Work Text:
“Dain, you need to get in here right now.” The heavy wooden door is barely open when the words tumble out of Imogen’s mouth, green eyes feral and searching desperately as she locks in on her target.
Dain is on the other side of the door frame, standing with one arm crossed over his chest, the other hand in a fist braced against his mouth as if he is holding in his own screams. He’s always been so good at controlling his emotions, at masking whatever is going on inside his head. Now is an exception, because anyone who walks past Dain can feel the tension rolling off of him.
The room is soundproof, of course, as all the bedrooms of this house seem to be. He’d been locked out for hours. Apparently that was not abnormal, in Tyrrish customs, that a man was not allowed to be present for the birth of their children. Xaden Riorson had been a gods damn exception —of course he was, when wasn’t he— but it turns out that had been at the demand of Violet. She demanded, not beg nor plead, but outright demanded that Xaden be beside her for the birth of their daughter last year.
Sloane had no such desire, and in fact hours ago had threatened to Siphon the life right out him between agonized breaths. A fact that Imogen had relayed with an outright smirk on her face as she passed on Sloane’s message and nudged him backwards into the hallway.
Something had to change fast for Imogen to be standing here, relaying an entirely different need from Sloane.
It’s distinctly a rush of fear that rushes over Dain, that sinks to the very bottom of his stomach, as he all but pushes Imogen out of the way to get to his wife.
“She’s fine, it’s just not my place-“ Imogen starts, but is lightly brushed out of the way when Dain slides between her and the door frame, not even waiting to listen for whatever warning waits on her lips.
Imogen steps forward, pulling the door shut immediately behind her to lock in the sounds coming from just beyond. There was no large group waiting as there had been for Violet. By no means was it out of any less love for Sloane— but rather at her request.
She didn’t want the audience, she didn’t want people waiting to know what happened to her.
In the hallway, Imogen steps into the much smaller remaining group, composed only of three and a half (Aurora’s got no recollection of the events happening, she’s only half a person today) people.
There’s Violet, sitting on the floor across from where Dain had been standing, no doubt there to be his companion, offering words of comfort and reassurance that of course Sloane would be okay. There was Xaden, standing beside where his wife sits, there either out of some deep rooted loyalty to Liam Mairi, or out of even deeper rooted separation issues from Violet. Next to Xaden, as there so often, is Garrick, who is waiting for her.
Garrick, albeit, is the most distracted of the three. He’s turned to the side with his head facing the window, and arms full of his tiny niece who’s dark hair covered head rests on his right shoulder. The babbles are evidence enough that she’s awake, holding on to every word of what they all have assumed to be her favorite uncle. It’s one of his favorite hobbies these days, playing the best uncle to his best friend’s daughter.
“That one flying there, thats Auntie Sloane’s dragon Thoirt.” His voice is low, but the free hand that isn’t supporting her body is pointing up, honing in on the red dragon flying in continuous circles as she had been for hours. “She’s pretty, but just remember who your favorite is. His name is Chradh and he’s brown…“
“Sgaeyl’s going to fry you, man. ” Xaden’s mouth quirks into a half smile, reaching his hand up to grab Aurora’s hand and gain her attention. “Tell him baby, you like Sgaeyl the best.”
The little head on Garrick’s shoulder perks up, hazel eyes blowing open wide at the mention of the blue dragon, craning her neck out the window as if she missed her flying by. “Scale?”
“She just has the easiest name to say. She likes Andarna best, she changes colors for her.” Violet stifles a yawn, stretching her arms above her head as her own hazel eyes lock on Imogen. “Sloane’s okay?”
“Yeah, yeah she’s great. Baby is too.” Imogen nods, though she finds herself bracing the wall behind her with one hand as she slides down to the ground herself, suddenly not trusting her own legs. She’s not going to pass out but suddenly she’s feeling just a little bit off .
Aurora’s head whips around again, this time looking back and forth with her little lips pursed at the mention of her absolute favorite word these days. “Bee-bee?”
Whoever taught a baby to ask for a baby deserves a kiss– by the appropriate person, NOT Imogen– because by gods it is one of the most amusing things she’s heard in a while.
“Baby isn’t out here yet, Aurora. You’ll see them soon.” Violet promises, watching with amusement as her little girl’s expression briefly falls to a pout before returning to her childish wonder at the dragons just beyond her window.
“You look like you saw a ghost there, Ims.” Garrick tease, the playful glint in those hazel eyes twinkling as he turns to fully face her. Concern flashes in his eyes, giving her a once over as if she had just come back from sparring and not holding Sloane Mairi’s hand. He seems to find her acceptable –okay, maybe a little pale– and gives a nod before setting their shared niece on the ground in front of him. “Go see Auntie Immie, princess, she looks like she needs it.”
Imogen barely registers Aurora crashing into her arms after toddling the few steps over, the one year old snuggling her face right into the crook of her neck. Her hand absently comes to stroke her hair. She’s too, frankly, shocked to give Garrick a snarky response, or even roll her eyes. “It was just…a lot. It was cool as hell. Sloane’s incredible but holy shit. ”
“I can’t wait until she picks up on the vocabulary in this house.” Violet muses, a smile in her tone as she watches her beloved little girl grab at with the necklace around Imogen’s throat, which Imogen then gently pries from her hands. Imogen grabs her little fists and brings it to her lips in a kiss that has Aurora shrieking in laughter. Violet rests her chin on her knees, completed bemused by her daughter. “ I know. It’s cool as hell but fuck it hurts as bad as you’d expect.”
“What did she have?” Garrick quirks an eyebrow, a lovestruck look barely disguised on his face as he watches Imogen so easily play the role of near sister and aunt she wears so proudly. They were in constant competition with each other, to come out on top as Aurora’s favorite non-parent. They could agree to work together when it mattered, aka, when it was them against literally any other adult in her life. “More importantly who won the bet.”
It was a superstition, amongst the Tyrrish people. You don’t discuss a name for a child before they’re born, lest Malek decide that the course of their life has already run it’s time. Some agree, Sloane and Imogen being amongst them, that you cannot even theorize about the sex of a baby prior to their birth. Bad luck and all that.
It doesn’t matter if you have dragons who can definitively tell you the answer to that point, either, thank you very much.
Size of the baby though, that’s a safe topic, and one thing about Tyrrish boys, is they love to debate the size of something.
“Thats what I was about to say when ex-Aetos rushed by me. It’s not my place to say.” Imogen explains resting her head on top of Aurora’s lightly. She gently untangles the baby’s fist from her now evenly shoulder length pieces of her pink hair, instead holding the palm of her hand out for her to gently hit with her own smaller one. “She’s safe. Thats all that matters.”
It also wasn’t her place to share the meltdown Sloane was experiencing, either.
Dain doesn’t know what he expected when he saw the look in Imogen’s eyes, but whatever it was had him deeply unsettled until he could lay his own eyes on Sloane. He had distantly heard her call Sloane fine, but he wouldn’t believe it, wouldn’t take that as good enough until he saw her himself.
He doesn’t even process the soft crying, he doesn’t process that it is his child , who is a live and breathing and here until he catches a glimpse of her.
And Gods, she is beautiful. She’s sitting what looks to be cross legged in the bed, well covered with the bedsheet which she uses her upper arms to hold to her body. She just stares down into her lap, hands paralyzed at her knees. She stares with a look akin to a hunted animal, as if she is staring down the last moments of her life and not the very beginning of his.
She looks beautiful and ethereal but mostly she looks absolutely terrified .
“Sweetheart, you have to hold him, it’s the best way to keep him warm, otherwise we can take him to dry him and wrap him, but honey you really need to hold him.” The healer is so patient with her as she kneels beside her, but the wavering tone suggests she is tiring of what may seem like a repetitive conversation on her end. “You have to touch him.”
Dain feels the exact moment it sinks in, and it is like the heart that was just beating in his chest is cracked in half more easily than the fragile shell of a chicken’s egg.
She’s afraid to touch him.
“Sloane?” Dain’s voice wavers, and what was holding the shards of his heart together in his chest absolutely blows apart once Sloane’s head snaps up to look at his.
The actual moment Sloane’s gaze meets his it as if the final dam breaks for her as well, and tears absolutely flood from her eyes, as a sob wracks through her chest. “ Dain .”
He moves so quickly he doesn’t even remember the intention coming to mind before he is there, sitting on the edge of the bed but facing her, doing all in his power not to just reach for her face and hold her. She had never been one to shy away from his touch, and it felt like the most difficult moment in the world to hold back now. He didn’t want her memories, he only wanted her.
“Take him, Dain, you need to take him.” Sloane’s blue eyes were absolutely blown wide, nothing but pure undeniable terror in those ocean colored depths, that currently resembled the depths of the sea rather than that coastal cerulean everyone had grown to know as Mairi . “- please.”
Dain does not need to be told twice, but his usually steady hands almost fumble when they are directed towards his child. He’s still…wet?.. When Dain slides one now steady hand under his head and the neck engulfs the rest of his body with his other hand. It’s so easy to bring him closer, to cradle his little fidgeting body against his own as if his arms were made for exactly this.
It is simultaneously the most incredible and most harrowing moment of his life when he holds his son for the first time. All tiny waving limbs, and soft whimpers, as if Dain is a temporary substitute for who he actually wants. Still, there is nothing like it in the world like it, like holding his child in his arms.
He wonders, fleetingly, as he offers his newborn his finger to hold, how his father had ever ever treated him the way that he had.
How had he looked at Dain as a baby and demanded anything more than blissful existence and wish for absolutely anything beyond seeing him smile.
It doesn’t matter how. His father is dead and he will never get near this little boy.
Despite the very palpable anxiety rolling off of Sloane in waves, he can’t resist the urge to simply smile at this baby and try like hell to memorize every single feature of his face as if he would disappear, as if he was going to wake up from this absolute dream and be back in a second year dorm in Basgiath. Long before Sloane existed in his life, long before he had anything but a set of rules and a misplaced faith.
And long, so so long before he had any chance of this child.
“I’m going to hurt him.” Sloane whispers, pulling her knees up to her chest so that her chin can rest atop them. Her hair falls to frame around her face, curls damp and loosened from sweat, though as soon as that dried her hair would most certainly spring up towards her face.
She looked nothing like the twenty something woman who had been through war, who had been instrumental in the victory. She looked nothing like the girl who had spent years honing and perfecting a signet so that she could never accidentally harm someone, let alone her own child. She looked nothing like the woman who had taken back her family title, who was a figure in Aretia, the way her own mother had once been.
She looks all of the twenty year old girl, forced to take a life with her signet within weeks of it manifesting. Unsure, terrified, and afraid of her own power.
It was such a far cry from the Sloane Mairi that Dain had the absolute honor of loving.
“You won’t. You couldn’t.” He says it so easily, like he is describing the color of the sky or the menu for tonight’s dinner. “There is no possible way you’d hurt him, Sloane.”
“But I could. He’s just so little and fragile and If I lose control even once I could pull the life right out of him.” Sloane rambles, shaking her head furiously fast, holding her arms firmly around her knees. “I can’t hurt him.”
It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him, Gods no. She wanted him like she wanted air in her lungs, like she wanted the sun to rise over Aretia tomorrow, she wanted him more than she wanted life itself. Even her hands, she had to physically squeeze the sheets until her fists went as white as they are, to keep her hands from just reaching to take him and hold him and never let him go. He was hers and Gods had she wanted him. It was evident in her eyes, the kind of longing she looked at him with was only akin to a starving woman seeing her last glimpse of hope in the discarded part of a loaf of bread. She craved the weight of him in her arms, she ached to hold him.
“You couldn’t. You have such control, Sloane, and even if you didn’t you couldn’t hurt him.” Dain wanted to argue that there was no power in him, that there was nothing for him to lose, but he knew her fear. She wasn’t afraid of taking power, she was afraid of stealing the life right out of him.
“If I lose control-” Sloane shakes her head again, and holds a hand up as to stop him from interrupting her which fails.
“Sloane, You could never. There is nothing in the world that would make you harm this baby. He’s ours, Sloane. He’s our son.” Even Sloane cannot miss the absolute reverence in his voice, how it curls around the words as if they are sacred notes of scriptures from some other world. “And you made him.”
“But what if I-”
“You won’t. You made him, Sloane. Every single piece of him you made, you created him. I said it years ago, sweetheart, but Gods is it more clear now that ever. You’re life, you made a whole human being. You are his life, you gave him life, gods Sloane, you could never hurt him. I know you. You made him.” Dain grabs one of her hands, and her resistance, her urge to retreat her had, dies when his wraps around her wrist gently. “I worked hard to be able to do this, to be able to touch you without feeling like i’m about to steal your dreams right out of your mind. Imogen doesn’t just take a memory when she brushes your hand. Baby, you haven’t accidentally taken anything from me ever, and you touch me a lot.”
Sloane’s fingers flex as he holds her wrist, and she debates briefly, wrapping her own fingers around his wrist in response, as if to test that she truly did have control over herself. “You made him too. He’s safer with you.”
(Of course she has control. She had honed and honed and honed until she was capable of being one of the final steps to winning this war against the Venin. She was incredible, and Dain would tell her that every day for the rest of her life if he had to.)
“Even if that were true, which it isn’t, you know we’re together, right? He can be safe with us both. You’re the one who agreed to marry me, remember.” The hand that is holding her wrist drops, instead coming up to hold the back of her neck, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. There is love in that look, there is devotion and reverence in those brown eyes that she just wanted to melt into. She doubts she could have this doubt in herself if she saw herself through that warm gaze. “We wanted him, Sloane. You did, and I did, and now he’s here, and he’s real, and he’s ours, and he is perfect Sloane. But he kind of needs you more than he needs me right now.”
They had wanted him, that was undeniable. Not that he was intentional, far from it, but there wasn’t a moment she ever doubted that they would love him. For all the absolute fear that had hit her first, the oh my gods what did we do , she had almost instantly been converted to pure, unbridled happiness. Maybe it was the smile on his face, maybe it was the way he had wrapped his arms around her and made her feel like oh this will be okay, maybe it was the kiss he gave her as if he had never kissed her before and needed to consume her. Maybe it was the way he let any one of her brother’s friends take him to the mat, and let them all get in a good hit before he fought back (only Imogen had come out on top of that series of fights, thank you very much). Maybe it had been the relatively quick turn around time on their wedding, already planned thank you very much, just moved up to accommodate the news. It could have been a lot of things, but gods there was never a question or a moment where she didn’t want this.
(She does not need the continued commentary of Ridoc and Garrick on the convenient timing of their wedding, either, but thats neither here nor there).
“You are not bleeding too terribly, we’ll be back shortly. If you continue to refuse we’ll have to find alternative ways to feed him.” The healer interrupts, voice firm, but some underlying layer of empathy preventing her from seeming all too cruel. There’s passing conversation in Tyrrish in the background, and Dain can absently discern that they are speaking of Violet and apparently a great amount of blood. He’d thanked whichever God was listening that he hadn’t heard that story before today. He didn’t need another fear earlier this morning.
There is a deep guilt that settles in Sloane’s chest and it’s so heartbreaking to realize she’s being seen as rejecting her child that she doesn’t have time to process the anger or formulate a response before Dain does it for her.
“That won’t be necessary.” Dain clarifies, shaking his head firmly. Before the woman can object, he gives a very curt nod, voice polite but very firm. The wingleader voice that he never seemed to outgrow. “Thank you for your help, but she’s got him.”
Sloane’s head whips towards him, eyes betraying the deeply rooted fear that was once again crawling to the surface. She starts to shake her head, trying to pull her hand back to her side, but his hand on her wrist tightens. Gentle, but firm at the same time. “I can’t-”
“You will.” Dain decides, and there’s no room for argument in his tone. It isn’t like he pulls that voice on her often anymore, now that she’s no longer the insolent cadet under his skin and in his bed, tugging at his boundaries and nerves simultaneously. Sure it comes out in bed but he doesn’t usually actually need to use it on her.
“Don’t use that voice on me, Dain.” Sloane warns, annoyance filling her eyes in place of the fear.
“You like this voice. Now lay down.” He all but demands, nodding his head towards the pillows behind her. “Or at least get comfortable.”
Sloane, thank Gods because he doesn’t think they have time to argue if judging from the way this baby in his arms whimpers are getting louder and louder, listens and does lean back just a little. Her back is supported by the half a dozen down-filled pillows she had taken to sleeping with in the last few weeks. He had been offered a single pillow on the opposite end of the bed, and to his credit did not complain once when he couldn’t get close enough to her to touch her at night.
“You need to hold him.” Dain decides easily, nodding at the way her hands were once again holding the sheet against her. He chooses to ignore the flecks of drying blood, and instead focused on her defensive position. “You’re his mother. He needs you. He wants you.”
“I don’t want to-” Sloane tries but is quickly cut off by Dain.
“Of course you do, Sloane.” He tries softly, settling in closer to his wife, still facing her but moving so close to her that their crossed arms were brushing each other at the forearms. “You love him.”
He leans down and with the softest press of his lips against hers, he silences her next argument. In a fluid moment, while her eyes slip close and she relaxes into his kiss, he smoothly slides their brand new son right out of his arms and onto her chest.
Sloane has no choice but to use both hands to brace him, because by Gods she won’t drop him. She pulls away from Dain with a gasp, and instead of fighting, she just looks down. She’s vaguely aware of Dain leaning his forehead against hers, eyes trailing down to the exact same place as hers.
She braces herself for the flood of power, of life running out into her palms in the brief moments before it is extinguished entirely.
Except..it doesn’t come. He remains there, exactly as he had been. Safe and alive. Notably, though, instantly more settled in her arms than his father’s. Maybe it was true, what Violet had mentioned, about babies just knowing they’re with their mother. He settles against her almost immediately, the whining quieting to nothing but steady, even breaths. It was if he had waited his whole life to be in her arms, as if he had the sentience to feel relief to finally be with his mother.
She does not feel the rush of power, no, but she feels the rush of something so much stronger that she can only describe as pure, uninhibited love.
Finally, finally she takes a moment to truly look at him. He’s little, and despite the fact he has quite a bit of hair on top of his little head, it is so light brown she could almost call it blonde. That has to be hers, he had to have gotten that from her . She adjusts the arm under his neck turning his little face so that she can try to coax his eyes open.
“Oh,” Sloane’s voice cracks in half, as she feels another rush of tears filling her eyes. Her vision blurs as she brings one hand up to his face, trailing her thumb over the round curve of his cheek as he twists his face as if he is trying to burrow back into her skin. “ Hi, baby. I’m your mom. And I l ove you. ”
It hits her, then, that she is not alone any more.
Yes, she had been surrounded by people who treated her like family. She had been surrounded by people, who it seems, loved her for their love of her brother first and foremost. Even Dain, undeniably the love of her life, had seen her as just another Mairi he could not be responsible for. Violet, Dain, Xaden, Garrick..the list goes on and on and it all came to the truth that originally, to them, she was just a way to make it up to Liam. Now, of course, it’s different. They love her for her, now.
Imogen felt like an exception, but then again, they had been friends long before the Apostasy. Of all of them, Imogen felt the closest thing to a sibling she had. As sad as it is, she had wanted a sister as a child, and Imogen seemed to fit that bill better than anyone.
She was the last Mairi, too. Yes, Dain had so easily just taken her name when they married, which could be because of his disdain for his own name, his love for her, or the simple fact that he just didn’t mind. In name there were two of them, sure. But beyond that? It was just her. Her mother, father, aunts, uncles..her brother. They were gone. She was the last Mairi left, the last owner of those Mairi blue eyes.
The sacrifice of her mother, her father, her brother , lead her here. If it had not been for every single one of them, she is not stupid enough to think she’d be here at all let alone holding her child.
This though, this baby was different.
He wasn’t going to know her as the last Mairi. He wasn’t going to know her as Liam’s sister, he wasn’t going to know her as a marked one. He wasn’t going to know her as anything but his mother. His mother who would spend the rest of her life making sure he knew exactly how much she loves him for exactly who he is.
“He’s ours.” Sloane muses, nothing but reverence and love in her voice, pulling one hand away from her son to bring it to dain’s cheek.
“He’s ours.” Dain agrees, leaning forward quickly to kiss her softly. “And we are going to be the best parents, Sloane.”
When he finally, finally opens those little eyes for them, it is Sloane’s own piercing blue staring back at her. Oceanic, cerulean, Mairi blue.
“His name is Liam.” Sloane announces simply. She brushes her hand over that dirty blonde hair, thumb still strumming along his cheek. It is one of the easiest decisions in the world, those blue eyes, this nearly blonde hair.
The world needs another Liam Mairi.
This time, though, it would not be Liam and his Sloane. No.
She was Sloane and this was her Liam. He was hers to protect, to raise, and to love.
The small, knowing smile on Dain’s face is undeniable. “I knew it would be.”