3. Nilda Meyrick: Who am I?

Downstairs I can hear the idle banter of those still awake and possibly drunk in the inn. And I know Morty is there aswell only leaving my side for a short period of time. Despite the constant anxiety of my husband I crave his presence more then I allow him to see, I am just as scared and afraid that something might happen. But one of us has to keep our head a bit more clear.
The room is only dimly lit but I can see enough, the shapes of the furniture are clear shadows before me when I slowly struggle to get to my feet.

The children have grown so heavy I can barely get up or walk. A burden more then a joy sometimes and I am ashamed to admit that to myself. Every day and night I can feel both of them stirring and kicking within my womb and the closer the day comes that they will be born the more frightened I get. Am I truely prepared enough and ready to raise children of my own? Is what I can offer them together with Morty enough to keep them safe?
With a labored and deep breath I finally manage to stand up and take a few steps towards the mirror stood in our current room. Only to be welcomed by an image I haven't grown used to or have started to dislike. It's not the rounded form of my hips and belly that disturbs or annoys me. It's the face and shape looking back at me that I do not recognise as myself anymore.
Months I have been in this form and each time I see the features presented to me I can't help but feel a certain suffering and fear. Am I losing myself and who I was before all this started?

The worgen woman I am looking at has nothing that can tell me that I am watching myself before this mirror at all. Not the same brown eyes that I am staring at nor the same brown and shoulderlenght hair. Not even my height is the same anymore. And that's leaving out all other features that are different then what I look like as a normal human.
Will I even manage to return to my previous form once I have given birth to the twins? So many questions in my head and so little answers, it's pulling me down. And I can't show Morty how worried or troubled I am in these times. He's already dancing around me on his toes and treats me as something vulnerable and fragile.

My claw-shaped hands trail over the curves of my stomach, soothing the two children I am carrying while I remain otherwise motionless before the mirror. The soft light of the room framing my furred frame clad in a loose nigthgown and I release a deep sigh.
Am I really going to be able to do this? There is no doubt that I love Morty and both of the children that are keeping me awake many nights even before they are born. No regret or second thoughts at all but ... My dreams are still there, my desire to be part of something bigger and be meaningfull.
For months I have trained and practiced to climb up and fight with everything I got, and against better nature I still have these desires lingering within me. I wish to protect my loved ones by the one way I do it best. By battle and combat. Of course I am aware of the risk of giving my own life in such but without standing up myself I can't put the fear aside that one day I will lose everything I have gained because I was not there to fight for the things making my life worthwhile.

How will Morty take it when I tell him shortly after the birth of the two “cubs” that I will not wait to get myself back in shape, train as hard as I did the moment I was taken underneath the wings of Garodin and Tyzai and afterwards the Argent Crusade to head back out there? It's in my blood and it calls for me, a fierce flame I can't ignore. Not even with the motherinsticts I have developped these past months. I'm Sergeant Meyrick still, my willpower has gotten me up to that position. How could I give up who I am, who I still wish to be? Or have things changed so much that I am losing that part of myself?
Damnit all these questions and still no answers, no matter how hard I fret upon them or let them wander my mind. It doesn't help to be stuck in a form that makes my trail of thoughts different, makes -me- different.
A sudden and resonating snarp vibrates in my throat with the growing annoyance at the situation, and I see how my lips pull back over my sharp fangs within my maw. Where is that determined and fierce girl within that beast?
Where is Nilda Meyrick? Where am I?

Did I struggle so hard with all hardship that has come my way to get up each time I was lost and down to end up losing myself afterall? The changes are terrifying me. I will have to patient and see what happens next, sadly patience has never been my best virtue. With another sigh and a muffled growl I return to the bed. Clamping at each support I can find on my way to carry the burden of the weight I carry. Slowly sitting down on the bed as my eyes stare ahead to the wall before I close them and move to lie back, curling to my side and one hand supporting the round form of my belly.

Who am I?
The question leaves my lips in a whisper and I travel back to try and find the girl I was. A fire in a small camp, tents all around me. I'm back at Chillwind, months ago.
Most Crusaders are gathered at the current location, a brief moment of rest before heading out for another part of our Campaign. Oh I remember these times so well, some memories leave a bitter taste in my mouth or fill my heart with a stinging pain of regret and sorrow. But not the one that comes to mind right now. Sparring with eachother to fill the gaps of time in which we have nothing to do. Improve my skill by learning in one on one fights with those I am serving with and learn from them.
To be fair I didn't accept this spar with the full confidence of actually winning but merely for the thrill it gave me to give it my best. I never gave anything but my best and everything I got in a spar. Only if I really had no other choise or was told to I would yield, because I didn't quit untill I'd be at my limit.

Morty Amott, a new face amongst the Argent Crusade but not really, he only travelled with us back then and offered his help in our cause. Hah how well I remember how desperatly I tried to make him understand my ways and my opinion, stubborn as I always have been. And how he managed to piss me off on so many occasions for the constant meddling in my case. Dating Nygarth being the thing he was so opposed off.
The memory draws a bitter smile upon my feral features, as said. A bitter taste in my mouth to remember how life has changed. Unable to handle my love for Nygarth without feeling hurt and lost. And my path taking me to Morty instead, despite the rather unnatural way things had started for us.

Memories I both cherish and somehow don't wish to think about, unlike the first and only spar I ever had with my husband. A little pain in the arse back then if I have to be entirelly honest. I don't think he had expected it to go as it turned out. The fight between us took a long time and I was utterly exhausted and strained in the end but it felt victorious. Still does even, because despite my age and small build and perhaps far from threatening looks. Nilda Meyrick won that evening just by willpower and wits, putting everything I had into this moment because I was too stubborn to admit defeat or be defeated. Morty on the other hand came out with a split lip and bruised and swollen eye and a dislocated shoulder.
Just one out of countless of spars I have done and one out of many I have won. Don't know how I did it or how I have beaten so many more experienced men and women. But I miss every minute of those times. The moments that every effort was proven to be worth it.

Can't I just go back to those times and keep what I have gained? That aint too much to ask to just be myself again, even if I don't remember it.
I'm tired and my body tells me to sleep but I can't stop thinking back and try to remember who that girl or woman is hidden within the form of a worgen.
Just the rememberance of how it felt to wield both my blades, two-handers back then. It took me some time to step down on their use and exchange both for smaller and more convienent swords. Not a shield, not ever a shield. I have tried to wield one but I have only ever found it limiting at most instead of an advantage. I wish to have full movement and a shield only refrains me from having such. Small and agile despite wearing plate or later chainmail thanks to my training in leathers to gain such speed in combat. Unlike many others that I have seen who are limited by the weight of their heavy armor, much taller or muscular then I was.
A weight I sincerely miss carrying, to hear the noise the armor makes when I run or when I fight.
Sweating underneath and feel the burning off every aching muscle whilst I push my body further and further. Never giving in and expanding my limits. Yes that's me, that's who I want to be again. It's so familar to recall, then why does it keep feeling so difficult or impossible?

I hiss softly while tears begin to damped the soft fur on my muzzle, emotions running haywire. Emotions that confuse me even more the longer I remain in this form, it feels wrong to me. For once ever since I have learned to embrace what I had become I honestly wish to be able to feel and think as a human. What has given me solitude before to escape the actual hurt and suffering that came with it, now feels like a prison I yearn to escape.
Please let me escape and be me again, I am counting down to the day I will give birth for so many reasons but the one keeping my mind busy is to find myself again.
One question I can't push aside or ignore, weighing heavy on my heart.
Who am I?