His eyes are blue, that unfocused and confused blue that sees nothing but contrails and blurs. The baby, Martin, fails to scream.
The three women make up for it, with screams ranging from incoherent rage (the maid), hopeful rage (the mother), to bemused shock (the midwife). Its a little bit like Random's very own triune goddess.
The father has eyes only for his son, though he does wince slightly at the chorus, muttering something vague about the Furies, before glancing up at the midwife.
"Suppose asking you if he's healthy or not would be tactless, yes?"
What he doesn't say, is 'anything I should know before we go?', but it's there.
She's seen parents come and go, and what they left behind. A glance at the princess on the bed and how her eyes are on the man and not the child becomes a long look at the Amberite and his son,
"The boy, Martin, is healthy. You'll need a good supply of Rebma or Amberite milk if you want him to grow up healthy, children need the things in milk of their own species."
Martin looks up at Random; except that he can't really because his eyes don't actually see anything yet. He's just...there. A little bitty thing that hasn't actually squalled.
This may be because even at such a tender age he understands that enough is e-bloody-nough, and the mother has changed to screaming,
"RANDOM!" at the top of her lungs. The maid, blessedly, has passed out, "YOU CAME BACK!"
At that, the midwife raises her brows in what is obviously a "Say you love her or get the hell out of my birthing room" expression.
From behind Martin's mother screams in heartbreak.
Not, however, for her son. She doesn't spare a second thinking of him.
Martin, in Random's arms, blinks for a few seconds before making a tentative, hungry noise. If left unfed, it will become a wail. Right now it sounds a little bit like,
"Glurb" he echoes, absentminded, stopping somewhere open, safe, for the moment it takes to create a bottle, with milk, Amberite and warm enough to be safe, as though he hasn't been compulsively reading, researching, since it became more than a dream.
The very solidity of the baby in his arms makes it that much easier.
Martin informs him before settling down to some serious eating. If there had been any doubt that this, this tiny bundle of wrinkled red skin and wispy hair, is Martin; bastard son of Random of Amber, the way that he eats should set it to rest.
There is no response until the bottle is empty. He was full a bit ago, but that doesn't matter. Where there is food there is eating. Always and ever, food and eating. Afterward Random is once again stared at, then bopped lightly in the chin by a flailing hand.
This is amazing, to the baby. He can bop the fleshy thing that makes comforting noises!
Amazing to the father because it's a baby and it has teeny little fingers, and even though he knew it would be like this, knew the fingers would be small and flailing, it still makes him laugh.
"Well done."
Off again, for both their homes, Random moving as smoothly as possible, in hopes that he'll fall asleep.
He's still asleep when they reach Haven, when Random carefully works the door open, steps through it, not bothering to kick off shoes.
It's a short trip across the hall, into what was really always meant to be Martin's bedroom, even if Random didn't admit it to himself, and what's now a nursery.
But for now, Random settles into a chair, instead of putting him in the cradle.
"Martin. He's definitely a Martin."
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The three women make up for it, with screams ranging from incoherent rage (the maid), hopeful rage (the mother), to bemused shock (the midwife). Its a little bit like Random's very own triune goddess.
Of screaming.
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"Suppose asking you if he's healthy or not would be tactless, yes?"
What he doesn't say, is 'anything I should know before we go?', but it's there.
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She's seen parents come and go, and what they left behind. A glance at the princess on the bed and how her eyes are on the man and not the child becomes a long look at the Amberite and his son,
"The boy, Martin, is healthy. You'll need a good supply of Rebma or Amberite milk if you want him to grow up healthy, children need the things in milk of their own species."
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The faintly panicked parental 'Oh no' is already there, because every little thing is the world, starting from the get-go.
"Are you sure?"
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She says dryly,
"Ten each fingers and toes. He'll be fine."
Martin looks up at Random; except that he can't really because his eyes don't actually see anything yet. He's just...there. A little bitty thing that hasn't actually squalled.
This may be because even at such a tender age he understands that enough is e-bloody-nough, and the mother has changed to screaming,
"RANDOM!" at the top of her lungs. The maid, blessedly, has passed out, "YOU CAME BACK!"
At that, the midwife raises her brows in what is obviously a "Say you love her or get the hell out of my birthing room" expression.
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Random and Martin of Amber leave through Shadow, the boy, little bitty thing indeed, cradled carefully the entire walk.
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Not, however, for her son. She doesn't spare a second thinking of him.
Martin, in Random's arms, blinks for a few seconds before making a tentative, hungry noise. If left unfed, it will become a wail. Right now it sounds a little bit like,
"Glurb?"
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The very solidity of the baby in his arms makes it that much easier.
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Martin informs him before settling down to some serious eating. If there had been any doubt that this, this tiny bundle of wrinkled red skin and wispy hair, is Martin; bastard son of Random of Amber, the way that he eats should set it to rest.
He still eats like Oberon on crack.
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Random holds him, not even that awkwardly, standing in the middle of some Shadow, unable to stop grinning.
"'s a good job, bug."
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This is amazing, to the baby. He can bop the fleshy thing that makes comforting noises!
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"Well done."
Off again, for both their homes, Random moving as smoothly as possible, in hopes that he'll fall asleep.
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He can't help but fall asleep against his father's chest, soon enough This is mostly marked by a quiet snoring noise.
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It's a short trip across the hall, into what was really always meant to be Martin's bedroom, even if Random didn't admit it to himself, and what's now a nursery.
But for now, Random settles into a chair, instead of putting him in the cradle.
He's going to hold him for a bit.
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He is informed again, after some period of time or another, and there is some flailing.
The flailing is fairly energetic, but not at all directed.
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