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The knocking on the door came as the Drosephosis were settling down in their bedroom to rest for the night. Daemaris Drosephosi’s head turned up from his book at the sound as it cut through the soft patter of rain against the windows. Adroris Drosephosi appeared in the bathroom door, clad in a sheer robe and her nightgown. A quizzical look was painted on her lined face.
Setting his book down, Daemaris stood, “I’ll get it.”
He picked his shirt up from the chair near the bedroom door and threw it on as he made his way downstairs. Walking through the clinic below their home, Daemaris combed his fingers through his greying hair, attempting to make himself presentable to whoever could be knocking at this hour of the night. Opening the door, he peeked through the gap left by the chain lock between the door and frame.
“Hello?” The elf could see no one stood outside their door, or on the darkened cobble street. Looking down, he could see a woven basket left at their doorstep, a white cloth bundle tucked into it. His brow creased as he studied the bundle in the basket, his eyes widening as it suddenly shifted, spots of crimson bleeding through the top where something had pushed the linen from within.
He closed the door quickly, unlatching the chain and throwing open the door fully. He knelt, carefully pulling aside the cloth, his breath catching in his throat.
“No…”
Disbelief coloured his face as he stared down at the bundle’s revealed contents. A tiny, blood-soaked newborn lay cradled in the basket, innocent brown eyes staring back up at Daemaris. The blood covering the baby from head to toe was starting to bleed into the white linen below them, though it didn’t appear to be their own blood.
Daemaris’ head shot back up scanning over the street again from where he knelt. He stood, stepping carefully around the basket to stand in the middle of the street, shouting out to anyone who might still be around;
“Hello! Is anyone there? Anyone?”
Raindrops started to soak into his shirt and hair as he desperately strained his keen eyes to find the person who might’ve left their baby on his clinic’s doorstep. He jumped, taken by surprise by the loud cry from behind him. Turning on his heel, he could see that the newborn had started crying, kicking their tiny legs and arms to express their upset at the situation. Their cry was ear-piercing , to say the least, and in all his centuries as a cleric and medic Daemaris couldn’t recall ever hearing a baby cry as loud as this one did now.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, you’ll be alright,” Daemaris said softly as he knelt down again, carefully cradling the basket in his arms. The newborn continued to scream, tears starting to cut through the sticky blood coating their cheeks.
Daemaris brought them in from the rain, pushing the door closed with his foot. He set the basket down at the desk at the back of the front room of the clinic, carefully extracting the squirming infant from it. He held them up, watching them scrunch themselves up as he looked them over. He could hear the stairs creak, and surmised that Adroris had heard the cries as well.
“Is that..?” Adroris gasped as she saw the baby, her jaw slack as her face fell.
“They were left on our doorstep, I didn’t see who left them,” Daemaris said, turning to his wife.
“The blood… Is it okay?” She rushed over, pressing to Daemaris’ side to get a closer look at the baby.
“I don’t think it’s theirs,” Daemaris brought the baby down to cradle them against his chest, crimson seeping into his shirt as he did, “Whoever their mother is… they must’ve just given birth, look:”
Adroris peered down at the baby, and both clerics knew they couldn’t have been more than an hour or so old.
“No note or anything?” Adroris asked, turning to look in the basket. She pulled out the soiled linen, looking for a note or anything that might point to where the baby came from.
Daemaris shook his head, still gazing down at the tiny infant. He ran a finger under one folded-in ear, the cartilage too weak to support the exaggerated pointed end yet. The infant squirmed at the sensitive touch.
“They’re elvish, look at their ears,” Daemaris said softly. Adroris turned back around to look again, her hand pressed against her husband’s arm as she leaned over the infant.
The baby started to calm down as quickly as they had started crying as Daemaris held them close, rocking them gently. Now only soft whines came from the infant, turning their scrunched up face into Daemaris’ chest.
“Look at that, poor babe only wanted to be held,” Daemaris whispered. He tore his eyes away from the baby to meet Adroris’.
“Do you think…” Adroris started, her voice tight as she was almost afraid to speak the thought they were both thinking aloud, “Do you think the Seldarine has answered our prayers?”
For centuries, the two elves had tried to have a baby of their own. They’d filled the gap in their lives with foster children and medicine and charity, but they’d never been able to conceive, or raise a child that was just their own. All their prayers had been met by silence or miscarriages.
Daemaris didn’t know how to reply as both of their eyes welled up at the thought. The newborn stared up at both of them with those same wide, innocent eyes.
“We should wash this blood off,” He said.
“What about something more human? Because they’re half-human after all, it would be nice to honour that side of their heritage.”
Their baby was sleeping soundly, curled up on Adroris’ chest as she and Daemaris cuddled on the couch and spoke softly with one another, exchanging names back and forth.
“I like that, that’s really sweet,” Daemaris replied.
They had decided to keep the baby. Shortly after taking them in they’d both received divine visions as they tranced. Corellon Larethian himself had appeared before the two clerics of his, proclaiming the child as a gift and divine task. The leader of the Seldarine had explained that the child had been born cursed, and that he wanted his kindest devotees to raise them. The child was to be raised to become a paladin in service of Corellon, the oath Corellon promising to grant them supposedly helping further suppress the alleged curse that ran through the little half-elf’s blood. The deity had made no attempt to solve the mystery of the baby’s birth parents though, leaving the question to gently gnaw at the backs of the couple’s minds.
“What human names do you know?” Daemaris asked.
“Hm… Dorian, Ellis, Clementine, Adeline, Madison..?”
“Mhm… I like the ‘M’ sound,” Daemaris nodded along as Adroris rattled off baby names, “What about… Myra, Marian, Martin, Megan?”
“Megan…” Adroris repeated, trying out the name on her tongue; She looked down at the baby on her chest, softly stroking a thumb across their cheek, “Megan, Megan Drosephosi… Almost? But not quite… Megan… Maison… Micah…”
“Morgan?”
They both fell silent for a moment, thinking it over.
“Morgan Drosephosi. That's perfect,” Adroris said, “Little baby Morgan,” Adroris cooed down to the baby, “What do you think of that, little Morgan?”
The sleeping baby stirred for a moment, before snuggling closer to the warmth of Adroris’ chest.
“I think that’s a lovely name,” Daemaris said, “ Saer Morgan, Paladin of Corellon Larethian. It sounds very… knight-like, fitting.” He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead.
“Our little knight,” Adroris turned to smile up at her husband, “So, Morgan it is?”
“I think so, we both like it, why complicate it further?”
Morgan stirred again in her arms, their wide eyes blinking open sleepily. They made a quiet noise as they started to squirm, little hands grasping at Adroris’ shirt.