Who's Baby Is That?!

[color=#0074d9]This is a thread for Grace with Ragnar. Thanks for reading our chaos.
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Devera had finally returned to Amaranthine. She was in the market early in the morning, a basket held close to one side. She placed nothing in the basket. She had yet to purchase anything. Wandering, looking for something specific. An herb she needed for the infant's formula, to ensure he would grow up big and strong with the appropriate nutrients that a dragon was expected to have... It was strange, the human child. She'd much preferred the baby when it had been a dragon. 

She'd found an old wise woman who dealt with strange children, and that's who had taught Devera how to care for a human child. Devera had wanted to get rid of it, claimed it was not hers. And yet, some part of her knew it was hers... She'd watched it shift, after all. She scrunched her nose as she thought back to the old woman's words before they'd left. The baby wasn't growing as well as he should be, lacking nutrients. A list of herbs was handed over. 

She could gather them, but she'd need somewhere to leave the child. The kinds of herbs she needed were not gatherable in safe spaces. And she was unwilling to believe the infant might survive an encounter with dragonkind whilst masquerading as a human child. A sharp intake of air filled her lungs as she caught sight of a familiar head of white-blonde hair. The baby in the basket had his father's hair. But she still remembered how Ragnar had acted... how he'd held a sword to her in threat. 

She could only see his back right now, but she approached slowly. More than willing to snarl in his face until he turned—and she caught sight of a dark-headed little child held tight to his chest. So my children were not good enough for you, Devera had not approached close enough to catch the child's scent; otherwise, she'd know it was hers.

For a man that was as little equipped to care for a child, Ragnar certainly didn't do much in the way of 'responsible rutting' as it were. There were potions to take, control to be wielded and yet he remained a slave to his own lust and satisfaction. It might not even be an issue save for his chosen partners. Alyvia was one thing, he'd loved her so deeply that he'd been driven to egregious heights just to preserve those early moments between them. It could also be argued that he couldn't've possibly love her considering all he'd done but he refused to accept that particularly harsh truth. Instead he focused on the good to come out of the mess he'd created. 

A mess, mind you, that happened to have all their fingers and all their toes. All three of them, though this one  was the only one he'd the opportunity to hold when being held by someone was still a necessity. He didn't want to admit how much liked the gentle pressure of the infant nuzzled against his torso in his makeshift sling. Or how much he enjoyed the incoherent gurgling and cooing the the lad made when he was waking up from one of his numerous naps. He hated himself for missing this with Raphael and Carina and he knew in his heart that Alyvia hated him for it too, Raph too. He didn't blame either in the slightest. 

The days since finding the kid had since melted together into an indecipherable blob, sunrise and sunset, days in and out, weather spotting overhead as they traveled somewhat aimlessly across Thedas. He had to find her, had to know why he was still plagued by memories and visions of her killing their children, egg shells arching wildly as she ripped and teared to hurt him. He could forget for a moment that Warden Devera was in fact an archdemon  and her eggs were in fact halflings of his own seed. What he couldn't forget was the way she'd simply vanished making her not only a threat to his own ego and sanity but to Thedas as well. As if things could get worse an archdemon desperate to protect her young certainly wasn't ideal. 

He was blissfully ignorant of his surroundings, despite his practiced nature as a warden, having just coddling the kid to sleep. When she stepped in front of him and snarled, he nearly fell over his armored feet. Beside him walking free of burden for the time being Lorcan breyed as he too came to an abrupt stop. Seconds later however, the courser reared wildly, eyes wide as the reigns were wrenched from his mater's fist. Lorcan! He barked, immediately regretting it as he felt the infant stir against him all the while he looked frantically from Devera to Lorcan to the kid, and back. 

His eyes narrowed. Devera? He asked cautiously, turning his body away from her in a gesture of protection of the defenseless life he held. I've been looking for you Pointedly ignoring her comment for a moment. There were more important things to address. 

Devera continued walking, slowly. It was easy to tell she was tensed; prepared to flee with the child in her basket if she sensed a threat. Her eyes flitted to the beast that Ragnar tried to calm, and she exhaled softly, nostrils flaring. Thusfar, the beast was the only threat. And she widened to give the creature berth, settling the basket to the ground next to her.

The infant, which was covered, was wriggling under his blankets. And as Devera crouched to study the child, she caught the scent of the one that Ragnar held. And she froze, blue eyes widening.

Another hatched? Bewildered, she peered towards the child in the warden's arms. Is that why you sought me? She inquired, tucking the blanket around Irim once more, now on her knees next to the basket.

Her gaze had honed in on the child. It's mine. There's nothing possessive, rather she's startled to see a second child. A yin to match the lighter haired child's yang.

Locan continued to buck and brey wildly, angling his massive body away from the seemingly harmless woman. Too distracted and overwrought to dispense with his usual medley of Elvhen calming prose, he released the reigns and let the horse bound down the path. Ragnar wasn't really concerned, and and Lorcan never failed to reunite when their need was greatest. Besides, it wasn't like Ragnar was eager to confront her either. In some ways he envied the horse for running from the threat in front of him. Once, just once, he wished he could allow himself that same opportunity. 

Yes, he said simply in response, still keeping his body angled so she would have to contend with him before she could even bat an eyelash at the lad. It wasn't until the moment she knelt next to the basket that he realized what she carried. He swallowed a lump that formed in his throat in that moment, that was his child too. 

Mine. 

You left him. You left-- he swallowed hard. No He felt a surge of primal protection rise inside of him. The kid started to mewl then, his tiny limbs batting at the swaddle as a small wail sounded between them. No. he said more resolutely.

Devera brushed her fingers over Irim's face, The egg smelled bad. Sometimes one bad egg masks the scent of the rest. And when one baby started to cry, so did the one next to its mother.

The dragoness murmured something in draconic, before she rose. That's a hunger cry. As was the one in the basket, they cried the same. I was to get... herbs. To better feed Irim. She stated, the list discarded atop her son, tucked at his feet.

She's dismissed the chorus of 'no'. The man in front of her was not fit to raise a dragonling. Especially when they were so young. But then, Devera was not suited for single motherhood, either. And it was showing in the dark bags under her eyes, the fact she's much thinner than when he last saw her.

A Wilder woman taught me how to care for him. Human babies are... not in my instincts to care for. She stated, looking past Ragnar, as Irim wailed louder. Basket in hand, she rubbed her wrist and rocked the child in the air, basket swaying back and forth.

She did not plead with the tiny being, nor did she seem to pay him mind. Her gaze was trained on Ragnar and his mewling bundle. Eventually, the baby in the basket soothed by the rocking hushed. And Devera moved even closer to Ragnar.

How have you kept yours alive? She reached out with one hand, abruptly, aiming to pat Ragnar's chest. No milk here. She seemed baffled; at least in their dragon form, both mother and father could care for a child.

He didn't know how he felt about egg scent and those words ultimately referring to the child in his arms. The very human seeming child. Ragnar knew the child wasn't fully human, of course he knew it but he hadn't really stopped to think much on how to raise a dragonling. Nor did he think much about how to raise a human child either. Neither of them seemed adept enough based on manner alone to care for a child of any species much less a halfling. If there was lore on this, he didn't know of it. Not that he would know any lore regarding childrearing to begin with. 

Ragnar wrinkled his nose but chose to abstain from commenting on how he felt about her leaving a viable hatchling. Doubly so because when he'd found the babe, it was already in human form and crying in the pathetic way newborns did when they couldn't do anything for themselves but breathe. It was these moments that reminded that the women he impregnated with not really a woman at all. She was a monster. But then in a lot of ways so was he. His heart broke at the symphony of cries coming now from both infants.

She was right, it had been a while now since he'd rationed some of the milk he'd since sourced. Mother's milk was always best, but his options were few. He looked down at the kid and felt his expression soften to one resembling concern. He maneuvered the swaddle until he could wrap the babe comfortably against his chest, the fabric falling away to reveal a cherubic face, even in distress. Or in mine He admitted. 

instinctively he backed away when she neared, hating himself the moment it happened. He didn't truly want to keep a child from its mother he just needed to work on his own instincts both as a new father and as a warden. A deep furrow of his brow in something bordering on confusion masked his need to laugh out loud suddenly. He briefly removed an arm from the infant to pull out a waterskin to hold up to her. Goat's milk He dropped the canteen to swing on its strap at his hip as he cuddled the child again, finding himself bouncing slightly to calm the wailing. Where did you go Devera? Why did you leave? Why did you.......did you kill the other? He couldn't shake the vision

Devera studied the child, tilting her head thoughtfully as he explained how he'd fed the babe. Wild woman said mother's milk is healthier. She had never been offered options; but when she'd approached the old woman after seeing similar canteens of milk fed to infants, the elder had refused to acknowledge her request to learn more.

Devera shook her head slowly. It did not hatch. Rotten. I went... to a nice cave. Warm. Safe. I was expecting a dragonling, not... she gestured at the infants. ...and his cries eventually led hunters to us. She pursed her lips. Nice people. They brought us to their village, and their elder taught me about child-care. The elder had not seemed fazed that the woman before her had animal instincts.

Then again, if Devera had known the lore of the Chasind and Avvar, perhaps it would seem less strange that the elder had not bat an eye. The children still cried, albeit the one in the basket a quieter coo.

I can feed him, if you will hold Irim. She was still rocking Irim's basket, and if she slowed his squalling was louder.

I meant to come back. But he was too small... people were looking for me. She narrowed her eyes at the warden. You sent people. She accused. They had not sought her as Devera, ex-warden. But they had been armed to the teeth to hunt and kill a dragon. Likely not sent by Ragnar, They hunted me. I had to leave my village. They almost cornered us one night. His cries...

She pursed her lips and glanced to the infant in the basket. They hunted me for my skin. My teeth. My claws. They'll hunt him too. She nodded to the child that Ragnar held.

He is dragon. It's almost a crazy accusation from an over-tired mother, and yet, something in her tone is serious.

It was comforting to hear that even in her reticence at the form the children took after birth, she still acted as a mother should. For their children's sake he hoped that she would maintain even her most fierce and primal motherly instincts. It seemed to be the only way to raise such a formidable beast was to be equally as formidable in its care. It was likely he'd need some pointers in parenting from her when this was all said and done for he shuddered to think what it would be to raise a hormonal teenage dragon halfling. 

Ragnar felt his mouth dry at the mention of hunters only to fell a swell of relief when she continued with her story. Sometimes humanity was worth redeeming, while in others it was far beyond hope. The offer to essentially switch the two gave him pause. This meant parting from the infant for the first time since he'd chanced upon him in the wake of her disappearance. He tarried, wavering on his feet in contemplation before angling towards her slightly and opening his arms. Despite his remaining reservations, even he could admit what was best. 

Irim he repeated the same and it occurred to him that he had not yet named his own. It wasn't like the kid needed to answer to anything, he wasn't much for doing much on his own anyways. He looked down at the lad in his arms and sighed woefully before stepping closer to her and angling the child towards its mother for the first time. 

He cautiously waited to be handed the basket in return. I wasn't hunting you Devera. You have my child. Our child. But you're right it's not safe and I'm doing everything I can to keep the truth about your identity concealed. He certainly had his reasons but regardless, it wasn't a good look for the Warden-Constable of Ferelden to not only be sympathetic towards but intimately connected to an Archdemon. 

They're not just dragons, they're something more. Something neither of them could fully understand apparently. You need my help and I need yours. I don't expect you to care for me Devera, but I can't help but care for you now. You are the mother of my children and I will protect you with my life.

Irim. What is this one called? As Ragnar angled the baby towards him, she held the basket out. Only when his fingers curled around the basket handle, did she claim the snuffling infant from the man's arms. And promptly, without much thought, Devera covered herself with her cloak as she unbuttoned her shirt. As the child nursed, she considered Ragnar's words.

I'm not... an archdemon anymore. Not since our night together—the Blight ended. She stated, tapping her temple with one hand, I don't hear the madness anymore. Madness that had driven her to lead an army she didn't even like. Madness that was only lessened when she was placed into a mortal form. Madness that she feared would plague her for her entirity.

And yet, her mind was clear. Blue eyes peer up at her companion. You can say my name, you know. It won't stop them from hunting me. But you can say it. He'd never called her by her real name, not even after figuring out who she was. She's not heard her real name in years.

Adjusting the baby against her chest, she flashed a bright smile towards the warden. I care for you, silly human. She's never asked, what did he think of their time together. Why he thought it happened; and he's never asked if she had ulterior motives. She wasn't sure what she'd say.

In the moment, the alcohol had warmed her soul, and he'd been just as warm and welcoming. She'd been discovering what it felt like to be human. Now she's seen it all, hasn't she, surely?

I would like to stay a warden. Devera said, as if it were up for discussion.

It wasn't the first time he'd been asked the lad's name, but it was the first time he felt overly compelled to answer honestly. He didn't go out of his way to interact with others when he was traveling with the babe. He justified it as safety concerns, when it was really that he couldn't stop to think long enough to give the kid a name. He couldn't admit it openly however, because it would mean that, yet again, he was incapable of rearing his own children. His qualifications for father of the year were decidedly lacking and were it not for certain addictive proclivities, he might've done something about his considerable donation to the population over the years. It was truly humbling. 

He wavered in his spot, biting down on his tongue so hard that he could taste the copper tang of his lifeforce accented into his saliva. He looked down at the boy called Irim cooing softly where he hung in the basket by his father's hands. He looked like his brother, the same graceful slope of a nose into an adorable button above the bow of his mouth. A fine dusting of dark hair. Though unlike his unnamed brother, his eyes were green. A tone not unlike that which now stared back at him from numerous feet above. He doesn't have a name Because he was tired of lies and any ire directed at him from her was rightly deserved. Who left their child unnamed for this long? 

That she was no longer an archdemon didn't surprise him as it should. He'd felt a change, had seen it in the density and overall behavior of the darkspawn that plagued Thedas during the Blight that had once heralded her coming. And now she wanted him to speak her true name, a name that he had burned from his repertoire to avoid saying something he shouldn't. 

Razikale. It felt as wrong to him now as it had when he first learned it. A name that encompassed everything he stood against. 

He cocked his head to the side as if that might help him understand her more. Why? He needed to understand her motivations before he considered the dynamics of such a request.

Devera studied Ragnar, when he informed her the babe in her arms did not have a name. The baby nursed, and she hummed. Cikoda. A good name. She doesn't seem upset, if anything, she'd think it smart. Irim did not receive his name until a few weeks ago, as well. It is customary to wait, ensure they will survive. She explained, trailing a sharp nail across the infants back, as gently as ever.

He asked her a question, and she considered. So that we may both raise them in a safer world. She had no idea if there were more Blights, more archdemons. But she'd been the cause of the last, and she knew how maddening the darkspawn could make whatever poor soul fell to their song.

That should be enough.

She made it sound so simple, but the reasoning was sound regardless. He wandered if he could use the same logic and have anyone flag it believe it coming from his lips. Maybe in a way he'd also wanted to bide his time. No point in getting attached if there were mere days left in which to do so. If only it were ever so easy. Because ultimately the name wouldn't matter, this child in his arms had part of his soul he would never get back. He nodded at her declaration and looked down at the child suckling at its mother's breast (an act the father had performed but with far more depravity). Does naming him now ensure his survival? He reached down at extended his smallest finger toward the swaddled infant who grabbed it with alacrity. 

Was a name really necessary when death was all but assured with ink in this life? 

So she wanted to help and he, knowing what he did, was supposed to consider it though few in her position could get that far after disappearing from their posts. The punishment for that in some circles left little room for flowery pleas of bettering Thedas. As a Constable he owed it to rest of do what was best for the many. Nodding, he lifted the Irim higher between them by basket handle expecting to get a newly fed Cikoda in return. 

I shouldn't let you He declared amid his musing, you disappeared. He stroked Irim's silky cheek idly. A warden is a fixture, the first and last defense of Thedas and you..... He let loose a long sigh. But I miss you Razikale. He whispered.

Devera tilted her head, and for a moment, her blue eyes seemed to shift to the slitted pupils expected of a dragon. Her nostrils flared, and she huffed, amused. No. But he's survived long enough that, with both parents near, he has a great chance. The babe suckled hungrily, until he was finished. She readjusted her clothing, and studied the warden before her.

He lifted Irim's basket higher, and she shifted to exchange infants. Basket once more in hand, she straightened awaiting his response. And for a moment, her face fell in such an animated fashion that it was extremely obvious.

"I shouldn't let you. You disappeared. A warden is a fixture, the first and last defense of Thedas and you..."

Her shoulders tensed, and she let her gaze dip to the child in the basket. She'd promised herself, if he refused her request, she'd leave the infant with him and flee. Devera hadn't expected him to deny her—

She's so focused on her thoughts, warring with the part of herself that is instinct first; and another part that's hurt, that she almost missed his last statement.

It took her a second to process, and she lifted her gaze from the child. Oh. She didn't have a future with the Constable; she wasn't as stupid to believe that what they had was anything more than her survival.

...but humans were fickle and strange. You... missed me? She furrowed her brows, and adjusted the basket in her grip. Why? She needed an answer; was there something she could play upon, some weakness she'd created? Or had he missed her strange ways, her ineptitude with social grace?

Blue eyes search Ragnar's features. Someone in a rush knocked into her as they passed, and she took two steps forward to steady herself, hoisting the basket so that it'd not bump into anything.

Irim grumbled and she rocked the basket slowly, gaze fixed on the man in front of her. The rest of the world might as well not exist; until she got her answer.