Tuchanka was not a forgiving world. She was a world of extremes, of days hot enough to boil a salarian's egg-pouch, and nights cold enough to freeze the balls off an elcor. She was a world who would kill you as soon as look at you, and that was how the krogan liked her. Only the strongest of creatures survived her embrace, let alone prospered, and the krogan were proud to count themselves among the latter. They had prospered, anyway, a long time ago. Before the genophage. But the genophage had been cured and, with the Reapers destroyed and an embassy on the Citadel, it was the start of a new age for the krogan.
That was why Urdnot Wrex was here, alone on the plains of his homeworld, keeping vigil outside a crude tent in the cold Tuchanka night. He was here to mark the end of his race's darkest age. He was here to see a new dawn for his people. He was here for the birth of his child.
He assumed it was his child, anyway. Even before first contact, the krogan had never been a monogamous people; it was something they shared with the salarians, though few from either race would admit having anything in common. Wrex knew that Bakara had lain with many males since news of the cure had spread, just as he had lain with many (many, many) females. But she had come to him when the time came, invoking a long-forgotten rite, and demanded that he stand for her. That was enough.
"Wrex," her deep, powerful voice carried past the tent flaps and through the night-winds. "Enter. Meet your son." A son. Wrex couldn't help but grin. He had a son
Bakara passed the newborn into his hands, and he could only stare in awe as he took him. Wrex wasn't a poetic creature, and he'd never given much thought to the sort of flowery crap that asari liked to go on about. But now, holding the child of his flesh, the embodiment of a hope so long denied to the krogan, he couldn't remember seeing anything so beautiful.
Slightly orange, though. The thought flitted through his mind, but he paid it no mind. It didn't matter what his son looked like now - newborns of all species looked scrawny and weak, and even the krogan were no exception - he could see that the boy would grow to be a strong warrior.
Bakara, watching the clan leader with a hint of amusement, returned gingerly to her seat. Overlord Wrex, Maw-Killer, Slayer of Reapers, Chief of Chiefs, struck dumb by a five-minute-old infant. Some things had to be seen to be believed. "Give the boy a name." She urged, more than slightly teasing.
Wrex grunted in reply. He had, indeed, momentarily forgotten his responsibility, not that he'd admit it. "The first child born free of the genophage," he rumbled, hardly believing the words. Probably the first, he silently amended; but then, it wasn't like anybody was going to argue with him. He pondered for a long while; there were only two names appropriate for this child, but he could only choose one of them. Finally, he decided: "Mordin."
Bakara nodded approvingly. "It is a good name."
"He'll live up to it." Wrex declared confidently. He paused, then continued with a chuckle, "Not quite as squishy as the little pyjak, though."
As responding to his father, young Mordin took a single, deep breath through his nose, and released it with an inaudible huff. Wrex's brow furrowed. The child looked up at him and blinked, exactly once. Wrex's frown deepened, but he laughed as he passed the child back to its mother. He'd been alone with his thoughts for too long; he was starting to see things.
Wasn't he?
A/N: Part one of an occasionally-to-be-updated one-shot series. No defined Shepard of mandated relationships; feel free to insert your headcanons here.
