RUSELM'S BESTIARY
CHAPTER TWO ─ MELITELE WILL PROVIDE

HALLA DRUMS HER FINGERS ON THE TABLETOP, exploring her thoughts of the previous night's revelation at the hands of her goddess. Soft sounds of dinnerware echo around her as her husband and child break their fast at the table, Thaddäus is seated at the opposite end to Halla and Ruselm is between the two in the middle. Every time her fingers hit the wood, her mind jumps with the vibrations that go unnoticed by both father and son.

Her end is near.

How near? How near is near?

What end?

Why?

How?

This can't be possible, Halla thinks as she forces herself to stop the incessant drumming of her fingertips on the table. She reaches forward for her water, mouth suddenly going dry as she ignores the slight shake to her hand. I can't leave Ruselm. Not now! Not ever.

She wets her lips, thankful for the liquid as it goes down. The cup shakes in her hand.

"Mama."

Her mind swirls with possibilities. Were the Nilfgaardians finally catching onto her? She had been so very careful. She had watched her every word, for years. She had forged few alliances. She kept to herself. Who was going to kill her? How? Would they slit her throat? Or would they take their time with her death and make it painful? Would her son be forced to watch? If this was Nilfgaard's doing, she had no doubt on that matter.

"Mama?"

Would it be Rhalten? Would he come back and finish the job he was supposed to carry out all those years ago? She wondered if his grey eyes would be the last thing she saw. And if they would be as gentle as they used to be. Or maybe it wouldn't be Rhalten at all. Maybe they would have killed him too.

"Dearest," Thad's voice is the ringing bell to bring Halla forth from her ruminations.

She looks up in a startle.

"Yes, love?" Halla hates how her voice betrays her.

Thad puts down the ledger he was just writing in, something he almost never did. It was as though that ledgerbook were a part of his face he had it with him at the table all the time! There is a wrinkle above his brow. "Are you quite all right, dear?"

"Yes," she lies. "Yes, everything is fine."

"You did not hear Ruselm asking for you?"

"No." Halla looks over to her son with a small twinge of guilt blossoming in her chest. She sets her water back down on the table and turns her attention to him. "I'm sorry, sunshine. What is it?"

Ruselm's brow furrows. He looks skeptical and confused. "I was going to ask if you were okay, Mama. You have been fidgeting all this morning and your hands were shaking just a moment ago. Are you ill? Do you not feel well? I was just learning about some new plants last night that Gesmi told me help with some illnesses. I can fetch some for you if you'd like, and make tea. Tea helps when I feel ill."

Her heart wrenches. How could he be so sweet? And so perceptive?

"Do not worry, sunshine," Halla tries for a small smile, glancing in Thad's direction. He has gone back to his ledger once more. There is no surprise there. "I am not ill. I am just... tired, I think. Yes I probably just need some more sleep. The storm kept me awake into the late hours."

"Oh," Ruselm tilts his head. His fork stills over his food. "I thought you liked storms?"

He knew her too well.

Halla blanches for a moment, her mind trying to think of the proper response so as not to worry him. The last thing she wanted was for her son to worry. Especially over her and the vague words of a goddess he did not even know she could commune with. She had never told anyone of the grasp on Chaos she held and she suspected she never would. Her secret was best kept as just that, a secret.

"I do, Russie. Last night I just had much on my mind and I suppose the thunder and lightning did not help to ease it."

Because there is nothing to ease one's mind after learning they are not long for this world, Halla thinks bitterly.

Ruselm nods with sage wisdom, a look so uncharacteristic for his young age. "Would you like tea? Gesmi said tea made from magnolias aids with falling and staying asleep, her mother used to make one for her especially when she was sick." He breaks a small smile then. "And because of the flowers, it's a pretty pink color! I love pink."

"Have you an obsession with tea, now?" Halla laughs. "I thought you disliked it greatly! And now you are suggesting teas to me left and right."

Her son giggles a little, hiding his smile behind a hand. "I dislike it entirely!" he exclaims. "But I know that you love tea, Mama. And now, thanks to Gesmi, I know how beneficial tea can be for your body if it is made with a differing ingredient. Magnolias help for sleep, as does chamomile or valerian for example. Mushrooms are useful too! Reishi that grow on dead trees are good for—"

"Do not bore your Mama, Ruselm." Thad glances over the top of his ledgerbook, raising one brow as he chides him. "If she is tired, she is tired. She does not need to be bothered."

When the excitement on Ruselm's face fades into an expression of disappointment and he hangs his head, Halla feels her heart break for her son. She casts an iron-hot look at her husband, fire bubbling in her stomach and exciting every nerve in her body until she felt as though flames could burst from her skin. She could tolerate his impassive presence at their breakfast table if he did not teach his son that his thoughts were not to be expressed, or that he was annoying. The last thing Halla wanted for her sweet son was to feel that he was burdensome.

Her voice comes out as sharp as she intends. "He is not boring me."

Thad's surprise betrays him. Even Ruselm looks over to her, shyly.

"Dearest, I only meant—"

"I know precisely what you meant, Thaddäus Jurren," she snaps. "And I am telling you that he is not boring me. His thoughts are worth expressing. You will let him speak. Just because you would rather him to be as silent as he is attentive, does not mean he must be so. He will do as he pleases. If that is talking about every tea on this Continent that there is, he will be talking about every tea that exists on this dreadful fucking Continent."

Thad finally sets his ledgerbook down, and promptly closes it. The soft thud of the book on the table echoes across the dining room. He had never done this before. But she had also never been this sharp with him before, either. The two stare at each other.

"Very well," Thad relents, his voice far gentler than it had been in recent years. He looks at their son. "I do sincerely apologise, Ruselm."

Ruselm glances back and forth between Halla and Thad. His confusion was clear in the way his brows pinched together and how he bit the inside of his cheek. He settles his gaze on his father then. "It's fine, Papa. I apologise if my ramblings were quite boring to you. I was not aware you were paying them any attention at all."

"I was," Thad sounds shocked. He risks a glance in Halla's direction only to find her still steaming hot. "I always do. I just have my work to attend to. Best jump to start the morning, I find."

"Oh," was all Ruselm managed.

'Oh' indeed.

Halla takes a breath then and finds it cools her temperament. The blood rushing in her ears fades to nothing and her pulse slows once more. She wasn't sorry for snapping at her husband, but she did feel a twinge of culpability for her swift action. Lately her mood swings had become more apparent and were coming more often. While this was not an excuse for striking while the iron was hot, she had wanted to say that to her husband for a long time if only to draw his attention to the way he treated his son.

Pretending not to care was not a good look for him. It made it hard for Halla to see the man she had wanted to marry so long ago. He was not always so filled with apathy or detachment. He used to be the man that would write a thousand things he loved about Halla in a single sitting, or the man who would pick her a bouquet of wildflowers at the end of a long day simply because she liked the smell of them on their last walk. Sometimes he would even plan them a moonlit picnic, under the stars on their land, but such a treat hadn't happened in years now. Work had hardened him.

He was not a bad man by any means. But he could be a better father.

She wanted him to be a better father.

If not for his son, then for the child in her stomach now.

Halla had not bled in a few moons. She hadn't yet informed her husband or her son and now, after hearing from Melitele, she wasn't sure she should even mention the mere notion of it. It could stand to make her sick. She was already worried about what could happen if Ruselm was without her, let alone what could happen if she really were to die and how that would also end the baby inside of her. Bile gathers in the back of her throat, she could get sick thinking about it.

She stands from the table then, pushing her chair back and smoothing the front of her dress. "Excuse me, my loves," Halla manages. "I must attend to some other matters."

"Now?" Thad is confused.

He's a handsome man, and a few years older than Halla, with the same rustic brown eyes that Ruselm had but only with light skin and broad shoulders that had seen their days of fieldwork before he was wealthy enough to work from his study. Theirs was a love match, not a marriage in which she was stuck with someone and forced to grow love for them over time. Time, if anything, had tempered their love into something far stronger than what it would have grown to be if they met as strangers. And while Thad knew this, and knew Halla needed a moment, he was going to require a greater conversation later. She could read it in the way his lips set into a resigned, thin line.

"Yes."

Thad jerks his head in a nod. "I will call on you later then, dearest."

Halla spares a moment to smile warmly at Ruselm, then turns and leaves the dining room with hurried steps. She makes her way to where she knows she can speak freely, in the servant's hut that lies to the edge of the Jurren estate, hidden away by a copse of trees that loom over the building and provide a nice cool shade in which one can relax and chat with a friend. Which is exactly what Halla is going to do. She is going to relax and sit with a close friend. Someone who had been there through everything.

Sitting beside her in the dirt is Sibren, a man who owed a great debt to Thad from childhood. And one of her dearest and most steadfast friends.

Sibren is kind, loyal, and a great listener. He has hazel eyes where gold flecks lie deep within, probably the result of his bleeding heart shining to the surface. His hair is a dusty brown, speckled with shoots of new grey starting to peek through which reflects in his mustache that he has maintained as neat as a servant could for years since they first knew each other. Sibren is also deeply religious and a devotee of Melitele since childhood.

He would know what to make of the goddess' words.

And if he did not know, then she was doomed.
She gathers a handful of dirt and watches as it falls between her fingers, like grains of sand in an hourglass. "I have something to tell you," Halla finds her mouth going dry again. Her heart wrenches. "And you cannot tell another soul, do you understand, Sibren?"

With the same kind eyes he always has, he nods. "Of course, my lady."

"I am with child again."

A smile starts to light up his features.

"And I have spoken with the goddess again last night."

Sibren tilts his head, leaning back on the heels of his hands. "I see a weight on your shoulders, my lady. What bears down your soul?"

Halla cannot meet his eyes. "I am to die."

Her words are met with silence. She doesn't want to look up, to see the look on Sibren's face that would only become a mirror for her own innermost feelings on the matter. Devastation hangs heavy in the air between them, unspoken. The atmosphere is charged.

She wasn't sure what she wanted her dear friend to say. Did she want words of comfort? Denial? Disbelief? Or perhaps did Halla want to be given hope? Find a way to fight this fate?

It almost felt selfish of her to confide something this burdensome in Sibren, like she was destroying his blissful ignorance of the situation. At the same time, she felt alone. If she didn't tell Sibren, she was acutely aware that she would either tell someone else or be unable to keep her sense of serenity around her husband and child. That was a disaster she would like to avoid.

Minutes pass in tense silence.

Then slowly, as though approaching a skittish young horse, Sibren reaches a calloused hand out and, with a gentleness, turns Halla's chin upward until their eyes meet. The gold of his eyes reflects the sunlight and an instantaneous calm fills her chest, soothes her worry. Just slightly, but enough to be noticed. He drops his hand.

"When?"

"I do not know. She did not say."

Sibren nods. "That is all right, my lady," he takes one good deep breath. She can see it steadies him. "For the moment, I think it wise to embrace the good aspects of your life. Lord Jurren, young Mister Ruselm, your gorgeous gardens. Make happiness and memories. Ones that will transcend time itself. When you are gone, they will be memories that are clung to like torchlight in the darkness by those who remember your life."

"But my child—" Halla places her hands on her stomach protectively. There is only the beginnings of a bump there, enough that she has noticed but few others outside of her staff have. It made her sick to think of losing this blessing.

"You do not know when you will die, my lady." Sibren remains stoic. "She did not say when, correct? Then perhaps you both have time."

Halla can feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes, her vision becomes blurry. "She only mentioned 'near'. What does that mean, Sibren? What does near mean in the eyes of a goddess?!" Hot tears begin to trail down her cheeks, her breathing inevitably hastens and it's harder and harder yet to draw air. "I don't understand! I don't know! Please tell me what it means."

His expression transforms into one of worry. Sibren reaches out to Halla again, he hesitates only a moment then quickly pulls her into an embrace. She almost feels sorry for crying into his shoulder but the release is freeing. As she sobs openly to her friend the ugly weight in her chest begins to lift, ounce by ounce, and she only clutches onto Sibren tighter. Digging her fingers into the back of his shirt, the rough fabric under her soft hands and face is a welcome contrast. It grounds her.

She is safe. She is with her friend. She is alive right now.

They stay like this for what feels like hours. Sibren comforts her all while Halla forces herself to take some deep breaths. Eventually, her heart slows again. The tears stop flowing so freely, a stray wanderer escaping from the sides of her eyes every now and again. But in all this time, it seemed Sibren was still trying to find the words to answer her questions.

"I cannot pretend to know the complex mind of our glorious goddess," Sibren says softly. They pull apart and he looks down at her, she's sure her eyes are puffy and pink still. "'Near' may be tomorrow. 'Near' may be in a week, a month, or a year. I am certain time passes differently in the eyes of our deity. 'Near' could even be ten years, my lady. We don't know. We can't know. Melitele will provide."

"Melitele will provide." Halla whispers after him. It is a mantra of the goddess' followers, a reminder that even in times of hardship and trial the motherly patron would take care of her devotees as they were all her children. It was the one thing they did know, that their goddess would provide.

She would provide a path.

An answer, a way.

And love.

Endless, joyous love as pure as a mother loves her children. And in this love, answers would bloom like spring flowers from the war-torn earth. If only they could have faith. If only Halla could have faith.

Melitele will provide.

"I swear to you," Sibren looks as serious as she has ever seen him. "I will keep my eyes open, my friend, for anything and anyone that could produce harm for you or your family. As I have always done, I shall now perform these duties again. Do you remember the last time you approached me with such concerns?"

"Yes," she nods. "When I learned I was with child the first time, with Ruselm. I... Melitele showed me a vision of a-a fiend? You found that witcher Valen to take care of the beast."

He nods. "And if I had to do such a thing again, you know that I would. Perhaps you should speak with the goddess again, soon. Maybe she will tell us more?"

Halla bites the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. She supposed there wasn't much of a conversation last night, given that she had left the communion with a startle upon hearing Melitele's revelation. She'd been so shocked she had lost her focus on carefully channeling the Chaos. Perhaps another meeting would be best.

Besides, what was the worst that could come from it?

*lacey's note:
I'm not sure how to feel about this chapter but I hope it provides some insight into the world of the Witcher and what I'm building for the rest of the story.

Here's the plan for the first 5 or so chapters of the book: they will be from Halla's perspective. After that, I'd like to move forward into Ruselm's POV and get going with the story. So I apologize if the beginning seems a bit slow! It'll pick up soon.

Did y'all check out the new cover I made for the book? I worked hard. <3

More tidbits about the book:

─ The woman in the gif at the top is Saadet Aksoy, she sorts represents my vision for how Halla looks but not exactly, I imagine Halla with darker skin. She is beautiful though.

─ Halla is pregnant, confirmed!

─ I like the idea of this sort of astral projection using Chaos that Halla has going on. Definitely inspired by some Doctor Strange shit lmao.

─ If you don't know much about the Witcher, Melitele has many followers all over the Continent. But I wanted to build more of this religion/following. Hence: Melitele will provide. And other stuff I might try too.

So that's it! This is the chapter for the month of August. I'll begin working on next month's chapter immediately. I'd love some feedback in the meantime though, comment, vote, share with friends.

See y'all next month!