Stone's Throw

[GamesMaster]

Prologue

At first, there were three: three perfect kittens, all of them merikos catfolk, each of them perfect and well formed, with all their fingers, toes, and claws. Meribeth Hope was the firstborn, her eyes still closed like many catfolk are; Andreas and Charon were almost impossible to tell apart, save for the birthmark on Andreas' left buttcheek. All three of them had kitten-fuzz, which often sloughs off in the first week or two, but no real fur except on their tails and their ears. Perfect, in every way.

Beth was dozing, feeding Andreas -- he was much fussier than his two siblings, refusing to sleep except in her arms -- while Don napped in a chair, his head in her lap protectively. His hands had healed, but the healers said his fertility would never recover; it was too traumatic an injury, so these triplets would be his only natural children. It was a perfect, quiet, domestic scene.

"Ms Tethras?" the midwife whispered, afraid to wake Beth up. But when she saw a bit of a stir, she soldiered on. "It's the twins. They're... they're gone."

They searched everywhere. Helene scried over and over; Varric used every resource at his disposal. The pair were just... gone.


Aveline was the one to find Meribeth. Or, at least, her little body, washed up in the lake in Blossom Park.

[Bethany]

Even if put under a Truthing, Beth couldn't have described a single thing that happened that day. Or the following week. Nothing that happened outside of her own head at least. She supposes she must have eaten, at least some. Slept, at least some. Maybe she bathed, maybe she changed her clothing.

She doubts it though, the very rare times she even briefly thinks of that week.

It's not until she realizes she's staring at the single, solitary cradle in the nursery that she comes back to herself. She absently notes the weight of Andreas in a sling across her front as cold creeps outwards from her heart, the only feeling of warmth left to her. That cold, that warmth, those feelings stick to her. The sight of the cradle is burned into her mind, unforgettable. Just as memorable is the screaming, fury and fear filled fit she has seconds later. She doesn't remember throwing anything at Don, but she doesn't have to; the proof is there in the pale scar across the fur on his brow.

She spends the next month at SummerHill.

She gets better. She has to, for Andreas, for Don. For her twin, her Papa, her sister. She heals, slowly, painfully, incompletely. She clings and hovers now, constantly. Even when she'd always been fine standing back, she follows. 

"We can just sit quietly in a corner or something," she pleads, rocking her baby to keep him soothed despite the emotions flowing around him. "We won't make a peep, Don. Please." She doesn't try to stop him from going to the monthly meeting at the Lantern thankfully, given that he's already missed the last two of them. A dangerous thing for him, given how precarious his position there is even now, though even his worst detractors has little room to press him given circumstances. Bringing his wife and still nursing son however? That's would be, while not a major one, still a faux pas he can ill afford.

[GamesMaster]

"No." His voice is quiet but firm, and he flexes his claws -- something he does often now, as if to remind himself that they're still there, that they grew back. Or perhaps the gesture has some other meaning to him now? Impossible to say; he's been tight-lipped about everything lately, spending a lot of time at his father's house instead of at home. 

[Bethany]

"No? Just... no?" Her voice starts to climb, but she visibly checks herself, starting a breathing exercise she'd been taught. 

[GamesMaster]

"You know the reasons why as well as I do. I have told you and told you, we must make sacrifices in order to help my people. You will stay with your father. He has the tightest security shy of the Lord Hand himself. Nothing will happen to you. And I will come back in a few hours and you will see that everything is fine." Don doesn't look at her during his speech, staring at the door, as if counting the moments until he can flee. 

[Bethany]

"It's not like I've never attended one of these meetings before," Beth fires back truthfully, though she's ignoring that she'd always done so with a stack of parchment and a quill, not a baby. "Why can't you just--" She cuts off, looking suddenly exhausted. Turing away from him, she starts towards her personal office. "Whatever. Just... just go." 

"Like always."

[GamesMaster]

Don doesn't shoot off a reply before he's out the door, heading to the Lanturn. 


A month later finds him at his father's house once more, having (barely) managed to shake off Beth at a time he doesn't have mandatory work. He looks thin, haggard; he's lost weight, and the fur on his tail is thinner, maybe a little patchy -- not so much as to be obvious to a skin, but a catfolk knows when the luster is gone on someone's fur. And a father knows when his son is doing poorly. 

"Father," he says firmly, in catfolk, as he takes a tumbler from the sideboard to pour the wine he's brought. He always brings the wine, now that he has money to do so.

[NPCs]

"Son," Cadmus replies, his voice still clear despite how worn and weak it's gotten. He's not ill, thank Barthonal. He's actually never had a serious illness, nor any lasting injuries, thanks to both a careful life and the privileges afforded to his position. Still, he's nearing seventy and that's close to outright ancient for a catfolk. "Shall I call for cream rice?" he asks, a fond smile forming at the mention of Don's favorite childhood treat, one that he only really got when most needed.

[GamesMaster]

Don chuckles, but it's a dark, mirthless chuckle, the laugh of a man trying too hard to be casual. "I don't think cream rice will solve what's wrong with me," he sighs, taking a sip of the wine. And then another, longer sip. 

And then tops off his glass. 

[NPCs]

"Son," Cadmus repeats, tone far more serious now. "Sit. Talk."

[GamesMaster]

Don bows his head, moving to sit on the sofa. Then he puts his wineglass down, slumping until he's half-laying on it. "Things are... not well with Beth," he says quietly. 

[NPCs]

"I've heard... rumors of such," his father replies delicately. 

[GamesMaster]

Don's ears perk up. "Why, what have you heard?"

[NPCs]

"Distance, shouting and tears. More and more time spent at her father's, without you accompanying her and Andreas." A pause. "That she has not even been present at your heats since..."

[GamesMaster]

"That last is incorrect." A pause. "I've been taking heat suppressants."