Work Text:
It was a boy.
Of course it was a boy. He had known in his heart that it would be. The silence was crushing as the infant was placed in his arms. The stillness heartbreaking. No cries echoed through the cold, dark house. No life squirmed beneath the silk.
He knew he should have felt pity. Sympathy for his wife, who had carried the babe inside her for nine months, only to discover after ten hours of painful labour that it had all been for naught. There would be no squalling infant to hold against her breast. No gentle baths to give. No warm, fuzz covered forehead to kiss.
He knew he should have felt sadness. Despair for the life that had been so ruthlessly stolen before it had a chance to begin. A perfect baby boy. Born with ten fingers and ten toes. A wisp of dark hair passed down to him from his mother, adorning the crown of his tiny head. He would never taste the air as he sucked in his first breath. He would not feel the warmth of a mother who would have loved him so fiercely, despite the sleepless nights and soiled linens. Regardless of all the mischief he would no doubt get up to as he grew into a man.
As he stared down at the lifeless bundle in his arms, still warm beneath the rich satin that had been commissioned just for him, all he could feel was anger. A rage that swirled like a sea squall, building in fury inside the deep, dark pit of nothingness that grew in size with every passing year.
Was this another debt that he had to pay? Another hidden clause in the contract he had forged with the most vile being to ever claw his way into existence? Had the extension of his own life automatically meant that he had to forfeit his ability to create a new one? Was this how it always worked, or was it simply another tier of the curse that had been presented to him as though it was a most generous gift?
Wherever O'Dimm was now, surely he was laughing. Waiting in amusement for him to surrender. How much misery and hardship could one man take before he would be on his knees begging for it to end? Olgierd would never give him the pleasure. Further and further he was being pushed into a corner, but he would not submit. The Master of Mirrors was not the only desire granting fiend that dwelled on the fringes of reality. For now his soul was still his own property. It could still be auctioned off in fragments to the highest bidder. He would be careful this time. Offering only what he could afford to spare, while making certain no surprises were hidden in the fine print. He could fix it. He could go above the bastard. He could still give Iris a child and make certain that she was granted the unconditional love she deserved and longed for.
He just had to figure out how.
There was great power in innocent blood. Surely there was still some pooled inside the lifeless bundle that was growing colder in his arms with every passing moment. With such a rare and significant offering something would answer his summons. A being more powerful than the Master of Mirrors. One willing to defy and double cross him.
"My Lord".
The nervous physician, who had been paid much more than he was worth, snapped him out of his darkly determined train of thought, as he stood before him with his arms outstretched.
"What name shall he be buried with?"
Blue-green eyes looked upwards to meet the bespectacled soft brown ones of the doctor, the Lord of manor's voice coming across sharp and commanding, causing the man to shrink back at the shock of it.
"I will bury the babe myself. With my own hands. Lay him to rest in the family crypt. Your only concern now is my wife. She is to be watched over at all times until fully recovered. You are to ensure no illness or malady befalls her or I swear to whatever God you pray to, that you will not get the chance to leave this house".
The smaller and much more meek man swallowed thickly before giving a nod of his head.
"Yes sir. Fully understood. The Lady will get the best of care. She is young. Healthy. Surely you will be able to-"
Olgierd cut him off before he could finish, raising a heavily jeweled hand while cradling the eternally sleeping infant carefully in the crook of one arm.
"YOU will be the one to tell her. You will tell her that you did everything you could. That it was-"
The sound of stirring from behind the closed door of the master bedroom, stopped his words before he could finish. As though on cue, both men entered the darkened room; the smell of sweat and labour still hanging heavy in the stale air. It was Olgierd who placed the babe within his wife's arms.
It was difficult to watch and he caught himself biting back the rage that had begun to bubble up in the back of his throat like a violent case of heartburn, as he watched the sweet moment between mother and son. Carefully, he sat himself on the edge of the bed, wrapping one arm around Iris's shoulders, which felt smaller than normal within his grasp.
"He needs a name", he spoke softly, though his voice was completely devoid of emotion. He would not risk the anger seeping into his tone. "No son of mine, will be laid to rest without one".
Lies. The worst one he had ever told.
As he knelt in the middle of the study, with the body of their first child placed in front of him, in the exact centre of a sinister design he had gotten much too good at drawing; he was forced to fight back his humanity. His usually strong hand trembled as his fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, that up until this point had only been used to spill his own blood. It would be his most heinous act. One he would surely burn in Hell for, but he would not allow O'Dimm to win. The bastard could do whatever he wanted to him, but Iris? An innocent child who had not yet taken his first gasp of air?
Olgierd was the lesser evil. Or so he kept telling himself, as the ornate blade was placed against the cold, lifeless flesh of his first born son...