The child began crying again.
Alaric held him close, his silver eyes wet with tears that fell onto the baby's crimson hair.
'Darius...'
The memory hit him like a physical blow.
'You know, if these really are twins, I could give you one. Solve your problem right there.'
Darius's laughter had been warm, genuine, the kind that came from a place of deep friendship.
'I'm serious! My wife would kill me, but hey, what are friends for?'
It had been a joke.
Just two men talking about families and futures, one teasing the other about struggles that seemed insurmountable at the time.
Alaric had laughed it off, made some comment about not needing charity, both of them knowing it would never actually happen.
But now...
Now that joke had become reality in the cruelest way imaginable.
He was holding his friend's son.
The son Darius had joked about giving him.
The son Darius and his wife had died to save.
And Alaric had finally become what he'd wanted for so long.
A father.
