The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow across the room as Theodas turned to Ochrea, a playful glint in his eyes. "Now, I know I'm charming and irresistible, but we are guests in her house, so do try and keep your hands off me…if you’re able."

Ochrea couldn’t help but roll her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'll do my best to control myself," she replied, her tone light but fond.

Her gaze drifted to the crib where their child lay, the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest barely visible in the dim light. "Should I stay up to make sure he’s alright through the night?"

Theodas shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at their son. "He’ll be fine. After downing two breasts' worth of Dwarven milk, he’ll sleep until morning, no problem."

Ochrea arched an eyebrow, a teasing note in her voice. "And how do you know that?"

Theodas chuckled, his smile both reassuring and wistful. "That’s the thing—no parent ever really knows. You just do your best to keep them alive, healthy, and loved."

Ochrea leaned back against the wall, her eyes lingering on Theodas as if seeing him anew. She had always admired his strength, but there was a vulnerability in his words that made her heart ache. "When did you get so wise?" she asked softly.

For a moment, Theodas’s smile faded, replaced by a distant look in his eyes. The memories surged—fleeting images of a face he had once loved, and laughter that had once filled his ears long since silenced. The grief had settled into a quiet corner of his heart, a dull ache ever present, a pain he takes solace in its immortality and immutability. He hesitated, then spoke in a voice tinged with a sorrow that had long since settled into acceptance. "Centuries ago," he began, his gaze turning inward. "I had a wife and child of my own. They were killed, much like Ingrid’s family."

Ochrea’s breath caught, the weight of his words settling over the room like a veil. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but he shook his head gently.

"It’s a story for another time," he promised, his voice firm yet tinged with a deep, lingering sorrow. "But the truth is, no matter how long you live, the hurt never fully leaves it just dulls. Memories of you with them fade and blend into who you are without them. However, the love...the love I felt remains as pure and eternal."

A heavy silence enveloped the room, filled only by the soft crackle of the fire. The wood beneath their feet creaked softly, as if the house itself whispered in the quiet of the morning. Ochrea felt the gravity of his words, a silent understanding passing between them. The candlelight flickering gently, casting moving shadows on the walls, like memories dancing just out of reach—illuminating the love that persisted even in the darkest corners. Then, with a quick shift in tone, Theodas’s grin returned, bright and warm. "All that to say, just because I know how to change a poopy diaper doesn’t mean I’ll deny you the joy of learning."

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Ochrea laughed softly, the sound breaking through the somber mood, bringing warmth back into the room. "Oh, how generous of you."

Theodas winked, his eyes sparkling with humor. "I’m nothing if not magnanimous."

They shared a smile, the heaviness of the past moment easing, replaced by the comforting familiarity of their bond. Together, they moved closer to the crib, their child sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the world’s burdens. Ochrea reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the baby’s forehead, her heart swelling with a love that felt as enduring as the ancient roots of the mountains outside. In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight, they felt the enduring strength of their love, binding them closer together, unyielding and enduring.

Despite Theodas’s earlier assurances that their baby would sleep through the night, he found himself waking every other hour, quietly slipping out of bed to check on him. Each time, he peered into the crib, his heart swelling with relief and affection as he saw their child sleeping peacefully, just as he had predicted. Ochrea, who woke occasionally to the sound of his footsteps, couldn’t help but smile to herself, amused by his vigilance.

She lay awake after one of his checks, her mind drifting to the earlier conversation. The weight of Theodas’s past, a history he rarely spoke of, settled in her thoughts like a heavy blanket. She hadn’t pressed him, respecting the unspoken boundaries they both kept, but the knowledge of his loss intertwined with her own. It made the bond between them feel even more profound, even more necessary.

As dawn approached, the baby’s peaceful slumber ended in an abrupt and sudden wail that pierced the morning silence. Theodas and Ochrea exchanged a glance, half-amused, half-exasperated, as their child’s powerful lungs made his discomfort known.

“Looks like he’s got a healthy pair of lungs,” Theodas remarked, his voice tinged with pride as he moved to the crib.

Ochrea watched, a mix of curiosity and trepidation on her face. “So, how does one go about changing a cloth diaper?”

Theodas, despite his earlier reassurances that Ochrea would have the pleasure of learning the art on her own, found himself guiding her through the process. With a practiced ease, he showed her how to untie the cloth, clean the baby, and fold the fresh diaper into place. Ochrea followed his instructions, her initial apprehension giving way to concentration as she mastered the technique.

“Dwarven milk must be something else,” she joked, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

Theodas chuckled, “Aye, it’s powerful stuff. But look at him—healthy as can be.”

Once the diaper was securely in place and the baby was soothed, they gathered their belongings, ready to head to the long house to say their goodbyes. Theodas carefully bundled the baby in a warm blanket, and Ochrea gathered their supplies, her movements now confident after the morning’s lesson.

As they approached the long house, they found it quieter than expected. Pushing open the door softly, they were greeted by the sight of Ingrid fast asleep by the hearth, her face peaceful and free of the burdens that usually lined her features. The warmth from the fire bathed her in a soft glow, and for a moment, Ochrea was struck by how serene she looked—how much lighter her spirit seemed in sleep.

Nearby, an older Dwarven woman tended the fire and stirred a pot of something fragrant, her movements slow and deliberate. The wood beneath their feet creaked softly, as if the house itself whispered in the quiet of the morning. The scent of root vegetables and hearty broth filled the air, mixing with the earthy aroma of the wooden beams overhead.

The woman glanced up as they entered, placing a finger to her lips and giving a gentle nod toward the sleeping Ingrid. Ochrea and Theodas exchanged a silent understanding, stepping lightly as they made their way inside.

She smiled warmly at the trio as the came in, her eyes kind and knowing. Motioning for them to sit and served them quietly from the pot she’d been tending. The meal was simple but hearty, filled with the earthy flavors of root vegetables and spices that lingered on the tongue.

As they ate, the warmth of the food settled into their bones, chasing away the morning chill. The older woman continued moving about the room with a practiced grace. She occasionally glanced at the baby, now awake and content, and gave a nod of approval, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of wisdom and humor. It was clear she had seen many families pass through this house, and each one left its mark on her heart.