son of valkyries - dalten, any

[Lagertha]

this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more

As far as Lagertha is concerned, the whole process of making babies is rather distasteful. All of it; from the mounting to these goddamn cramps that are making her sweat, she doesn’t understand why anyone would want to do this. She waddles her way through the Jungle, wincing every now and then and cursing under her breath. Some place safe…. some place safe… some place where the Jaguars wouldn’t smell the blood and the pythons wouldn’t come a-slithering. She eventually finds a place at the roots of a great tree - covering her back and leaving the rest of her protection to her natural armor formation.

For a warrior who endures pain fairly often, whether it’s through sore muscles or bruises or lacerations, this is oddly unendurable.

Labor seems to last forever, and when she finally pushes the child out, Lagertha sighs in relief. But only for a moment. Something tells her that the tiny little thing inside that sac probably wants to breathe fresh air, so she tears it open, revealing a wet, dark, little boy. Aww. For being only a little bigger than a drowned rat, he was kind of cute… she whuffs at him affectionately (no comments from the peanut gallery, please!), and after she pulls herself up, urges him to stand as well.

She supposes the child must have a name (all children have a name), and so she mulls it over, rolling strong sounding ones around in her head. Finally, one seems appropriate - she wouldn’t want to give him expectations to grow in to (though let’s be real, by definition of his lineage, he has some already), nor something too wishy-washy. “Dalten,” she says simply. “I will call you Dalten”

lagertha

carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general

[Dalten]

What would it be like to be born? By the time we reach the age we can contemplate this life event, we have already forgotten it. To have been shut off from the world in a tiny black box, with only the company of distant echoing voices of some people you should know but have yet to meet—overwhelming, wouldn’t it be? To be trapped in a world only motivated by sounds of familiar songs, and to be whisked around like well… a baby… well wouldn’t that be the life?
And we wonder why us, as children, like lullabies so much.
So here comes the world’s most recent child—a black onyx bundle soaked and stuck in a goo shell. He opens his eyes, hazel iris’s unable to focus on shapes and colours around him but nevertheless trying. Long eyelashes waft with every movement, his muzzle muffling the air like the baby he is. He is crowded by a familiar voice—that echoing voice he had heard for days and days—speaking in a much clearer tone than ever before. His vision is still blurred, adjusting to this new thing called light that surrounds him with vibrant hues and tones.
He feels her hot breath tingle his skin and whips his head around like a groggy patient, staring at her in an awkward feeling of love and an overwhelming feeling of she has a body. It is then that his mother decides he must stand (as all children should) and encourages him with persistence and tenderly love.
Dalten is having none of it.
She tries, and so does he. Although instead of trying to help her make him stand, he tries to make it so he remains seated. What was the point of standing when the grass was so incredibly comfy? He pins his ears in an irritable fashion and impatiently grunts.

[Lagertha]

this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more

Of course he would be stubborn. He is her son, after all. Lagertha chuckles at his indignation and little tiny snorts.

“Come on, Dalten. Up and at ‘em. No son of mine is going to face the world lying down.” She tries to nuzzle her nose underneath his ribcage and literally lift him to his feet. But he is clearly adamant that he will be going nowhere. She briefly wonders what Tiphon was like as a child and if Dalten perhaps has an inordinate amount of stubbornness in him, due to both sides of his lineage. Either way, the current attempts aren’t working, so she decides on a more novel way to get him up (and it doesn’t involve simply waiting for him to get hungry). She allows a thick, sturdy vine to grow from her coat and weasel its way under the cracks between body and ground, then loop around the boy and try to hoist him up.

Maybe now he’ll get the picture. It’s only for his well being, after all. And surely his tummy is rumbling enough that he’ll stay up and nurse? Because Lagertha was uncommonly tired and wanted to take a nap. This motherhood thing was already trying her patience.

lagertha

carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general