She has never been one that was made for war.
Even though chaos often followed her, even though her life was a domino effect of mistakes and turmoil, it was never something she actively sought out. Leliana’s worry during their last conversation had stirred an unrest in her own heart. She has witnessed countless Beqanna conflicts; some she started, some she managed to coax into reluctant but peaceful agreements. But this was a different Beqanna. This was a Beqanna where magic ran rampant, where not just the actual magicians wielded the most power. If Loess was as ruthless as Leliana thought, she didn’t want to imagine what would happen in Tephra.
She didn’t have to wonder on it for long.
When the first stallion came breathing fire, she had already secluded herself, the unborn child inside of her having decided that now was a good time to make an appearance. Even from where she paced restlessly in a clearing surrounded by thick foliage, she could smell the smoke. It caused her already elevated pulse to jump, and when the smell grew stronger along with the strength of the pain that rippled and grasped her sides, she knew she had to leave.
Her world is plunged into darkness as she makes her way towards the Tephran border, the sun suddenly cloaked by shadows so thick that not even a moonless and starless night was ever so dark. She had lived so long in complete blindness that she did not often call upon her infrared vision, but now, with the pain so persistent that it nearly drove her to knees, she deftly switches.
The tropical flora slowly begins to give way into the edge of the forest that flanks Taiga, and where usually the temperature would have dropped the further she moved from the volcano, this time it continued to suffocate her. The heat from the fires that ravaged the lands wrapped around her, even when it suddenly began to rain – not regular rain, but a torrential downpour, ice cold and mixing with the sweat that foamed at her neck and flanks when she finally was forced to the ground with a groan, beneath the shelter of a tree, whose branches still managed to only deflect some of the rainfall.
She has done this numerous time, but never in this situation. Never in the middle of fire and war, with smoke still choking her lungs even though the rain saturated her taut and straining muscles. She didn’t know what she was going to do once it was finally born; how she was going to get a newborn standing fast enough to outrun whatever else Loess decided to unleash. Her mind is flooded with every possibility as she bites back every sound that she can feel burning in her throat, refusing to attract unnecessary attention to herself even as she struggles.
When the baby is finally born, it only brings a minuscule amount of relief.
Despite her weakness, she calls on her remaining adrenaline to stand. Her long mane is plastered to her neck, from rain and sweat, and the one side of her porcelain-skin is caked in mud and debris, and she looks every bit of the mess that she feels. It is not until she turns to look at her newborn that she realizes her vision has once again been stripped from her. That was nothing new, and it hardly stirs even an ounce of alarm, although she has no way of knowing it was done by Heartfire, and not Carnage. Instead, she feels her way blindly to find the newborn girl’s face, hurriedly cleaning and trying to encourage her up. “Aislyn,” Her throat is raw from the smoke inhalation, and she tries to keep her voice level even though there is fear and worry so potent in every fiber of her. She cannot see the bright, vibrant pink of the girl’s irises – nothing like either of her parents. She cannot see that her coat is the same endless black as her father’s, but decorated by smatterings of white, like her. She would have maybe been amused by that, if she could see, and if she had the time. But right now, all she cared about was getting her out of Tephra.
here's their meeting moment, ur welcome