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In a normal world, waking up to an immortal, morally-ambiguous chaos god cuddling your precious daughter, who happens to also be the Empress of a land, should be startling.
But it isn’t anymore, not after all these days.
To wake up to the Outsider, thin limbs draped over Emily’s small body, wanned cheek next to her pinkish one, both asleep or at least something approaching sleep, was a relief and a pleasure.
You press your hand on Emily’s tummy gently, leaning in to kiss her. At this slight motion she wakes, and looks up at you.
You press a finger to your lips and she mirrors you, smiling drowsily.
You move the Outsider’s slim arm from her, folding it gently into his chest.
She slips out of the covers, managing to avoid jostling any part of the leviathan. The two of you sneak out of the room.
“Good morning,” she says, when you retreat into her dressing room.
<Good morning,> You sign.
Emily gets dressed as you arrange today’s important documents for her. She fumbles her tie again, and you kneel to fix it, but it’s a daily task you cherish. Emily is still young enough to welcome your help, not yet old enough to start pushing back against you, and to a lesser degree, the Outsider.
(The Outsider wasn’t a parent as much as another guardian, but he related to Emily with a touch you had forgotten, or perhaps never possessed — you had always been stalwart and upstanding, both of them had an edge of chaos you didn’t quite understand.)
When the day comes that she no longer welcomes your help, you’ll be alright with it, of course — it was natural to grow like that — but you are pleased with this for now.
“I don’t want to,” she sighs, her tone more and more adult and less and less like a tantrum as the days go on.
<I know.> You sign, and she falls into your arms for hug, which you gladly give her.
“Must you leave me alone?” says the Outsider, in the doorway, wrapped in the Empress’s quilt, carefully picked with fine cloth and beautiful embroidery.
“Whaley!” She says, pushing out of your embrace and running into his.
“Yes, good morning, asteroidea,” He says, bending and embracing her with one arm. He is still drowsy, his blackened eyes bleary.
“Can’t you make all my appointments cancel!” She says, shaking the quilt, revealing the nightshirt he’d borrowed from you.
“I cannot affect matters so,” he says, blandly.
“Damn,” she curses, and you glare at her. “Fine! Darn.”
You cross over to them, gently petting Emily’s hair.
“Bestow upon me your daily reverence, Corvo,” he says, as you approach, and Emily covers her eyes, giggling and running out from between you two.
You roll your eyes but still give him his good morning kiss.
He is smiling a little when you part from him, and he retreats back into the bedroom.