Bjorn, feeling slightly awkward, gave Theodas a firm pat on the shoulder. “You did a good deed killing those beasts,” he said, his voice gruff but with a hint of warmth. “You brought closure to Ingrid Hearthstone. That’s no small thing.” With a nod, Bjorn turned and left to fetch the chief, leaving the couple in the quiet warmth of the longhouse.
Watching Bjorn leave, Ochrea turned to Ingrid, who was still clutching the blanket to her chest. The firelight danced across her weary features, casting flickering shadows that matched the weight of the loss in her eyes. “Ingrid,” Ochrea began, her tone soft but direct, “if you’re willing, the baby needs a wet nurse. My body... it’s built more for taking lives than keeping them alive.”
Ingrid wiped her tears with the back of her hand and nodded, holding out her arms for the child. The soft wool of her sleeve brushed against the baby’s cheek, and a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice steadying as she looked at the baby. “What’s his name?”
Ochrea glanced at Theodas, a silent question in her eyes. Theodas smiled softly and spoke, his voice gentle and reverent. “Eldarin,” he said, pausing before adding, “It means ‘Gift from the gods’ in Elvish.”
A smile touched Ochrea’s lips, and she nodded, appreciating the significance of the name. She remembered the countless battles fought and lives taken, and this moment—this small, fragile life—felt like a different kind of victory. But when Ingrid became enamored with the baby, Ochrea leaned in closer to Theodas, her voice a low whisper. “A little too on the head, don’t you think?”
Shortly after, Bjorn returned, accompanied by the chief, Thrain Stonehelm. With broad shoulders and a powerful frame, Thrain looked every bit the seasoned warrior, but his face told a different story—one of weariness and burden. Deep lines etched his weathered skin, and his eyes, though sharp and commanding, held a fatigue that spoke of countless sleepless nights.
Thrain nodded in greeting as he approached Ochrea and Theodas. “I’m Thrain Stonehelm,” he introduced himself, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “Bjorn has filled me in on what happened with Ingrid, and I thank you for what you’ve done. It means more to us than words can express.”
His gaze swept over the longhouse, taking in the flickering firelight casting shadows across the carved wooden beams and the scent of burning wood and roasting meat that filled the air. The warmth of the fire seemed to reach out, offering a stark contrast to the cold fatigue that seemed settled into his bones. “I must apologize for not having an inn to offer you, and I wish I could extend more hospitality beyond some food and the warmth of furs here.”
The guards seated at the back of the room began to rise, each offering their home for the night. Their voices overlapped in a mix of camaraderie and concern, but before any of them could make a case, Ingrid spoke up, her tone firm but laced with affection. “Sit down, you bunch of softies,” she chided, waving them back to their seats. “If they stay at any of your places, they’ll catch something they won’t be able to get rid of. Besides, I’ve got the larger house that’s been empty for long enough. Let me feed the little one and this lot of well-meaning miscreants, and then I’ll take you over.”
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Thrain turned to his sister, a grateful smile easing some of the weariness from his face. “Thank you, Ingrid,” he said, his voice heavy with both appreciation and the weight of responsibilities yet to be fulfilled. “Forgive me, but there’s still much to be done and not enough time to do it in. I’ll see to you both in the morning,” he added, addressing Ochrea and Theodas. “We can discuss whatever you might need then.”
Before departing, Thrain walked over to Ingrid, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head as she rocked the baby. He lingered, the moment stretching as he breathed in the warmth of the room, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken sorrow. The firelight caught the lines of his face, deepening the shadows and highlighting the strain etched into his features. With a sad smile, he finally turned and left, his heavy steps echoing softly across the wooden floor.
Bjorn, who had quietly observed, gave Ochrea and Theodas a friendly wave before following the chief out the door, leaving them in the warm glow of the longhouse.
Settling down with plates of food, Theodas and Ochrea took in the quiet, cozy atmosphere of the longhouse. The scent of roasted meat mingled with the sweet, heady aroma of ale, wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Ingrid, having gently ushered the remaining guards out, made her way to the back, near the warmth of the fire. A deep breath steadied her as she unbuttoned her blouse, allowing the baby to latch on. The bittersweet smile on her lips held a mix of sadness and contentment.
Ingrid looked up at the couple and called out with a hint of humor, “Well, this is likely the first time a half-elf has ever been breastfed by a dwarven beauty. Don’t be surprised if he grows up healthier and stronger than the two of you.”
Grinning, Theodas replied, “As long as he grows over five feet, we’ll call it even.” The light-hearted banter brought a shared smile between them, easing the tension of the evening.
After finishing her meal, Ochrea rose and walked over to sit beside Ingrid by the fire. The warmth enveloped them, the soft crackling of the flames and the gentle sound of the baby nursing creating a peaceful ambiance. Ochrea hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, before speaking with quiet sincerity, a tear glistening in her eye. “Some women were meant to be mothers,” she began, her voice steady but full of emotion. “And some of us move heaven and earth to be more than we were meant to be. I’m sorry for your son, but perhaps the gods led us here because he”—she nodded toward the baby still nursing—“needed you. What you’re doing now is a sacred bond, one I... couldn’t create. So, thank you.”
Ingrid leaned her head into Ochrea’s broad shoulder, both women staring into the flickering flames in a moment of shared solace until the baby was satisfied. With gentle hands, Ingrid adjusted the baby and looked up at Ochrea with a soft smile. “Would you like to learn how to burp him?”
Ochrea nodded, her usually strong and confident demeanor softened by the moment. She glanced at Theodas, who watched her with a smile that held both pride and affection. For the next hour, Ingrid patiently guided her through the basics of caring for a newborn—how to burp him, soothe him, and what to watch for in the days ahead. She shared practical tips and prepared Ochrea for the less glamorous aspects of motherhood, offering wisdom borne of experience.
As Ingrid spoke, Theodas continued to observe from across the room, his fond smile growing as Ochrea’s expressions shifted—first to shock, then surprise, followed by a touch of disgust, and finally settling on worry. It was a rare sight to see the warrior, who had faced countless dangers with unflinching resolve, now grappling with the delicate realities of caring for a tiny, fragile life. Yet, in her eyes, he saw a determination that mirrored the same resolve she brought to the battlefield—this time, for something far more precious.