Chapter Text
Theron was entirely focused on the hunt, ears straining for any sound up ahead from the trail he was following, or the birds that called from the tall grass around him. Any other sound was out of place, and the crying was doubly so. When the noise drifted towards the ranger on the wind that sighed through grass that would be chest-high on a human, at first he thought it might simply have been a fox or some other creature. He paused, turning his head to look for any sign of his quarry, but also keeping his ear in the direction he thought the sound had come from.
A few moments later, the cry came again, louder and more insistent. Whatever was making the sound would draw more than a warily curious ranger if it kept going. Theron looked down at the tracks he’d been laboriously following since noon, but then began to wade and push his way through the grass towards the noise. He could always come back.
When the ranger found himself stumbling across an unexpected clearing in the grass - a quick look showed that the grass had been cut down entirely, rather than pressed down - he was surprised to see the remains of what must have been a camp, as well as a body. The place had been ransacked, and there was the smell of ozone in the air that made his shoulders itch nervously with phantom pain. Magic had been cast here, and recently.
Theron looked around warily for any sign of traps, or an ambush lying in wait in the concealing grass around him, and he remained unmoving from the very edge of the clearing, ready to flee if necessary. The crying was louder, was definitely coming from somewhere nearby, but he ignored it as he gradually realised that there were no other sounds. Just the crying and the wind in the grass, the canvas of a half-collapsed tent fluttering in the breeze. No-one stifling a cough or the creak of metal and leather as weight was shifted from foot to foot in preparation for lunging out.
The ranger slowly allowed himself to relax, gaze sweeping round the abandoned campsite with trained eyes before he looked towards the tent. The crying was growing quieter now, less frequent. Stepping carefully, he ducked inside to find the source. He wasn’t expecting it to be a tiny child, little more than a baby. The child grew quiet when it saw him, and the two stared at each other in mutual, wide-eyed surprise.
Theron blinked, tearing his gaze away to look around at the possessions strewn around the tent, before he stepped back out into the small clearing to check the body he’d seen earlier. A woman. He sighed, wondering just what he was supposed to do, as he began scavenging what necessary supplies he could fit into his pack. It wasn’t as if this camp would be needing them anymore.
He could hardly leave the child here. It would starve quickly, or die of cold, or it’s cries and the smell of dead meat would draw curious wolves… But what would he and Zevran do with a child? Theron frowned, and went back into the tent. The child stared up at him tearfully, blond hair a tangled mess. He - or she, perhaps, couldn’t have been more than one or two winters old, if that. Theron shook his head. It had been a long time since he had been around children, let alone such young babies. He could only hazard a guess at the age. When did babies get their teeth, again? When did they start to walk and talk? Oh, it had been far too long since he was around infants. Young animals were his limit.
The Dalish elf rubbed at his forehead before he ran his hand over his braids, tugging distractedly at the ends as he tried to think. As kindhearted as it would be to take the child with him rather than leave it to die, what could he and Zevran do? They were still travelling, and suddenly introducing a baby into the mix probably wasn’t a good idea with their currently nomadic lifestyle. And there was no guaranteeing how Zevran would react, or whether he was any good with children. If Theron was to be honest with himself, given the former Crow’s upbringing he doubted it.
The ranger was startled out of his thoughts when the child began to cry again. No doubt it was terrified and cold. Was it hungry as well? He frowned in thought, and began searching the tent for food. If the child had been with it’s mother, there had to be some around. Unless it was still too young to be off it’s mothers milk…
Theron sighed in relief when he found what could only be the child’s food tucked away in a corner of the tent, milk-soaked unidentifiable mush. Cold, unsurprisingly, but it would do. The ranger looked over at the entrance of the tent, the ruined and now looted campsite beyond, before he sat down crosslegged next to the child.
“Hello, little one.” He murmured reassuringly, wondering if any of his ranger skills for calming wild animals would work on babies too.
It was only as he was coaxing the child into eating that Theron finally realised he was approaching the situation much as he would have done rejected or abandoned animal offspring, down to wondering about whether it was still dependant on it’s mother. He chuckled softly to himself. That could probably help him, even if it was in these beginning stages. Perhaps babies weren’t too different to animals? Feeding, socialisation, safety…
“Hm.” The black-haired elf huffed to himself as he looked down at the child he’d lifted into his lap to ensure it wouldn’t choke. He still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but judging from the lack of pointed ears, horns or stumpy proportions it was a human baby.
When the child was done eating, Theron set it back down in the furs it had been lying on. He got to his feet, intending to go and find more of the baby food for the journey back - it seemed the hunt was abandoned for today. He wasn’t expecting the child to start crying again as soon as he let go of it, and the noise seemed louder, more grating now he was closer.
He tried to ignore it as he salvaged anything of use from inside the tent - mostly things that looked like they were to do with the infant. Occasionally he stopped to poke his head outside the tent and check the clearing was still deserted, that there were no predators creeping closer in search of an easy meal. To his relief, there was a raven curiously pecking at the body. If something came along, it’s loud alarm call would give him enough time to ready his bow.
When he was done and his pack was full, Theron was left with the slight dilemma of how to carry the child. Obviously it couldn't walk yet, so he would have to carry it. Carrying it in his arms or at his hip would work, unless he found himself in a situation where he needed to get his bow. Dropping the child like he would a kill wasn't an option. How had his clan dealt with this again? What had they used to carry the newborns when camp was broken?
They had used a kind of sling, he remembered as he picked the still crying baby up, trying to quiet it. A sling to be worn on the front, to keep the child close to a chest and to also keep hands free for weapons. It worked for men nearly as well as women. The only trouble was that he would have to make one, and there was no leather...
Theron realised he was staring blankly at the tent canvas, and grinned to himself. Better than nothing.
The child watched in what he hoped was wide-eyed fascination as he cut out sections of the canvas with his skinning knife and shaped them, crafting the makeshift sling. By the time he was finished and the sling was ready, the child had fallen asleep. Theron smiled to himself at the sight, quietly shrugging his weapons off so he could put the sling on under them, and then carefully placed the child in it.
The strange, warm and slightly drooling weight at his chest was entirely unfamiliar, but the black-haired elf knew he would have to get used to it. He gave the camp one last searching glance for anything of interest that he might have overlooked, before he stepped through the grass. This time he would head for home, rather than continue the hunt.
When he finally reached his and Zevran’s small camp an hour’s walk later, the sun was starting to fall to the horizon. The blond looked up from tending the campfire, his smile of greeting wavering when he first saw Theron had returned empty-handed from a hunt, and then when he noticed the bundle tied to his chest.
“I sense there is a story to this?” Zevran asked as he got to his feet and padded over silently for a closer look. Theron waited until the Antivan’s expression became one of shock. “A child?”
The ranger nodded.
“I think it’s still asleep.” Theron added, keeping his voice low as he stepped closer to the campfire and shrugged his weapons and pack off. How easy was it to wake a sleeping child?
Zevran frowned, and then quietly sat down beside him, eyeing the sleeping thing that was drooling on his leather chestpiece almost warily.
“And, please explain, how did you come by a child? I never thought you would be one for cradle-snatching. Is there some distressed farmer’s wife out there cursing the Dalish for spiriting away her youngest?”
Theron couldn’t help a huff of laughter, looking down when the child stirred at the sudden movement.
“No, you’ll be pleased to hear. But I found a half destroyed camp while on a trail, and the child was the only survivor. I could hardly leave it for the wolves.” He explained, and Zevran sighed.
“What are we to do with this? We have hardly discussed having children, because I never imagined that would be an issue with us.” The blond lamented, keeping his voice quiet for the child’s sake.
“And now we have one. I scavenged what supplies I could for the child.” Theron pointed out, nodding to his pack. “They should last… How often do babies need to eat?”
Zevran looked back at him, and laughed humorlessly.
“You see what I mean, yes? Neither of us know anything about how to raise children, bar your occasional animal husbandry.”
“Wouldn’t they be similar?” Theron pointed out, looking down at the baby.
“To a point. But this is a-” Zevran paused, and peered closely at the child. “Elven? Human?” Theron nodded in confirmation. “Human child. The similarities to a wolf pup or bird can only stretch so far.”
“What about if we take it with us? The next village we pass through will have a Chantry we can drop it off at.”
“It’s a child, not a bag of old clothes.”
“You know what I mean.” The ranger sighed. “Don’t Chantries take in orphans?”
Zevran nodded, and the two relaxed slightly at the knowledge they wouldn’t have to take care of the child for longer than necessary.
“So far we have been calling the child an it.” Zevran realised. “Are you saying you haven’t even checked whether you were carrying a boy or a girl?”
Theron blinked.
“That… Hadn’t occurred to me. I was more worried about getting it to stop crying and the possibility of wolves than what gender it was.” He admitted sheepishly as he drew the child out of the sling.
“You need to support it’s head more.” Zevran offered, which earned him a curious look.
“Like this?” Theron asked as he adjusted his hold to somewhat stiffly cradle the baby, and the blond nodded. “I get the sense you’ve been around babies for longer than I have.” The Dalish elf muttered. He hadn’t seen his clan in so many years, and even then he hadn’t been in extended contact with many dependant children very often.
“Whatever would give you that idea?” Zevran asked as he got to his feet to bring Theron’s pack over, no doubt to see what else he’d come back with.
“Just a hunch.” The ranger shrugged, setting the baby carefully in his lap to check whether it was a boy or a girl at last. “A little unexpected, given your history.”
Zevran smirked as he began to sort through the slightly unorthodox loot for two elven nomads.
“The life of an assassin is not that detached from humanity, you know.”
“It’s a girl.” Theron reported, looking over the child’s messy blonde hair, the softness to her features. She looked almost cute… No, if this child’s destiny was to be saved from the scavengers of the plains and raised in some well-meaning Chantry that was used to children and had knowledge about how to best care for them, there was no sense in getting needlessly attached.
“What about sleeping arrangements?” The Antivan asked. “I presume she will be sleeping in the tent with us, yes?”
“Of course.” Theron nodded, watching the blond examine the baby food. “Do you want to hold her?”
The question nearly made Zevran drop the food back into the pack, and he looked from the Dalish elf to the sleeping child in his lap and back.
“I… Think not. Not yet.” He replied evasively, even as he clenched his hands into loose fists. He’d never held a baby before - he was an assassin, had been since he knew how to hold a dagger and not cut his fingers on the sharp edge of a blade. That was nearly the opposite of his job, what he had been raised and trained to do. And babies looked so soft and fragile, far too delicate to be held by the likes of him. A man with poison and blood on his hands, his very being steeped in it. He should be nowhere near something as innocent as a child.
Theron frowned slightly, but nodded in acceptance.
“We shouldn’t have her for too long. We’re perhaps three day’s walk from the next village, and if not we could backtrack to the one we passed by yesterday.” He commented, looking down at the baby girl.
It took almost four days to reach the next village; being woken often by a crying child in the middle of the night was still something the two hadn’t gotten used to, same for the slight lack of sleep as a result, but they were learning quickly how to calm her down, and when she was hungry or demanding attention rather than needing to be changed.
Theron had carried the child for most of the journey, but once they reached the village he slowed to get the girl out of the sling.
“What are you doing?” Zevran asked.
“Can you go and give her to the Chantry? I need to go visit the tavern.” The ranger answered, and the blond frowned lightly. Still, it meant they would be rid of the baby quicker.
“Fine.” He answered reluctantly, taking the child and watching the Dalish elf head off. Now to find the Chantry in this little town. Zevran adjusted his hold as he walked, glancing down from time to time when the child made the odd babbling noise as she stared up at him with wide brown eyes.
Zevran spotted the Chantry relatively soon, and after trying and failing to remember the last time he’d stepped inside one to sing the Chant he was about to walk inside when a cooing sound made him stop. He looked over, realising that a young woman was staring at him - or, rather, the child in his arms. Hm, being ignored like that was not something he was used to.
The woman saw she’d been heard, and blushed even as she took it as an invitation to step over and strike up a conversation.
“She’s gorgeous.” She breathed as she smiled at the baby. What was it with women and young children?
“If you want her you can have her.” Zevran answered dryly, knowing it would be taken as a joke, perhaps one in slightly poor taste. The young lady laughed, and shook her head.
“No, I’ve got enough brothers and sisters to help my ma look after. Besides, she belongs with her father.”
The blond really should have expected some kind of comparison to be drawn between him and the child, but it still took him by surprise. The idea of anyone looking at him and thinking he could be a father was, to him, absurd. Something to be laughed heartily at over a drink in a warm tavern or equally warm bed with some form of company.
Of course, given his ways he no doubt had at least one or two bastard children across Antiva by now, but the idea of him actually settling down to raise a child in domestic bliss? No, he was ill-suited for that life and always had been. And now he and Theron were travelling, the idea of raising a child simply didn’t seem like it would be compatible. Their lifestyle had no room for some little baby that needed feeding and protecting. They had managed the journey to this village, but Zevran was unsure if they could manage longer than a month if they had decided to keep the baby.
He looked down at the weight in his arms, the way she stared back up at him. He could have sworn that she smiled as she reached up towards his face, tiny fingers stretching towards his nose, so delicate and yet so perfect. And Zevran felt the shift inside him as if it was something physical. Something in his chest tightened as he gazed down at the child, and he tightened his grip on her ever so slightly even as another poison-wielding and blood-soaked part of him watched in dismay.
“Perhaps she does.” He finally answered the woman, looking up towards the Chantry doors before he turned and strode back the way he’d came to find Theron.
He found the ranger in the tavern, bartering for supplies, and the look of surprise on his face when he finished and spotted Zevran still holding the girl was one the blond wished he could immortalise.
“Will the Chantry not take her?”
“Not exactly…” The Antivan replied, looking down at the girl.
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“Yes.” Zevran admitted slowly.
Theron looked at the girl as well, before he shook his head and led the way over to a table in a quiet corner.
“Are you sure? We can look after ourselves well enough, but-”
“A child is no different, surely?”
“This isn’t something we can walk away from easily.” The Dalish elf warned, leaning back in his seat and frowning at the child.
“I know.” Zevran sighed. “But I think we can manage, after the inevitable first couple of mistakes.”
The Dalish elf rolled his eyes, but nodded in acceptance.
“We can only try.” He agreed, looking at the baby. “But you do realise we’ll have to name her now?”