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“I’m not very good at this,” Guts cajoled, holding the squirmy and whimpering bundle in his arm.
“Please,” Casca said as she rolled her eyes. “If you can hold that big slab of iron as much as you do, you can hold a baby.” She was snuggled against his other arm, while Guts was propped up against some crates in the tent that they shared.
“Iron ain’t fragile like a baby,” he interjected. “And iron doesn’t squirm so much.”
“You just need to hold him with confidence,” Casca soothed, “like a sword. He’ll relax when you relax.” She reached over to adjust Guts’ arm, so that their newborn son was better supported in the crook of his elbow. Guts couldn’t help but look at her much more ample bosom as she moved in her light gown.
“Maybe he’s just hungry,” Guts suggested with a grin.
Her eyes rolled again. “Nice try, but he just ate twenty minutes ago.” When she was done, the baby was much calmer as he was nestled closer to his father. For a moment, when she looked up at Guts, she could have sworn that he saw his eyes twinkle when he made eye contact with his son.
“Wow! It worked!” His voice was filled with such amazement, it was so adorable to Casca.
“Rock him a little,” she encouraged. “He’ll go right off to sleep.” Guts did as she said, and was even more surprised when it worked.
“I never knew that you were so good at this,” Guts said as he moderated his arm movements. “You know, being - “
“The ‘Ogre Queen of the Hawks’?”
“I was just going to stop at mercenary.”
“Hmmmm. You’re a bit right,”” she said, fidgeting with the babe’s little fingers. “I was the youngest in my family too. I only got any experience from helping other women in our village with their babies.” Somberness drew on Casca’s face as she remembered days long passed. “Even though we were all poor and destitute, we tried to help each other out - even if it was all in vain.”
Awkwardly, Guts gave a smile, despite the sad undertone in Casca’s story. Carefully, he slid his left arm around to encircle Casca’s shoulder, his right arm still cradling the baby.
“We’ll all be here,” he reassured. “Even Corkus.”
Corkus being helpful - from the bottom of his heart? Casca couldn’t help but snicker. “Ah. I know you all will. Or at least until I feel a little less… deflated.” She could just feel the little rolls of baby fat and the stretch marks as she skimmed her hand over her thigh and hip. She would be glad to get physically active again, but she wouldn’t rush it. Guts and Judeau insisted that she (and Guts wasn’t that eager for her to lose all of her curves just yet, believe it or not). Casca was just happy to be able to see her feet after so long.
Suddenly, Casca felt a kiss being planted on her forehead, chaste in feeling. She looked up to see Guts giving her a smile to match, the one that made her heart flutter. A soft blush made its way on her face as she returned the smile.
“I hope he gets your smile.”
“Maybe he’ll get your smile,” Guts countered.
“Maybe it’s time that he gets a name,” Casca inquired. They still hadn’t done so, despite their months of waiting, contemplating, and preparation. Frankly, their minds were equally preoccupied with other things upon their exile and settlement in a neighboring territory… But hopefully, this would all finally be a start of a new life for all of them. “Have you thought of one yet, Guts?”
All he gave was a shrug. “I’ve never been really good at these things. People give me nicknames, after all.” At that moment though, as his eyes widened, the solution became clear. “But I know who would be good at this.”