Ovgrim Cadash.

The Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. A Carta smuggler.

For a dwarven man whose history is only known for what he's done for the Inquisition, it is hardly any surprise to discover that he's part of an elite gang of thugs. Did he choose this life? No. If it were up to him, he would've left, and make a different, possibly better choice for himself. But how does one abandon his family when that is what he honors? He respects them, even when they spat in his face.

These chapters are the annals of his life, the story he doesn't normally tell anyone. He fears people will pity him when he does not want pity. He wants respect, understanding, and for everyone to accept him for who he truly is. And that is a dwarf, who has broken his family's traditional traits to be his own person.


Darkness.

That was all he could see. The warmth around him is soothing, like a never-ending blanket of love. But what is he? Where is he going? Will he ever gain his sight? As if an unknown being heard his curious thoughts, a light began to glisten in the distance. And like a moth to a flame, he was pushed towards it. Whether he was being pushed or pushing himself, he didn't know. But the light was closer now. What awaited him there?

Voices. Clamouring voices, and a woman screaming in agony. What is this? Why was it scary all of a sudden? "It's a boy!" a voice exclaims, the other voices clamouring around him excitedly. Hands grasped him, cradling him, as if inspecting him. Ten fingers, ten toes... everything was there. It's too much to bear, however. He begins kicking and screaming in terror.

"Feisty little guy, ain't he?" a older man's voice quipped, laughing to himself. He didn't know this voice. Who is that? What was happening? Make it stop! "How's the boss?" another asked, the tone in his voice more worried than the other. Strange. He sounded familiar, but only a little. "Ahh, she's fine. She's a fighter, that one." The baby screams louder, trying to beg for all of this to end, to go back to where he came from. This place was terrifying, huge, and noisy. He didn't want to be here.

"Let's clean the lad up, and remove this cord," the older man said. "That way his mama can hold him. A mother's touch will calm a crying baby, as my grandfather use to say."

Mama?

Yes. He's heard that term before. In the darkness, there was always a female voice present with him. Always singing a song to him, always reading to him. She called herself Mama. Mama. But her voice wasn't here this time. Where was she? Where is Mama?

The men cleaned up the screaming babe and cut his umbilical cord, patching him up a bit to stop the bleeding. One of them was holding the babe, gently yet firm enough to not drop the wiggling child. "Mirvia!" His calm voice could barely contain his excitement. "He has your eyes. And what a head of hair! He's so tiny, too!" The man gasped quietly, his eyes welling up in tears. "This is the first time I've ever seen a dwarven baby... Maker's breath! He's so beautiful."

A sigh. The baby's heard that sigh before.

Mama!

He kicks and screams louder, begging to be with her, to have her hold him close and never let him go again. The somewhat familiar voice tries to soothe him, but it doesn't work. He didn't want this man. He wanted Mama!

"Here..."

Her voice was weak, but happy. Has she truly been here this entire time? "Easy, Mirvia. He's a kicker!" the man joked, handing the baby over to the mother that laid in bed, exhausted from the insurmountable pain that is from the labours of birth. She sighed softly, shaking her head at him.

"Nonsense. He's only frightened by the big, scary world..."

As she took the child into her arms, cradling him for the first time, the baby begins to calm himself. Not right away, but slowly. He was familiarizing himself with this woman. Her scent, her voice, her warmth. The baby gripped as hard as he could with his little hands on his mother's tunic, a calmer cry escaping him as he listens to her soothing voice. "My little star," she whispers in a tired voice. She wraps a blanket around him, her hair matted with sweat as she cradles him protectively in her arms. "You're so handsome... just like your father. If only he were here to see this. To see you..." "Mirvia." The other familiar voice didn't sound too please with what he heard. "He doesn't deserve this beautiful thing. He left you after that night. If he loved you, he wouldn't have-"

But Mama shushes the man, kissing her baby upon his head. "He can hear your stress. Speak calmly..." She looks down upon her beautiful baby boy, gazing upon the matching blue eyes that glisten back into hers. A smile lit up her features as tears formed in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of undying love for the child in her arms.

"Isn't that right, Ovgrim?"


He is screaming, kicking. There is a loud sound that terrifies him. The sounds of clashing rumbles and flashing lights are too much for the little tot, who was wrapped in multiple blankets for warmth against the cold winds. He was not hungry. He was not tired. He was terrified. However, a voice would soon come and soothe him, a voice he will unknowingly forget in the coming years. But the song shall not.

The song will forever remain in his memory.

"There, there. Do not cry, my little star." The voice is sweet, so kind and warm. Mama? "It will be over soon. It's only a little rain."

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. He doesn't deserve Ovie!" The other familiar voice? What was he doing? Why was he following Mama? "I have to do this. He's not safe with me... not with our job."

The rain was coming down even harder in the darkness, soaking the cloaked figures even more than before. It was hard to even make out the streets at this rate, or even scurry towards their destination. But she had to press on. If she kept him with her, if she raised him...

No.

This was for the best.

Her job made her always move around, never sticking to one place for very long. Not only that, it was extremely dangerous, for their job required them to fight monsters or bandits for their clients. To raise a child in those conditions, who is defenseless and pure... The idea alone is maddening. So she pressed on, her thoughts clear with a heavy heart. To only have her little star for less than a couple months, and already she must give him up. If only things were different, if only she was not a mercenary. Motherhood was the one thing she desperately wanted, and even her son's father knew that. It was a dream they talked about so often after a night together. Not that it mattered to him, anyhow. They were not exactly married.

"Mirvia. He left you. What makes you think he'll watch Ovie?" The dwarven woman with sparkling blue eyes stopped in her tracks, her back towards her human companion. Must he truly ask her this? It was clear when she told him of her fear, of what could happen to her little star. Didn't her lieutenant understand that? "Gerald. I have to protect him. I will not live with myself if my little star... if he..." The dwarven woman spun around on her heels, cradling the basket with the slightly calm baby inside.

"If my son dies in my care, I will never forgive myself. Do you understand? I cannot let that happen!"

She turns her back to him again, tucking the child's blankets tighter on him to keep him warm and dry. "At least, under Gerraht's care, he'll be safe. He will know who his father is." Gerald scoffed under his breath. "That may be... but will he know about his real mother?" Mirvia is silent to the questioning, ignoring the man as she begins to coo the babe to sleep. She couldn't answer him right now.

"...we should hurry. My little star will catch his death of cold if we continue to waltz in this weather." Gerald waited for her to answer him before sighing, nodding his head in defeat. Of course she wouldn't answer him. He already knew the answer himself. Mirvia would take the child to his real father, and allow the boy to be raised by him, and a woman who didn't deserve to be his mother. If it were up to him, he would treat Mirvia like a queen, love Ovgrim like his own flesh and blood. He would protect them both, and be the best father he could be.

But he knew she didn't feel that way for him, like he does for her.

She still had feelings for the dwarf known as Gerraht Cadash.

"Gerald?"

Her voice catches him, bringing his mind back to reality. It was too much to hope she would change her mind, to let him be Ovgrim's father. To let him love her like she deserved. "I'm still here. Sorry about that," he mutters softly, moving swiftly to stand beside her. "Let's go now... get him someplace warm."


The older dwarven woman peered out the window in the drawing room of their manor, watching the storm patter harshly against the glass. It caused her to stop her sewing for a moment to observe it. The weather seemed so wild tonight. It was certainly a storm unlike any other. Her calm, slightly wrinkled face contoured a smile upon her rosy colored lips, before she turned to the cloth in her hands, continuing her sewing.

Her daughter-in-law sat across from her with pen and parchment, obviously tallying up the profits from today's endeavours. They were quite the powerful family, House Cadash, being feared among the others of their class. She would have to thank her late husband's side of the family for establishing that fear in the dwarven community. She gazed up at the young, fiery haired woman, sighing softly. "Lelinda, dear. Why don't you put that aside for now? Relax."

The young woman scoffed, ignoring her mother-in-law's kind approach. She had too much to do to stop now. If she slacks off, so will their personnel. Their cooks, their servants, their couriers, even their guards. And then there's the Carta, who are still awaiting for their "compensation" from today's petty ordeal. What was it again? Moving crates of lyrium? Gerraht's youngest brother got some of the lyrium dust in his eyes today after one of the crates broke, and nearly blinded himself. The boy hasn't exactly been the same since. It wasn't very noteworthy to her, either. All she cared about were the numbers. If anyone got hurt, she'll just replace them with more able bodied workers, family included. Time is money, as they say.

Heavy, practically tired sounding footsteps thumped through the door of the drawing room, revealing to have belonged to a dwarf with long, dark blonde locks and matching beard, with eyes as brown as chestnuts. He made his way over to his chair by the fireplace and flopped down on it, his breath letting out an exhausted groan. Today was simply horrible. His poor baby brother, getting lyrium dust in his eyes. He wasn't hurt severely, but he definitely will not act entirely himself. He shouldn't have allowed him to go. "How is he, darling?" He heard the older woman ask, his chair positioned right in front of the fireplace, unable to see her. He sighs in response, slouching a little. "Thor's... Thor is all right, Mother. Duergan is with him right now. I just feel terrible. I caused this! I shouldn't have let him come..."

She put her sewing materials down as she heard her son explain things, thinking of her two sons that were still trying to help her youngest child. Gerraht, being the oldest, always put the blame on himself whenever the two younger brothers got hurt. He felt responsible for them, even when she knew she raised them better than that. All four of her sons were brave, strong men. "Gerraht. I know you're worried about Thorthal." His mother's sweet voice glided towards him, calming his nerves a little. He could hear her getting up from her chair and approaching him, her heels deftly clicking against the thick carpet. "But if I raised him right, then I know that he'll be just fine. My four boys have grown up to be so strong..." A hand came over to pinch his cheek, causing Gerraht to grunt in surprise. "And so handsome, of course!" "Mother! Please! Not this again," he complained, gently swatting her hand away. "Do not swat your mother's hand away, young man. I can easily knock you flat on your behind from where I'm standing." He twisted his head enough to see his mother crossing her arms, giving him a look he knew all too well. The "if looks could kill" kind of stare.

"I'll be good, Mother. Don't you worry none."

"That's my boy. So smart and good to your mother."

Lelinda quietly scoffed to herself as she listened to them, her glaring emerald eyes rolling as she glances at them. "Do you two mind? If I am to keep the other Carta dogs off our back, then I need to concentrate. We have a bit of coin that needs to be spared in order to rid ourselves of the city guards attention." She returns to her parchment, scribbling something down before adding in a rude tone of voice. "Perhaps if your youngest wasn't so daft, Olevia, he would've been smart enough to not rub the stuff in his eyes..."

"Lelinda, that's enough."

Gerraht's voice was powerful and clear, almost terrifyingly so. It caused the young, fiery haired woman to scoff and sit back in her seat, continuing her scribblings on the parchment as a curl fell from her bun. Olevia shook her head and began to fix her son's coat, who sat like a statue in his chair. "She certainly has spirit, I'll give her that. That's why your father chose her for you to marry. May the Stone guide him... he was a good man." She fixed the collar on her son's coat, giving him a warm smile. She could see the disgust on his face at the mentioning of his father. "I know you will be an even greater man, my son. You're a natural born leader. You could change how things are around here..." "No, Mother."
Again, Gerraht's voice was powerful, piercing the air around them like how a butcher knife carves meat. "Father said that our tradition is important. House Cadash was banished from Orzammar centuries ago because of an ancestor's poor decision." His eyes lingered soullessly into the flickering flames before him, watching the red organic life dance within the fireplace.

"We are casteless, plain and simple. And even if a new king sits upon the throne that changes the rules, we are still casteless. We simply go by 'surface dwarf' to please ignorant fools who understand nothing of our customs... nor our family's rules."

Olevia swallowed hard at the sound of her son's voice, every aspect of his father unknowingly shining through. The eldest of her four children, and he had to follow his father's old, practically cruel ways of running this family. She didn't want that. She wanted them to be free, to create a new life for themselves, to create their own rules. She respected their dwarven traditions, but there comes a time when one must find a new purpose in their belief. Not continue the madness of cruel old kings.

"But... your bother, Garilan. He settled down with that pottery girl, and he seemed happy." Gerraht snorted quietly. "She isn't the woman Father chose for him. So he disowned Garilan, remember?" Olevia sighed, nodding her head. She remembered how her husband practically exiled her second eldest from ever returning home, all because he preferred a quiet life with his true love. She tucked a strand of her son's hair behind his ear, gently trailing her fingers along his cheek. "Yes, but... he was still happy, regardless." Her son grumbled to himself, bowing his head as his hands gripped the arms of his chair. Garilan and him were so close, almost thick as thieves. He was the only one who knew his secret, too. The one about her.

His first, true love.

What an affair it was.

"I am happy, Mother," he responded in a gruff voice, trying to end this conversation. "I have our house, a beautiful wife, our family name, coin. I don't need anything else." Olevia sighed. Of course her eldest would say this. He saw what happens when his brother rebelled against their father, telling him what he wanted and his idea of happiness. Her late husband was disappointed in him, and threw him out. She loved her husband dearly, for there were days when he was a good, decent man. But tradition was important to him, for his family stressed it every day over the centuries since House Cadash was exiled. To see Gerraht become this... it brought a heavy sadness to her heart.

"Perhaps we should get ourselves to bed," his mother finally suggested, returning to her chair by the window. "There is much to do tomorrow, especially with Thorthal. I want to make him some scones and-" Suddenly, a bright blue cloak in the darkness outside her window startled her, the mysterious figure cradling what looks like a baby basket. What were they doing outside their doorstep? She didn't know of any recent mothers.

"Is something wrong, Mother?" Gerraht asked, standing from his chair and coming to her side. He unknowingly grabbed the attention of his wife, who glanced up from the parchment to watch this commotion before her. Olevia glanced at her son for a moment before staring back out the window, confused as to why this person was here, especially with a child out in this weather. She watched the mysterious, blue cloaked figure approach their door, settling down the basket and kneeling before it. Gerraht gazed upon the figure at last, just as confused as his mother is.

Except, when he saw that familiar blue cloak, his heart immediately sank into the pit of his stomach.

Could it be..? No. Impossible! She couldn't have had..!

"My dear husband! You're pale! It's as if you saw an apparition," Lelinda gasped, immediately jumping up to stand by his side. She, too, gazed upon the cloaked figure outside, noting that his eyes were watching something. As she saw them, she cared not for why they were there, for her face flared in utter anger at the sight of unknown figures in their courtyard. "Intruders? Are they trying to sneak their way through the front door?! Ugh, amateurs!" She was about to call out to a guard when Gerraht grabbed her arm, silently forbidding her from doing such a thing. It confused her, her eyes giving him a disappointed look.

He knew exactly who it was. How could he forget? Memories of their nights together flooded his mind, filled his ears with the sounds of her voice gasping in pleasure, his throat letting out a snarl when she clawed on his back, their bodies performing a synchronized dance no matter who was on top. These were the memories he tried to force himself to forget. But why was she here, standing at his doorstep with a baby basket? She couldn't have actually... No, it can't be. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

"They have a companion," his mother pointed out, his eyes registering what his mother perceived. The new figure came and gently tugged at the arm of the other, trying to pull their kneeling friend away, to leave the basket alone on their doorstep. It truly can't be what he thinks it is. Gerraht couldn't believe it. "They're leaving without it? Oh no." His mother sounded worried, the three of them witnessing the two figures breaking away slowly from the basket. Now that they were standing, it was clear one was human whilst the other was a dwarf.

It had to be her. It just had to!

The human knocked loudly on the door before tugging the dwarf away, who's eyes could not tear off the baby within the basket. And by the look of sheer horror upon his face, something told Olevia that her son knew who these two were. But there was no time to ask. The baby was alone and needed someone to care for it! She was not going to let the poor babe sit in the rain a moment longer!

Olevia was the first to run past her son and his wife, her only thought being that of the baby. The poor thing must be terrified out of their mind! She couldn't let it suffer for another second out there! Gerraht and Lelinda quickly followed her outside the room and rushed downstairs towards the front doors of their manor, Gerraht beating both women there to it. He practically swung them off of their hinges to reveal a lone baby basket on his doorstep, causing the hardened, Carta smuggler king to freeze in his spot once again. This was real. The baby is real! It was quiet a moment until a spell of thunder rumbled a bit too loudly, causing the child within to fuss frightfully.

"Ancestors! The poor dear!" His mother brushed past him and knelt before the basket, not caring if her dress got filthy from the downpour. Her eyes welled up in tears as she sees the most beautiful baby boy inside, wrapped in many layers of blankets to keep him warm and dry. She couldn't help but gasp almost excitedly at the sight. Such a precious child... why did those strangers leave him here? It was clear that he was well-loved, but why bring the baby here?

"Let's get him inside, quickly!" Olevia exclaimed, grabbing the basket's handle, and carrying the baby within the manor.

As they returned to the drawing room, Olevia sat the basket on the floor and got to her knees. She wanted to get a good look at the child, to show him to her son and her daughter-in-law. Lelinda looked upon the babe from above the cheerful older woman, a displeased expression on her slightly rosy face. She didn't want to raise this thing. It was not of her blood, nor her husband's. Gerraht, on the other hand, couldn't seem to process the information fast enough. Was this truly happening right now? Was any of this actually real? He leaned on the door frame of the room, watching in silence as his mother looked at the baby.

"Oh Gerraht! Lelinda!" she practically squealed, so overjoyed that a baby was in the house again. She peeled the blankets away to allow him to be free, the baby taking this opportunity to stretch and start fussing. "He's so beautiful! Just look at these little hands!" She picked up the tired baby and held him close, not noticing the letter within at first. "Oh Gerraht... he's so precious! Look at him!" Olevia was overly excited by the little babe, who began to fuss terribly as the thunder rumbled violently outside. She softly coos him, cradling him so closely in her arms. She knew right then and there, he was frightened by the sounds of thunder.

He heard the woman's voice more clearly, the one who cradled him close to her breast as she shushed him calmly. "There there, little one. Your Nana's got you now..." Nana? Nana. She was warm and smelled good, and spoke so softly. A hand broke free from the thin blanket to gripped her dress, not wanting to let go. He felt safe, loved. He loved his Nana so much.

But soon her eyes did inspect the basket, and incidentally discovered that the folded letter rested inside, addressed to none other than her eldest son. "Gerraht? This letter is..."

Her son could not move from his spot at the door, could not bare the idea that this child could be... "It's addressed to you, darling," his mother called gently, but Gerraht didn't hear her. He had to be dreaming! This child couldn't be..! She never told him that she was..!

"Gerraht!"

His wife snapped him back to reality, causing him to look at his mother as she takes the letter out of the basket. She held the baby close as she gave her son the letter, not once wanting to put the baby down. Lelinda crossed her arms as she raised a brow at them. How exactly did these strangers know her husband? Why would they leave the fussy brat with them? Her gaze would fall upon her husband, who simply stood there holding the now opened letter in his hands.
Why was he so quiet? Ever since those figures came and left the child, he's been acting strangely himself. It was painfully obvious Gerraht knew who they were, but what did this have to do with the baby? Did he promise to care for it? He never discussed this with her! "Gerraht," Lelinda called, her voice sharp when his name rolls off her tongue. He glanced over in his wife's direction, but didn't keep it there long. His eyes would return to the paper in his hands.

"'His name is... Ovgrim,'" he read aloud, glancing up at his mother and wife a moment. Ovgrim. It was a surprisingly fitting name. "Ovgrim? What a strong name for such a handsome boy!" Olevia said delightfully, nudging her nose against the baby's. Her son made his way towards the fireplace, his back turned to the women as the lighting illuminated the letter. "And... he's a couple of months and four days old. His parents wants us to raise him as our own. That's... That's what it says." Lelinda quietly came behind her husband and peeked over at his shoulder, her eyes darting quickly over the words that were written. Her thin, sharp brows furrowed angrily as she discovers the truth behind the origin of the baby named Ovgrim.

"You spineless bastard."

Olevia shot a look at her daughter-in-law, confusion setting in. "Who's Mirvia?" Gerraht's head snapped to his wife, the name from his memories flooding his mind again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied coolly, trying to keep his posture as she snorts in disbelief. He stood there, expressionless, obviously trying to remain cool under pressure. She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. So that's how he wants to play it now, is it? "Is that right," she said disgustedly, snatching the letter from his hands and pointing at the words. "So what's that right there, huh? 'If any part of you still cares about me,' wha- what is that?!" It was clear that Lelinda saw something on that letter to cause such a scene. Olevia, herself, was curious to know who this Mirvia was. Why hasn't her son mention her before? "Oh please, dear husband! Don't keep us in suspense now! Is she your little concubine, your little plaything? Speak up!"

Gerraht continued to play it cool, still giving those emotionless faces at her. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream at her, to give in and become angry, but he knew. Anger wasn't going to fix this."It was before you," Gerraht answered calmly, causing his wife to snarl viciously. He knew she was outraged. He didn't blame her. It was a well guarded secret no one knew but him. He turned his back to the women, his arm resting on the back of his chair while he gazed into the flames. They flickered and danced before him, flashing images of his time with the mercenary known as Mirvia Cariras.

"It was... about three years ago. She was a mercenary defending a client, some merchant king from Orlais that was visiting Kirkwall. There was a forged document that someone in the Carta placed in the wrong man's desk at the docking office, and I was tasked with removing it." Gerraht gazed upon the flames, which flickered Mirvia's face to him as he remembers their duel. She was protecting her client, and thinking he was the assassin her client feared, she attacked him. Both fought amicably, her sword and shield versus his dual swords. She was talented, her attacks so relentless, but when he disarmed her and pinned her to the wall, she fell silent in defeat. She begged him to kill her, to end her suffering that is of a broken heart. But Gerraht admired her, fell for her beauty and strength, and instead of killing her, he let her go. So easily he could've killed her, but they allowed a relationship to grow, for he desired her, and she was lonely after the death of her first love, a human. He wanted to treat her like a queen.

But suddenly, he remembers back to that time they spent one last night together. He knew he shouldn't have stayed with her that night, shouldn't have said yes to her request. But the memories were too clear now.

She wore that blue tunic he loved on her so much, which showed off her elegant shoulders as her hair fell loose around them. He could hear her quietly quivering in his ear when his lips made contact with her skin, his hands tangling in her crisp, shiny brunette locks as they fell backwards on her cot. He remembers how their legs were twisted together, how her cries of pleasure matched with every movement he made within her. It was their last night in bed together, and he knew he would never see her again after this. He had to make the most of it, to let it be a night neither of them could forget.

But the worst part of all? He remembered how he left her laying in bed alone the following morning, and returned home to be married to Lelinda that same day.

"We always met in secret. It was thrilling, actually. Almost like a secret love affair that wasn't even that... however, when Father presented you to me, Lelinda, I knew. From that moment, Mirvia and I were no more. I had already broken so many rules just by falling for her. So I made a decision. I left her." "And the child?!" Lelinda asked harshly, her nostrils flaring angrily as she tries to breathe through the nose. He sighed as he turned towards his mother, watching the baby snuggle so lovingly into her dress. "...she asked me for one last night with her. She said it was up to me to decide, and I chose... to sleep with her." He gasped quietly to himself as the baby opened his eyes a little, seeing what looked like her eyes. To think this little tyke is of his blood, when he showed more signs of being his mother's child? Was such a thing truly possible? For him to have a child at all?

Mirvia never contacted him, never left any hints or messages for him after that night. She kept her distance, like she promised she would. If only they were on speaking terms, he would've wanted to know everything. He would've been there for her when he was born.

Their son.

His son.

"How could you? You lied to me!" Lelinda griped, causing her husband to spin on his heel and shout. "I didn't know she would become pregnant! She probably didn't know either." He approached his wife and forcefully grabbed her wrist, retrieving the letter from her petite hands. "But do not stand there, and tell me that I didn't try to fix this! Because I tried, Lelinda! I wanted to be a good husband and leader, just like Father wanted!"

It was at this point the baby screamed in terror at the loud shouting matches his father was in, causing Olevia to try and calm him as she rocks him back and forth, singing a soothing lullaby to him. She knew that the shouting was getting to him, and that he was frustrated. The poor thing was so worn out. "What else does the letter say, son? I want you to read every word." Her son and his wife had a vicious stare off for a long time, both so silent for some time before he looked upon the letter again. He read it aloud, word for word.

"'If any part of you still cares about me, then you will care for our son in my stead. I am unfit for this task, as my mercenary company forces me to travel. Only you can keep him safe.'" He looks upon the baby in his mother's arms, seeing the fussy child grip her dress so tightly again. Did she truly believe he could protect the babe? No. His babe. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore this odd feeling in his chest as he continues reading. "'Do this for me. Do it for him, for Ovgrim. My little star deserves a future. Make sure he has one.'" His voice is softer now, his eyes drifting across every word in the letter. A future. Maybe this was the Ancestors way of giving him another chance? If so, then he will make sure Ovgrim has one. The right one. The one Gerraht should've followed from the start. He grimaced at the last words on the paper, his voice saddened by the very lines he spoke aloud next. "'I pray our child will not become another issue in your life. I want him to, at least, know who his father is. Even if it means he will never know who I am.'"

Mirvia. She knew that by leaving their son here, she was abandoning her one dream, the one thing she so desperately wanted. Motherhood. He frowns at the ending of her letter, knowing this would be the very last thing from her for a long time. "'Farewell, Gerraht. This shall be the last you'll hear from me. Please give Ovgrim what I cannot. Yours in confidence, Mirvia.'" All that was left was a footnote, a date and an approximate time when his son was born, but he had already said that aloud before.

His arm droops down as he finishes the letter, his thoughts filled with Mirvia as he gazes over at his son. His mother had already taken a liking to the tyke, already calling herself a grandmother to him. Gerraht sighed heavily as he blinked slowly at the thoughts in his head. Mirvia must've believed this would make her a bad mother, to leave her son here in order to protect him.

By she was far from being a bad mother. She thought of their son first. He wondered if she saw this.

"I knew it," Lelinda snarled quietly, her rosy cheeks flaring worse as she looks at Gerraht so irritatedly. "No wonder I cannot get pregnant. You slept with another woman, and had this bastard child! I cannot believe you!" "Do not call Ovgrim that!" Olevia defended, cradling the child protectively as he began to cry once more. "Well, that's what he is, sweetheart! Accept it or deny it. It matters not to me!" Lelinda clicked her heels as she approached them, pointing at the baby. "You cannot change what he is, and you know it, Olevia," she growled, her eyes so full of hatred and anger. It scared Olevia to see such thing in someone's eyes. It was as if she transformed into an entirely different person.

Lelinda pulled away to allow herself breathe room, her thoughts on their dwarven traditions and her own command. "It needs to be taken to the Deep Roads and left to die. I am not raising some bastard and calling it my son! I refuse!" "Then I will raise him!" Olevia shouted, trying to cover the baby's ears from hearing her angry voice. Gerraht listened to them bicker as his eyes focused on his son, thinking back to what he thought earlier. If this was the Ancestors' way of giving him another chance, to fix the mistakes he made before... then he knew what had to be done.

He will raise his son the way he was raised. He will teach him to follow traditions, to accept the bride that he, as his father, chooses. He will not allow him to fall for a dwarven girl who has no status, like how Garilan did with his pottery wife. And most importantly, he will not allow him to have a whimsical love affair with a woman he has deep feelings for... like he did with Mirvia.

"Gerraht! Get rid of it!"

"...no."

His calm voice was impeccably frightening, how he simply stood there acting so cool and collected. Lelinda turned to her husband, her eyes wide from his answer. How could he allow this? She was absolutely clear that she didn't want it! Her heels clicked against the carpet loudly as she approaches him, her eyes filled with a wild hatred for everything she's hearing. "Excuse me? Did you not hear a single word I said?" "Oh I heard every word," he replied calmly, standing tall and firm before her. "But I am not throwing my son away like yesterday's waste." He approached his mother who still sat on the floor, cradling his crying son. "Mother will tend to him, educate him, raise him on the days we can't. But he will be our son, and we will raise him to be a true dwarf, like Father would want. That is my final word on the matter."

Olevia could not believe what she just heard. Her son was going to raise her grandchild like how her husband raised their children. She couldn't allow that to happen again. She had to protect him, her precious Ovgrim. She will teach him the right things in secret, to be the man he wants to be and not some carbon copy of the past. This would be her private mission, one that she will conquer alone.

"I can do this. I want to, for our little Ovgrim," she responded simply, nestling her head against the baby's. She coos at him again, trying to once again, calm the fussy babe. She will protect him, even from his mother... no. From his stepmother.

Lelinda scoffed angrily, her face contorted in the most hideous way possible. She simply couldn't believe what she was seeing! They were delusional! If they would not get rid of it, then she will. "I will not allow this thing to ruin our family!"

She ran to the small table by her chair, grabbing the hidden letter opener underneath her documents. If no one was to get rid of the thing, then she will have no choice but to do it herself. Lelinda charged towards them with the sharp letter opener, her intention for what she was going to do to the baby clear. Olevia had dropped herself on top of the baby at this point, her motherly instincts to protect her grandson immediately kicking into overdrive as her daughter-in-law was about to attack. However, both women did not count on Gerraht's swiftness to stop her, for he snatched both of his wife's wrists and tackled her to her chair. There was an eerie calmness in his chestnut eyes, one that frightened even Lelinda.

And aroused her darkest fantasies.

"Drop it," he demanded in a terrifyingly calm and stern voice, his eyes not once breaking contact with hers. She gasped excitedly at the sheer power in his voice, immediately obeying his command and dropping the dagger-like object. This was the man she so desperately wanted in bed, forcing her into submission as she begs to be conquered. Who knew all it took to make him come out was to attack the twerp?

Gerraht continued to give his wife the stare down as he released her, standing upright and straightening his coat. "Go to our room. We are retiring for the night." And still he uses a powerful, heart stopping voice. What a rush! She swallows harshly before slowly getting up, straightening out her bodice and skirt before slowly making her way to the door. But before she left the room, she stopped herself. Even with this newfound arousal, this commanding side of her husband she had never seen before tonight, her mind remained the same. This baby may stay in this household, and carry his father's name, but no matter what transpires, she will never accept him.

She refuses.

"This doesn't change anything, dear husband," she responded calmly at last, her back towards them. "Whether or not the child stays, no matter how much you try to convince me, I will never see him as my son. Never." And with that, she departed from the drawing room, her opinion strong as the stone that hardens her heart. Gerraht simply ignored her for now, as his mother and child were more important at this time. He knelt down before them, watching his mother sit up and try to soothe her grandson from all the terrible things that has happened tonight. He watched his son scream into her dress, tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes and nose were so red from all the crying, his voice nearly gone from the intense screaming he's done. His son seemed so sensitive.

"Give him to me. Let me hold my son."

Olevia hesitated at first, unsure if her son was fit to hold his own child. She almost said no to him, but didn't. She gave her grandson to his father, who seemed to inspect him so closely. Gerraht tightened his lips as he swallowed the returning lump in his throat.

His son was the spitting image of Mirvia.

His big, blue eyes, his shiny brunette hair, his pure and innocent nature...

He realized right then and there, that every time he looks at his son, he's going to see her eyes staring back at him. It would be inevitable.

He holds his son to his chest, listening to him sniffle and hiccup himself to sleep as his father simply cradles him. "Don't worry, my son. Papa will protect you now. You will grow to be a great man, and take my place. This is your purpose now... Ovgrim."

But little did everyone know, that in the coming years that followed to him leading the Inquisition, Ovgrim Cadash will only begin to face a life of hardship and despair, for he would not grow into the man his father imagined.