Liir looked at the infant, framed by the doorway, with a back drop of light drizzle, and studied her. It was not the hue of her skin he was drawn to the most, he had spent a large part of his life in the company of green skin, it was her deep brown, almost black eyes. He thought she was staring back at him, though reason told him that she was only a few hours old and didn't yet have the ability to stare. But still, in those eyes he saw far more knowledge and power than a newborn baby had any right to posses.
A child. His child, he now realised. Everything he thought he knew, or thought he didn't know, about his quarter-century life was washed away by the rain, like the blood and fluid off her tiny naked body. Liir had been conditioned to be wary, to believe in fact not presumption, but the possibility that the baby's greenness was a coincidence barely flashed in his mind.
The girl began to cry, and he pulled her inside quickly, remembering Elphaba's aversion to water, and the way she died. He didn't know a thing about babies, but he knew human nature and could tell at once that she was not crying from pain, merely irritation. He then noticed her teeth, or lack thereof. He'd heard Nanny say Elphie had been born with a full set of sharp teeth and had removed the finger of one of the woman who'd delivered her. He was thankful that this was another thing she hadn't inherited. He relaxed, holding the child to him. He wrapped her in a towel that had been hung to dry on a line in the kitchen, and made his way back to the fire.
She calmed, and Liir felt himself calm with her. He sat on the rug in front of the hearth, gazing into the flames. The graffiti he'd seen scrawled on walls in the Emerald City was right. Elphaba did live. Though not quite. Whoever had written the slogan could not have known about this, it was merely some fanciful notion, an act of rebellion against the Emperor.
The Emperor who was surely Liir's uncle, as now Elphaba was surely his mother, Fiyero his father and Nor his sister. This pseudo-family, whom Liir had never even seen in one place at once, were not the only ones he felt differently towards. Candle, this child's mother. Sweet, softly spoken Candle, who he loved, whatever love meant. Had she noticed the green skin before he had? Had she been frightened, even after all Liir had told her about Elphaba, and run away? Or had his initial thoughts been true, and maternal instinct dominated over fear? Had she hidden the child from harm as she was dragged away by Commander Cherrystone and his men?
None of that seemed to matter right now. Liir blinked himself out of his past reflection. He placed the baby in her makeshift crib and again watched her. He didn't yet feel anything close to a paternal bond, more a duty of care. He thought he now had a better understanding of what Elphaba's feelings towards him had been. She had always insisted she was cold, unfeeling, unsuited to motherhood, but there was so much evidence to the contrary, maybe she had only been scared. She'd rescued Chistery from a likely death, she'd worked at the mauntery caring for the sick. Perhaps she had resented her sister's dependency on her throughout their teenage years so deeply that she refused to allow anyone to become dependant on her again, even her own flesh and blood.
The baby girl fussed in her basket, but she wasn't grizzly, Liir thought she just felt the need to make her presence felt. He smiled inwardly to himself, knowingly. Her presence most definitely would be felt throughout Oz if her existence became public knowledge. He couldn't deal with that. Apart from the odd moment of bravery that seemed to out of character now, he'd always tried to stay in the shadows, out of history's way. The news of her birth would bring all manner of attention to her, and in turn him that he just didn't want.
Nothing like that had bothered Elphaba. She'd made a point of being rebellious, never scared of being singled out of the crowd. Her green skin seemed to have made her stronger, perhaps the same would be true of her grandchild.
She needed a name. Liir couldn't go on referring to her as 'child', even if he wasn't likely to be talking to anyone other than himself for a while. He certainly didn't plan to. His bones were tired, his mind exhausted. He'd fulfilled his ten year promise to the Elephant princess, he intended to rest for a good long while. Though there was one promise he hadn't seen through yet, a promise to himself that he would find Nor, he had faith that if she'd used her wits and intelligence to sneak out of Southstairs, and if she was still alive today, she could survive plenty longer without his help. One day, one day he'd find her.
He thought about returning to Kiamo Ko, to the place where Fiyero's other children had grown up. But this run down farm seemed as good a place as any for now, and he felt they'd be more of a target on the move. If he wanted to shield his daughter from the Emperor's minions, and the Emperor himself who would know doubt want to meet his kin, staying put would be the best option.
A sense of belonging slowly swept over Liir. Not of belonging in a place, in the sense that this was now his home, but belonging in history. In someone's bloodline. He felt a strange kind of honour that he'd never experienced before. Not military honour, but the kind that Trism had talked about in not wanting to let down his family. Liir thought it suitable to honour his.
Like Candle had refereed to the infant while she was still inside her as hers, Liir not felt she was his. The need to honour Candle in the naming of the baby she had given birth to and left in a bush wasn't there. Doubts about his life, nature, and beginnings were replaced with new doubts over the character of the girl who'd briefly entered his life.
Elphaba. Fiyero. Elphie. He said his parents' names in his head, and settled on Phia. It seemed apt, a combination of both their names. He hoped, though he didn't know it yet, that this would give her the sense of belonging that he never felt in his childhood.
He tested the name, though not out loud. He didn't see the point, she wasn't old enough to understand, and his throat felt dry and hoarse, he wasn't sure a sound would come out even if he wanted it to.
Liir settled back down on Elphaba's cloak, the basket containing Phia between himself and the fire. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, a deep exhausted sleep, and in his semi-consciousness Liir suspected that the only thing that would wake him would be the baby's cries.