"Are we there?" she asks, her voice thick with sleep but carrying genuine interest rather than fear.
"We're home," I tell her, the words carrying more weight than their simple syllables suggest. Home. Not just my clan's territory, but the place where she and Mara will build new lives under my protection.
Mara moves closer as we approach the outer perimeter, her shoulder brushing against my arm in a gesture that seems unconscious but speaks to her need for reassurance in the face of the unknown. The settlement grows larger as we descend, revealing details that must seem foreign to someone raised in underground bunkers—the massive timber construction, the complex arrangement of storage buildings and workshops, the carefully maintained defensive positions that mark clan territory.
Warriors emerge from various buildings as word of our return spreads, their faces showing relief at seeing their chieftain alive and unharmed. But their attention quickly shifts to my companions, taking in the sight of a human woman and small child walking freely among us with expressions that range from curiosity to carefully concealed surprise.
I catch Korrash's eye and gesture toward the longhouse that serves as our detention facility—a stone structure built into the hillside with reinforced doors and no windows. He nods once, understanding passing between us without need for elaborate explanation.
"Make sure Sareen remains secured," I tell him quietly, my voice pitched low enough that Mara won't overhear. "I'll deal with her after I get them settled."
His scarred features arrange themselves into something that might be satisfaction. "Understood."
The central fire pit comes into view as we enter the heart of the settlement, its flames dancing against the gathering duskand casting shifting patterns of light across the carved posts that mark important clan territories. Children pause in their games to stare at our unusual procession, while adults emerge from workshops and storage buildings to witness our return.
I carry Eira directly toward my longhouse, the largest structure in the settlement and the one that's served as my solitary domain for longer than I care to calculate. The massive timber door swings open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the interior that's been empty of family warmth for my entire adult life.
The main room stretches before us, dominated by the central hearth where banked coals wait to be coaxed back into flame. Furs drape every surface—benches, walls, the floor itself—creating layers of texture and warmth that speak to both comfort and practicality. Carved beams overhead disappear into shadows, their surfaces decorated with the ancestral symbols that connect us to the old ways.
Mara follows me inside, her eyes taking in details with the same careful attention she's maintained throughout our journey. The space dwarfs anything she would have experienced in bunker life—high ceilings, room to move without bumping into walls or furniture, the luxury of space that underground living never allows.
"The extra room is through here," I tell her, leading the way toward the alcove that's remained unused since my father's death. The small chamber holds a narrow bed frame, a chest for belongings, and little else—sparse but adequate for a child's needs.
I settle Eira onto the bed with careful movements designed not to wake her fully, though her eyes open long enough to register the new surroundings before sleep reclaims her. The mattress, stuffed with dried pine needles and covered in soft furs, accepts her small weight like an embrace.
"Sleep, sweetheart," I murmur, brushing dark curls back from her forehead. "You're safe here."
She nods drowsily, already halfway back to dreams, and I draw the fur coverings up to her chin before stepping back toward where Mara waits in the doorway.
The main room feels different when we return to it—less empty, somehow, as though the simple presence of family has begun to transform its character. I move to the hearth automatically, stirring the banked coals and adding kindling to coax flame back into existence. The familiar ritual grounds me, connecting this moment to countless others where I've performed the same actions in solitude.
Mara watches from the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself in a gesture that speaks to uncertainty rather than cold. The firelight begins to build, casting dancing shadows across her face and picking out the gold threads in her dark blonde hair. She looks small in the vast space, dwarfed by architecture designed for orc proportions, but there's something right about seeing her here.
I settle onto the wide bench nearest the fire, the leather creaking under my weight as I turn toward her with open arms. "Come here."
She moves without hesitation, crossing the space between us with quick steps that speak to her own need for connection after the strangeness of arrival. I pull her into my lap easily, her soft weight settling against my chest as naturally as if we've shared this intimacy for years rather than days.
The fire crackles as it catches fully, sending warmth radiating outward to combat the evening chill that seeps through stone walls. Mara's head finds the hollow of my shoulder, her body molding to mine with the kind of perfect fit that makes me wonder how I survived so many years without this particular comfort.
"I'm glad you're here," I tell her, my voice carrying the kind of rough honesty that comes from recognizing fundamental truth. "In my home. With me."
Her green eyes find mine, soft and watchful in the flickering light. "I'm glad I'm here too."
The simple words carry weight that goes beyond their surface meaning. She's chosen this—chosen me, chosen to trust her daughter's future to an orc chieftain she's known for less than a week. The magnitude of that choice, the faith it represents, makes something tight and painful unfurl in my chest.
"I meant what I told you," I continue, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw with gentle pressure. "Those nights in the forest. About how you and Eira were everything my life was missing. I don't want that to change now that we're here."
The truth of it resonates through every word. These past days have shown me possibilities I'd trained myself not to imagine—the warmth of shared meals, the sound of child's laughter echoing through empty rooms, the simple pleasure of meaningful conversation with someone who sees beyond the chieftain's authority to the man underneath.
Mara's smile blooms slowly across her features, transforming her careful expression into something luminous. "I don't want it to change either."
She reaches up to cup my face in her hands, her palms warm against my skin as she draws me down toward her. The kiss she offers tastes like promise and homecoming, soft lips moving against mine with growing confidence as the last barriers between us dissolve in firelight and shared breath.
I couldn't give her up. Not now that I have her. The realization settles into my bones with the weight of absolute certainty, as fundamental as the need for air or water. Whatever challenges lie ahead—adapting to clan life, earning acceptance from my people, building something lasting from the impossiblefoundation of these few perfect days—I'll face them all before I let anyone or anything take her from me.
21
MARA
