to make you feel sexy first," he murmured, but he pressed his fingers in between her legs, letting the friction with the fabric do the work for him while he resumed kissing her, moving down her breastbone to her stomach. He knew the scars there well, tracing them with his tongue as she moaned, but most of his attention seemed to be on peppering her with more kisses, especially just below her belly button.

"Reminding me why I feel like shit is not making me feel sexy," she told him, but she was pretty sure she was lying. Either that or she'd been too cold to fuck for enough nights that she didn't care.

"Reminding you that your body is incredible and deserves worship?" he asked, sliding his hands under her ass so he could hook his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and pull them down past her knees.

This was the least sexy situation they'd been in together that she could remember off the top of her head- admittedly she was distracted because Garrick was happily dipping his face down to kiss her thighs- and even though she felt ridiculous, it didn't matter to her body.

Garrick's undivided attention had been a turn-on since as long as she could remember, regardless of why he was giving it to her. The fact that he was licking at her clit? Just proof that no amount of quilted underwear was going to kill his mood. And that was intoxicating.

Imogen groaned, biting her lip and wishing they'd bothered to ward the room for sound.

"Are you needing something?" He'd stopped and was looking up at her, grinning like a dragon who'd cornered his prey.

"Just you," she managed to get out,

"I'm right here, for always," he said, shifting so that his hips were between her legs, and then she was too far gone to say anything else.

In the morning they both talked to Etta about the idea, and she was at least willing to pull out a clean fleece and several of her spindles.

The basic shape was the same, though the ones Imogen had learned on had a stone disk threaded onto the staff of the spindle, and these had wood making up the whorl, so the weight felt strange. Still, Imogen was surprised how quickly it came back to her, especially with Etta's suggestions.

Birdie was more interested in spinning hers like a top, but she kept demanding "Look!" "Look, Aunt Mimsy!" "Aunt Mimsy, loooook!" Imogen laughed as Birdie twirled, doing her impression of the spindle. Mimsy had been her sister’s nickname for her; according to family lore, Imogen was too hard to say, and it had come out Mimsy after a few tries. Birdie had done the exact same thing, once she wanted to call her anything.

By the end of the day, Imogen was comfortably dropping the spindle and letting the fiber twist into yarn as she sat in the main room and kept Etta or Birdie company. When she went to lay down, she stopped listening to the voice in her head that wanted her to beat herself up for it. She couldn't say she hadn't done anything, because there was yarn wrapped around the spindle that had been fleece before.

It wasn't much at all, but it was something.

There were a couple of full days and another snowstorm before Garrick was able to go out and look through the outbuildings to find the loom.

The difference between this loom and the ones she'd learned with as a child was more noticeable. She was expecting a piece of furniture with heddles that required a lot of physical effort, but the loom Garrick and Darcey set up nearby the fireplace was more like a large frame that braced against the ceiling and the floor.

"That's not at all like I remember," Imogen admitted as Etta went through the yarns she had in the house, looking for options for warping the loom. There was a chest of them, a fluffy nest of colors that Birdie kept trying to climb into.

"And what was yours?"

"It looked almost like a desk, the warp going in all different directions, and had a couple of heddles to swap between rows."

Etta nodded. "Ma had one of those, but that was too hard on my back so I was trading it off so it got to be in use. This one I could manage a bit longer, and it doesn't take up so much of the room so it didn't make me feel so bad when it hurts too much to be doing anything."

"Oh." That sounded a bit too familiar lately. "It looks much easier to pick up after twenty years, too."

"Can I make a suggestion for a project?"

"Of course!"

"Darcey told me a bit of why you're struggling, and out this way you can say it's traditional to make something for your wee one while you're waiting on them. Darcey knitted for Ry, but there's nothing says you can't be weaving a first blanket for yours."

Imogen paused, mouth open, ready to say again that she wasn't going to jinx it, but just like the first time she'd thought about spinning and weaving, it didn't feel like a jinx. It felt like calling in Amari, calling life instead of constantly ceding ground to death. She was almost immediately thinking about asking Garrick to pick out runes with her that she could weave into the rows of the blanket. Holding a bit of hope, instead of preparing for the worst.

"That's a really… that's a good idea."

Etta smiled and held up one of several identical-looking twists of yarn. "So I'm thinking a this yarn for the warp, then, it's undyed but near about white so that'll make anything else you use look a bit brighter. And I've a few other colors…"

'A few' turned out to be nearly two dozen, and as they went through Imogen realized that Etta knew where they'd come from almost down to the name of each sheep. They went back and forth because some of them weren't likely to launder well, but Imogen settled on a grey-blue that reminded her of Garrick's eyes and a pale orange that was much too light to match Glane but made her think of her dragon regardless. Etta pulled out a pink that was dustier than Imogen usually kept her hair, but it made her smile and she liked the way it looked between the other two.

"That pale rose-pink's from a tapestry I wove after Ma died. I was fussing over it for ages in the dyepot, accounting for it was to be Amari's dress. Can't think of a better place for the leftovers to end up."

"It's perfect. Thank you."

Warping took a good part of the day, even on a tapestry loom. Etta had to think through the measurements the project would need before Imogen wound the yarn onto the frame. Then she insisted they wait until the day after the longest night to put the first of the weft on. It was only a few days’ wait, so Imogen gave in.

Instead, they brought out the other tools for the loom, some of which were familiar and some that were different. Imogen picked up one of the brass-tipped wooden bobbins from the chest. She held it as if she was testing its weight as a dagger, though the balance was completely wrong for that. Still, the point was sufficient that she could probably kill a man with one if she had to. Violet could probably sink one in a attacker's eye at twenty paces if she had a couple of minutes to get used to the aerodynamics.

There was a story she half remembered about Queen Vanora defending herself by killing assassins with something like them, wasn't there? The bobbins she'd seen on the looms as a child weren't like these at all; no wonder the story had never made sense.

She told Garrick what she was working on at dinner and didn't realize her mistake until afterwards, when she went to lay down and he didn't want to leave the little pile of drawings he was making in a notebook, each one a slightly different series of runes knotted together.

"I'm right here, freezing to death," she huffed at him, having planned to enjoy her husband's hands and cock and then put on her long underwear. His attempts to weave warmth into the room wards had made a dent in her endless chill, but not enough of one to go entirely without her pajamas.

Garrick just laughed and undressed, but he brought his notebook to the bed with him as he was snuggling down next to her. "I won't be focusing on much else til I've got my thoughts down. Do you want half of me now or all of me in an hour, my Mimsy?"

Imogen groaned but let the nickname go. "You're already throwing me over for work? Maybe I've changed my mind. I'll write Bodhi in the morning that he needs to appoint you to be a trophy husband instead."

"Pretty sure that's Ridoc's job."

"We can have two."

"I won't look as good in a dress as he does."

Imogen couldn't argue with that. "Regardless, if I'm not even showing and you can ignore my naked body sprawling next to you in bed, that doesn't bode well for the next few months."

"Not showing? What's this, then?" Garrick made a show of studying her body, his large hands tracing what might be the barest hint of a change in the way her belly curved below her navel.

"If that's anything at all, it's as likely to be because I don't have the energy to work out. It's too early for me to show."

"I know it's been a fair few years since I've been studying geometry, but I happen to be the resident expert-"

"Hey! It's my body!"

"-in the way you get to looking under me." He winked and shifted his position, notebook forgotten now. Without putting any pressure on the hand that rested on her hip, he moved until his body was over hers, only six inches or so between them.

Garrick put his other hand on her opposite hip. His thumbs met just where her dark blonde hair ended, tracking a semicircle frame around her lower stomach.

"Alright, expert in Imogen Studies, what does your geometry tell you about the angle of my cosine?"

"Ims… I'm not having much blood getting to my brain just now and all, but I'm pretty sure that's not-"

She groaned in frustration, cutting him off. "Garrick Flynn Tavis, so help me, if you say another word about geometry instead of putting your cock inside me, you won't live to meet your child."

"As the Hand moves, I follow." Garrick grinned at her, the face of the man who'd debated battle plans with her but always deferred when she used his full name. Shifting his hands to her sides, he picked Imogen up and rolled over, sitting her on top of him.

Rocking slowly at first, Imogen groaned with satisfaction now that she had him where she wanted him. Tonight was her turn to make him wait while she took her time.

Over the few short days before the Solstice, she reminded herself that it was a good thing if her sex drive was perking back up again. The nausea was mostly confining itself to her mornings now, which made bedtime a lot more pleasant, but there were a few other downsides.

Chief among them was the way watching Garrick do almost anything left her staring like she was twenty again. Watching him with the axe was bad enough, when he was bundled up in those ridiculously soft shirts he'd gotten in town. The one with the red checks probably matched her cheeks when he came in from outside with firewood, and the one with the blue brought out his eyes.

She wasn't sure when he had noticed she was watching him, but he definitely had, because he'd make a show of it. Sometimes he rolled up his sleeves like it wasn't freezing outside, or twirled the axe before bringing it down.

Two days before the Solstice, when he was chopping enough extra wood for the bonfire that would mark the Longest Night, he was definitely showing off. Garrick winked at her through the window before picking up the piece of firewood he'd just started to split, then pulled it apart with his bare hands.

When he came back in the house after that, Imogen very politely excused herself, stating that she needed Garrick's help in the other room as soon as he had his boots off. Darcey and Etta didn't even bother to hide their laughter, shouting encouragements after them that did nothing to reduce Imogen's flushed cheeks.

"You are a menace," she turned on Garrick as soon as she'd shut the door.

"Your menace," he answered, leaning down to kiss her like she was the only source of oxygen available.

"Damn right you're mine," she answered, working on the buttons of his shirt. "Are you sure you don't mind just having the one mare in your stable?"

Garrick choked on his laugher. "It's been ten years, Ims."

"And it still lives rent free in my head."

"You're the only mare for me, I swear it," he promised, pulling her shirt off and gathering her against his wide chest. "I'm staying a one horse sleigh."

"Nope, if I'm a mare, you're my stallion and I'm gonna ride you all night."

He couldn't argue with that.

In the morning, Imogen thought maybe she should have argued. She was sore and tired, her joints ached, and she lost her breakfast.

Etta promised to take first watch with Garrick so Imogen would have time to catch up on her sleep, which she appreciated.

When Imogen woke, the sun was already down and the house was dark aside from a magelight Garrick must have left for her. Her sense of time was thrown off; it got dark so early that it could be anywhere from afternoon to almost dawn. She didn't feel like she'd slept more than two or three hours, and there wasn't any noise in the house, so she guessed everyone was outside. She pulled on her winter flight jacket before trekking out of the house, wondering how long she'd last.

It was no challenge to spot the bonfire once she was on the porch. About thirty feet from the side of the house, it burned brightly. The winter air was so cold it felt like crisp glass, as if it was a lens making the colors seem brighter.

Birdie was sitting in her mother's lap, yawning, while Darcey pointed out the stars for Eagle and Rabbit and Dragon to her. Etta sat across from them, holding her hands out to the fire, and next to her was Garrick. He was wearing a blanket like a shawl over his shoulders and it was bunched strangely in the front. In the firelight it took her a minute to realize that was because he was wearing baby Ry against his chest, the baby swaddled and tucked in a sling beneath the blanket. Something about the look on his face, how soft and protective he looked, made her want to drag him right back to their bedroom.

Cold stung her face and she realized she'd stopped walking. She hurried the rest of the way into the warmth and light of the bonfire, taking the empty space between Darcey and Etta.

"You're awake!" Garrick announced, sounding very pleased with himself. "I was looking forward to giving you a solstice present."

"Not in the morning?"

"We'd usually be waiting," Etta said, "but Garrick was saying yours will be doing more good tonight."

Garrick handed her what looked like a bundle of leather tied with a ribbon. He was giving her that smile that said he wanted to see her reaction, and that could be very good or very questionable. One side of her mouth quirked up as she pulled at the ribbon, handing it to Birdie when the little girl made grabby hands at it.

The leather was incredibly soft and thick, and she had to stand back up to shake it out. Was it a blanket? It was definitely large, and in the firelight she could see that it was sheepskin, with soft fleece on one side. The other side had a pattern worked in it, and she could see a trail of runes that ran through the curls and swoops- there was warmth and there was protection and there was health and there was home.

Imogen looked up at her husband. "You made this, didn't you?"

"I bought the cloak, but I did the runework." He was suddenly shy, hunching his shoulders as if he could possibly hide behind Etta. "Is it too much?"

Ah fuck, she was crying again.

"It's perfect, why are you worried? You're the most talented idiot I know," she laughed as she put it on. She could feel the runework snap closed when she fastened it, with a sense that the cloak had almost come to life around her. "You made me a hug."

"I didn't- I guess I did," Garrick sputtered and then laughed, loud enough that Ry started wailing a moment later.

"It's about time I was getting these two in the house anyway," Darcey said, standing up. "Come along, Birdie. Garrick, will you be coming to help?"

"Right behind." Garrick patted Ry's back and encouraged him to calm down. He gave Imogen a quick peck on the cheek as he passed her on the way to the house.

"How is it treating you?" Etta asked her a minute later.

"It's really cozy. Do you want to try it?"

"Our Garrick needed someone to be helping him test it, dear. He said he'd be making me one before spring, if it all worked."

"Well it definitely works," Imogen shook her head, a small smile playing around her mouth. "I can't believe him. He never keeps secrets, he's so bad at it."

"Darce and I both had to be reminding him that it was a surprise he wanted to give you. I think he was worrying you would think it was silly or suchlike."

"How could I think it was silly? I know how much work he must have put in."

"You'd have to ask him, I couldn't say."

Imogen watched the fire. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can, I've heard you do it plenty."

She gave a snerk. "But seriously, Etta, I know I don't bother with a lot of tact, but this is an asshole question and I want you to tell me if you don't want to deal with it."

"I'm listening, go on."

"How do you deal with... hurting all the time? I've known people who are in pain all the time, but this is the first time anything's knocked me off my game for more than two or three weeks."

Etta studied Imogen for a minute, then looked up at the sky. "When I was young, I was one of the best weavers around, would you believe? Garrick's father gifted two of my tapestries to the duke, not that I'd know if either of them were surviving in the city. When my joints started in on me, I didn't know what else to do, so when I had a bad day I was pushing myself even harder."

"You told me how bad an idea that was."

"And I learned it the hard way! I didn't want to be giving that up, and I still wouldn't if I could. Even asked the healer if it'd be worth going into Aretia, trying to see the mender you got there, but she said it was my body doing what it was going to do."

"So how did you get through it?"

"I'm still learning, and things'll be changing over time too. I take the seasons as they come. A couple years back I learned if I was careful in the summers I could still weave on smaller looms, but I had to listen to my body instead of going and pushing on. When it gets to hurting, I'll be putting it away for the time, and that lets me get back to it sooner."

"I'm hoping it'll be fine after a while. It's just hard for me when things are out of my control."

"I'd be thinking so, knowing just a bit of what you and our Garrick have been through. I'm seeing how you want to be digging your nails into everything so you can hold on."

"Any advice?"

"I can't say I'm a mother the way Darcey can, but dear, I'm near enough as it gets and I'll say you can't hold on like that where wee ones come in. You'll just be hurting yourself if you try."

That was not what Imogen wanted to hear.

"Birdie, and Ry, and your own babe... they'll be meeting you where you are, they don't know anything else. If you're lucky you'll be seeing them grow up, but they're their own people and you're your own self too."

"Of course I'm myself."

"You've done things I can't imagine, and you'll be doing more yet, but you're not what you can do. You're a rider and you're the Duke's Hand and as Amari's willing you'll be a mother. And it's easy to make any one of them all of you, but you're more than all of them."

That triggered the memory of a day Imogen hadn't thought about in a long time.

"Speaking of listening to myself, my dear, I'll be seeing myself off to bed now. It looks like our Garrick is on his way back to you." Etta moved slowly back toward the house. "Do you see the dawn in?"

"I usually do."

"Good morn to you, then."

Imogen heard Etta talk to Garrick for a moment, and then Garrick was behind her, wrapping his arm around her as he sat down beside her.

"I brought you another present. Well, this one's for both of us." He held out a bottle for her to inspect, though it was hard to read in the firelight.

"Just tell me what it is," she elbowed him.

"Local spirit. I picked it because it goes hard enough that I can feel it, so only a little for you, okay?"

"You're really going to keep babying me this whole time."

"Until there's a baby to be babying." He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and handed it to her.

Imogen took two swallows and stopped, handing the bottle back to him. It was surprisingly uncomfortable to just do what he'd told her to do, without doing the opposite on principle.

"Were you and Etta talking on anything interesting?"

"Just talking, really." She watched him drink, a drop of alcohol finding its way through his beard and down his neck, shining in the firelight. Imogen realized she'd gotten used to the beard. Maybe she'd suggest he keep it, though she doubted he'd appreciate it as much in the summer in Aretia. "I was thinking about the first real conversation we had after Xaden died."

Garrick seemed to freeze against her and only slowly start to thaw again.

"You can't just keep chasing the river every day, Tavis! We have shit we need to be doing."

"You have shit you need to be doing," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just here."

"Come on, Gar, don't be ridiculous, we've got to get back to Aretia, there's so much to do."

"I met Xaden when I was six."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, you don't get it. My dad brought me specifically to be friends with Xaden. I thought it was so amazing that I had a job as important as his as a six year old."

"Garrick…"

"I was raised to be whatever Xaden needed me to be. And I did it, and I never minded because I loved him. But now he…"

"He doesn't need you anymore. He can't need you."

"Who the fuck even am I without him? You and Bodhi are doing amazing, you don't need me. Aretia has a luminary of our own, and I don't have a military title anymore anyway."

"Of course we need you, you idiot. Of course Tyrrendor needs you, even if you're doing something different than you expected, you're still a fucking dragon rider, Tavis. We need you more than ever. And- and I need you, you selfish asshole."

He'd stared at her so long she thought maybe she'd broken him, that she was going to have to go tell Bodhi she didn't know what to do next, but finally something in his face shifted, like he was seeing her clearly now.

"Okay, Imogen. Tell me what you need."

She reached out and took his hand, guiding it into the cloak and onto her thigh.

"Why were you thinking about that conversation in particular?" he asked quietly, his accent suddenly all but gone, his voice wavering. "I was thinking about Xaden, how could I not tonight, but that was…"

"That's how I've been feeling." Imogen didn't want him dwelling on it any more than he was already doing. "I've defined myself by my role and my relationship with Bodhi, and being sick has been hard. I don't feel strong and in control like I usually do. And I realized I'm not sure who I am if I lose that, and that… fuck, Garrick, that scares me."

"Mims, if it's too much, you can go back…"

She shook her head. "No, Gar, listen. That scares me, but I realized you've been through that. You lost that compass and you had to build a new one, and you're fucking amazing at it."

"It was easy," Garrick sat the bottle down on the ground next to him and reached for her hands. "Building a new compass was easy. My true north is you."

"Fuck, Gar, you can't just say things like that to me, especially if we're supposed to be sitting out in the cold all night."

"Oh? How's that, Mimsy? Is your new cloak failing you?"

"No, it's very warm, but that's not the same thing."

"As it happens, if everything is knotted where it ought to be, you shouldn't even be feeling a draft if I was to be reaching so…" He slid his fingers past the waistband of her trousers, unbuttoning with one hand, while the other slid up under her shirt.

"Very impressive, Tavis, there's no draft at all." Her command voice gave way to a breathy gasp as he started to play with her nipple, tracing his fingertip around her areola. She slid closer as his other hand reached down, finding her clit, and she was positively thrilled to stop thinking for a while.

Late on the morning of the Solstice, Imogen wrapped herself in her new sheepskin cloak and their little winter family walked down to the widest part of the river. They weren't the first people to get there- Imogen even spotted Lucia skating hand-in-hand with someone- but Garrick thought it best to test the ice again.

Short of seeing a horse on the ice, Imogen didn't blame him.

The river was well and truly frozen, though. Etta took the basket where Ry was all bundled up and found a seat on a bench nearby, the snow already brushed clean by some other visitor. Imogen sat next to her, eying the skates she was borrowing. Garrick had dug around to find skates for all of them in one of the outbuildings, guessing that the tiny pair of double-bladed skates he'd found for Birdie had been his last. The ones Garrick ended up in were nearly antique, the metal blades worn down before he cleaned them up, and it hadn't been too hard to find pairs for Imogen and Darcey.

Garrick took Birdie onto the ice first, while the others watched.

"He surely doesn't move like a plowhorse," Darcey observed.

Imogen laughed. "That's my stallion. If you'd seen him fight you'd know he's definitely not a plowhorse. He's faster than he looks."

Garrick was skating backwards, slowly, with both of Birdie's hands in his. She let go and in a moment was pinwheeling her arms madly. He grabbed one arm to steady her, and she pulled at the berry-red scarf Darcey had given him that morning as a gift.

"It's a good color on him," Etta observed.

Darcey nodded. "I was thinking so, especially seeing how dear Imogen watches him when he wears the red checks out to cut firewood."

Imogen blushed nearly as red as the scarf. "I'm that obvious?"

"No harm in admiring your husband, my dear. I'm glad he likes the scarf. Don't you know, I thought about making him a sweater for Solstice, but I wasn't sure I had enough yarn in that color?"

They all laughed at that.

"I guess I'm as ready as I'm going to get," Imogen said, standing up. Her stomach seemed to be behaving a little more now that she was trying to listen when her body told her to knock shit off. On the other hand, maybe it was just her imagination, but her center of gravity felt a tiny bit off, too.

She strapped the skates onto her shoes at the edge of the pond, letting Darcey hold onto her for support as she did the same. They pushed off together, Imogen wobbling for just a moment before the gliding movement of her feet clicked in her mind. Memories of skating with her father when she was a girl fluttered up like butterflies in her stomach.

"Mama! Aunt Mimsy! Look! Look at me!" Birdie was taking choppy little steps with tiny pushes along the ice, getting absolutely nowhere and incredibly proud of herself.

"Look at you, my little bird!" Darcey reached out for her daughter's hand and pulled her away, leaving Imogen with Garrick.

"You don't look half bad on those skates," she told him, elbowing him in the side.

"Why thank you," Garrick answered, bowing exaggeratedly to her. Unfortunately the motion pushed his skates back, which left him overbalanced. A moment later he was flat on his face on the ice. Imogen started to laugh but stopped when she heard a shriek.

"Uncle Ricky!" Birdie screamed from a few feet away, but Garrick raised a hand to wave at her.

"I'll be fine," he called, still face down, and gave her a thumbs up.

Imogen knelt down next to him, but kept her eyes on Birdie. "It's okay, I'll take care of him. Your uncle's fallen off of dragons, remember? He's okay, I promise."

Birdie buried her face in her mother's skirt, but didn't try to come closer.

"Gar, you broken?" Imogen asked him quietly.

"Just my dignity. And probably my nose." Garrick rose to his knees and then picked himself back up.

"Yeah, it's bleeding," Imogen agreed. "I bet you're going to have a black eye too."

"I'm gonna go be sitting with Etta," he groaned. "You?"

"I think I want to skate," Imogen said, looking around the ice again. "I'll be careful."

Garrick looked like he wanted to say something. She waited, but he just shook his head after a minute. "You don't need me telling you to be careful."

"No, I don't. Which is why I already told you I would." She rolled her eyes at him. "Go sit down before I have to worry you gave yourself a concussion, too."

Imogen couldn't remember the last time she'd skated, but they hadn't been the year she turned ten. Maybe the year before that? She was surprised to realize that the motion was nearly as familiar as spinning had been.

One of the things she did remember was that at least a little bit of speed made it easier to stay balanced. She wasn't racing or trying to keep up with her sister, but she didn't hesitate. Instead she fell into the easy speed most of the adults on the river were skating with, letting herself feel like she blended in with the people around her.

Maybe it was the sheepskin cloak with the hood, hiding her pink hair, or maybe it was because she wasn't doing anything particularly exciting, just pushing one foot and then the other across the ice, but she felt comfortably invisible, almost normal, for the first time in months.

There was something about the moment that reminded her of being back at Basgiath, actually. She was one among a small group of people, doing the same thing, but not really a part of that larger group. Like being in the sparring gym, perhaps. And there was Garrick, watching her from across the way, his eyes somehow on her every time she glanced at him even though there were two dozen other things going on at the same time.

She didn't skate very long, probably no more than a quarter of an hour, before making her way over to check on him. Birdie was in his lap, snuggling up against his coat, his new scarf wrapped around her three or four times.

Gods, she couldn't wait to see him holding their own child.

Under her cloak, she started to reach for her midsection and stopped herself. She was absolutely not going to be one of those women who couldn't stop touching themselves the entire time. She was not sentimental, and motherhood would never be the only part of her personality.

There would be time to appreciate what her body was capable of later, if Amari willed it.

"Cold, Ims?"

"Yeah, the cloak is amazing but the cold air does sneak in when I'm moving."

"Can you be popping up for me, little bird?" Garrick prompted, and Birdie stood up. Garrick looked over where Etta was talking with one of the neighbors.

"I saw Darcey was still skating," Imogen offered. "Maybe… we can take the kids back with us, and let them have their fun?"

Etta was more than happy to hand Ry over to her, tucking the infant into Imogen's arms so she could wrap him in her shawl and the cloak overtop. Imogen fussed a bit about making sure he'd be able to breathe.

"Pretty sure he's old enough to be fussing if he doesn't like how you've got him," Garrick said. They said goodbye and hiked back to the house the way they'd come. About halfway, Birdie announced she was too tired to ever walk anywhere again, and so Garrick put her up on his shoulders.

When they got back in the house, Garrick stoked the fire and took Birdie into the kitchen with him to start making lunch. Imogen changed Ry and brought him and her spindle into the kitchen as well, so she could sit and spin while Garrick cut up some potatoes and apples to go in the pot with the roast for a special dinner.

Darcey had made applesauce earlier in the week, and Birdie got a bowl of that. She liked to stir it and pretend she was cooking, so they wound up with quite a bit of applesauce on the table.

"Can you be wiping that up please?" Garrick asked her.

Imogen watched Birdie look at him and then start licking the applesauce off the table.

"Little bird…"

"It tastes better on the table."

The look on Garrick's face made Imogen snort. How the man managed to lose a logic battle with a toddler, she had no idea. The three of them shared bread with jam and butter for lunch, and when Ry woke up, they took him and Birdie back into the main room to play.

When Darcey and Etta came home, the found the four of them asleep- Imogen dozing on the couch with Ry in his basket next to her, and Garrick on the floor with Birdie on top of him next to a tower of blocks.

"Aren't they looking like a family now?" Imogen heard Etta say. She was tired enough that she didn't open her eyes, and waited to see if she'd drift back to sleep.

"He was remembering to put the roast in before they passed out." Darcey answered, presumably from the kitchen.

Of course he remembered, Imogen thought slowly. He always remembers. She sighed a little and opened her eyes, because it didn't seem like she was going to nod off again after all.

"Have fun?" she asked as Etta sat down in her chair.

"I had a bit of fun, but Etta was the one who'd be talking all afternoon if I hadn't reminded her to get out of the cold." Darcey bustled back into the room.

"That gentleman of yours?" Imogen guessed.

Etta smiled and her face reddened just a little. "Ah, no, he was there for introducing me to his sister. Seems she's the shy type."

"Someone might maybe be courting in the spring~" Darcey sang the words like a lullaby as she picked up Ry. "You need to be nursing, my boy."

"It was just getting to talking, Darcey, don't you start."

"Of course I'm going to start, I'm the only sister you've got here to be teasing you for it."

"You can at least be waiting until something comes of it." Etta gestured for Imogen to come over. "Now that the Amari's settled on coming back, let's start on your blanket." She showed Imogen how to secure the first row and slowly wrapped the other colored yarns around some bobbins while Imogen wove the first few solid rows. With Darcey humming to the baby as he nursed and Garrick snoring softly on the floor, it was easy to lose herself in what she was doing.

Despite going to the Temple of Amari twice a month to see Malek's speaker, she didn't consider herself particularly religious. Or she hadn't, before she'd started wondering if she really was cursed by the god.

Imogen swapped bobbins as she worked, pulling on Glane's power and sending it through the yarn as she wove the rune patterns she and Garrick had agreed on.

She'd spent less time with Malek and even Dunne in the last year, and that was a blessing by itself. She'd certainly done her share of creation working with Bodhi through the entire war, but now there was so much work weaving alliances and treaties and communities.

Maybe she'd known how to create the whole time.

She only stopped working when Garrick put a hand on her shoulder.

"Come eat dinner, Ims. The light's gone." She wasn't sure when the sunlight had faded, but it was true. A few magelights dotted the room, and in the kitchen a little knot of them sat in the middle of the table, lighting the faces of Garrick's family as they came in.

Our family, she corrected herself.

Bodhi and Ridoc and Violet and Quinn and really all of the other surviving marked ones were their family in different ways, but she could have this too. She could have more family, sisters and a niece and a nephew.

She could want more, without expecting to have it taken from her.

"Sit by me, Aunt Mimsy!"

So Imogen sat between her niece and her husband, and she and her family celebrated the return of the light.

--

The rest of the winter seemed like a blur in comparison, or maybe it just felt that way because Imogen spent so much of it with a spindle or a bobbin leaving her hands. When she finished the blanket weaving, she warped the loom again and started a larger project with a little design help from Garrick: a rug for the living space with warmth and protection and family woven in. She wanted to leave something for her sisters, since she'd gotten so much from them.

Garrick finished the second runed sheepskin cloak for Etta, then took a few ideas from Imogen and made one for Birdie, and then Garrick wondered if they could imbue something like gloves to help with Etta's joints and the two of them had been tossing ideas for that back and forth, making prototypes for Etta to try.

Imogen had discovered that she really loved working with Garrick, collaborating to create something neither of them would have come up with on their own. It had a lot of the same joy as fighting beside him, with the bonus of being significantly less deadly.

On consultation with Glane and Chradh, as well as the healer, it was decided they should head back a little early. Imogen wanted to make sure she had time to rest before the Assembly session started, and Garrick just hugged her when she said so. Darcey's husband would be back soon enough, and she said they'd be fine for a few weeks.

Garrick still wanted to make sure they had extra firewood, and Imogen had definitely not complained about that.

Birdie threatened to sneak into Garrick's rucksack but didn't follow through, instead demanding hugs and kisses and extra kisses and more hugs until Darcey had to hand the baby over to Etta and pick her daughter up.

"We'll be back in the summer, little bird," Garrick promised her.

Imogen needed Garrick's help getting up onto Glane, which would have been mortifying six months ago.

"It's still mortifying," Imogen told her dragon as she settled in. "I just accept the necessity of the mortification."

"Could be worse for me, Sharp Tongue. There's no saddle involved."

"You've got me?" She didn't doubt that he did; there was a hint of pressure against her legs like something was holding her on. Glane had only done that for her twice before, and both times she'd been nearly dead. "It's kind of nice to feel you hold on when I'm not too close to unconscious to appreciate it."

There was a spike of anxiety as Glane took off, leaving space for Chradh to land. They circled for a minute while Imogen adjusted her goggles and her mindset.

"Something wrong, Sharp Tongue? Your hatchling feels strong and healthy, so you should be fine."

"Nothing's wrong. For a minute- well, I got sick on a horse earlier in the winter. For a minute I was afraid I might have the same result flying."

"It wouldn't be the first time. Remember the night after Squad Games in your first year, when you were hungover the next morning and managed to vomit on Aetos from the air?"

"He didn't deserve it yet then, I should have saved it." Imogen laughed.

"You are not ill?" Glane prompted.

She smiled into the wind as Garrick and Chradh joined them in the air and they turned toward Aretia. "Not at all. I may be the best I've ever been."

Colorway: Ballet Slippers/Blue Roundhead/Creamsicle from Amaranth Fibres.