Archive of Our Own ^beta

The battle had been brutal. Each side lost people, not at all surprising to most. War often ended the same no matter who won. Molag knew this best of all, the War Master was no longer affected by the tragedies of war. She’d fought enough times to learn, she’d lost enough times to stop caring.

They’d won, and Molag was ecstatic. The rest of the warriors were too, cheering and crying that they’d survived the fight. Bodies were strewn around the small village they’d attacked, some familiar faces and others the enemy. Crimson blood leaked into the soil, staining the once green grass.

Molag smiled as her warriors continued their celebrations, but soon they’d have come to an end. They did a full sweep of the village, filled with wooden houses and tall poles pointing to the skies. This was one thing Molag didn’t understand. Why bother with these houses , as they called them? Weren’t caves enough?

She shook her head and moved onward, searching the houses. Checking for survivors, supplies, anything they could take before heading back to the cave. Scavenging food and weapons that no longer had owners.

Molag neared the heart of the small village, a house much larger than the rest stood tall. It has a dome-like roof, the sides made from stone. She had no clue how they’d managed to move the stone, let alone change its shape. The stone was painted with what her tribe called the blood of berries, reds and blues in whimsical patterns along the sides.

She dragged her fingers along the stone, rounding the house and checking the exterior. A small shabby hole in the front marked an entrance, a simple whole. Less elegant than what you’d expect for a house so grand, a house seemingly so special to these people.

With a shrug she walked through, the darkness of the house compared to outside forcing her to squint to see. The search for more resources went well, this house was more well-stocked than the rest. A glance to the bed alone showed whoever lived here had great importance to this tribe, covered in furs larger than Molag had seen. They only used furs for clothing, most of them minuscule compared to the ones draped over the cot before her.

Small pots, adorned with the same pattern as the outside walls, held plants and mud. Some were berries and others were useless plants, the children back home loved the flowers a lot. Molag couldn’t imagine bringing berries into the cave to grow, where would they get the sunlight or rain? She scoffed at the idea.

Once she was sure she’d grabbed everything she could, stuffing it into the stitched up bag recently invented by someone back home. The furs of dead squirrels and ferrets they found proved strong. Molag turned to the door, ready to step out and return to the warm sunlight before night fell.

A noise drew her to turn around, she scanned the hut again. Nothing had changed in the seconds she looked away. The bag dropped to the ground by the door and she reached for her club, approaching where the sound came from.

Another sound, almost like scratching or shuffling. Molag raised her club higher, stepping slowly towards the extravagant bed. Cautiously she peered over to the other side, a small sliver between the cot and the wall.

A woman jumped up, gripping Molag by the shoulders. The club came down in a swift, clean swing and the woman dropped to the ground. She landed on her front revealing a wound on her back, she would have died anyway.

However, the sound didn’t stop. Molag leaned over and rolled the lifeless corpse out the way with her free hand, revealing a curious sight.

A little girl, a baby. Her hair in tight curls and eyes wide, cheeks round. If this had been a few years back Molag would have snatched up the child and eaten her already, but she’d long since outlawed that for the sake of preserving the tribe.

Instead, Molag placed her club down and carefully picked up the girl. She sat down on the edge of the fluffy bed and sat the girl on her lap, examining her for wounds. The girl seemed fine, only a few scratches on her face and hands which could easily be dealt with.

Molag surmised she’d been protected by the dead woman on the floor, they looked similar. Her mother perhaps? The rest of the village was dead too. This girl had no one, no way to survive.

Molag lifted her hand to wipe some of the curls away from the girl's face, the girl lifted her hand and wrapped it around Molag’s index finger. A smile tugged at Molag’s lips, the child staring up at her in wonder.

Her other hand wiped away the hair, patting the girl on the top of the head. The girl let out a laugh, releasing Molag’s finger and leaning up to cup the woman’s face.

The girl blabbered words Molag couldn’t begin to understand and Molag was the one laughing now. She stood with the girl in her arms, holding her to her hip.

“You’re coming home with me little one,” Molag said, moving the girl’s hands so they held onto her dress. 

The girl chatted away to herself on the walk back to the meeting place. Once Molag met up with the rest of her warriors she placed the girl down by a rock and turned to face them.

“War Master, why have you brought a child of the enemy back with you?” one of them asked, glancing nervously at the child who was currently picking at the grass and mumbling nonsense. 

“All her tribe’s dead, so I figured I couldn’t just leave the child there,” Molag said with a shrug, securing her club properly around her waist with both hands. “I like the girl, so that helps.”

“But what if her family comes to find her?” another asked. She was just as nervous as the other warrior.

“I just told you everyone in her tribe is dead, I looked through every hut just in case.”

“But what if she’s a spy?” the warrior from before asked, rubbing his neck as he still kept his eyes on the girl. 

“Now you’re just being stupid.” Molag rubbed her forehead and headed over to the girl, picking her up and carrying her over to the rest of the tribe. “She’s a baby, she couldn’t possibly be spying on us. All she needs is a home, and we can give her that.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The warrior dropped his arms, becoming more at ease in the girl's presence.

“Of course, I’m always right,” Molag said with a grin.

The journey back to the cave had been uneventful. They were so far from home that Snarl wasn’t a problem during the night, and the little buzzing bugs that lit up kept them company. Molag called them fireflies, but the rest of her warriors agreed it was a bad name - insisting it wouldn’t stick.

Leading the group back whilst carrying the child had been a little difficult, and it’d been even tougher to get the child to eat. She was incredibly fussy. Refusing any food the group tried to feed her.

It took two nights of worrying about the girl starving before they discovered the solution. The child would eat the red berries as long as Molag were the one feeding her. Molag thought it was quite cute how the girl had already taken a liking to her, the rest of the group hadn’t arrived at the same conclusion. 

With the outline of the cave on the horizon, everyone was eager to get home and return to their families. Desperate for the normalcy that was ripped away during the war. Molag had never had the same feeling, as most of her husbands died or she quickly separated from them for various reasons. War made Molag feel alive. It gave her something to live for. 

Looking down at the girl in her arms, snoring softly with her head resting on Molag’s chest she thought. 

Maybe that will be different now.

“Look! They’re back!” A woman of the tribe ran out from the cave to greet her wife. Others flocked to the returning warriors, hugging them and welcoming them home. 

Molag smiled at them, watching some of them glance curiously at the girl she was holding. She walked on towards the cave, wishing to set the child down as her arms were beginning to ache. She headed over to where she slept towards the back of the cave, setting the girl down carefully and patting her head as she curled up into a ball.

“You brought back a child?” one of the tribe women asked, standing up from her sitting position and crouching in front of the child. Examining her.

“We found her in a village we fought with, she was the only one left. It felt wrong to leave her behind.” Molag stood up and turned to the woman, who was grinning at her. “What?”

“I didn’t know you were such a softie Molag!” The woman’s grin grew and Molag stammered trying to insist she was not a softie, but the woman wasn’t having any of it. “Does she have a name?” She asked, turning back to the girl.

Molag looked down at the girl again too and smiled, debating momentarily in her head. “Jemilla.”

Everything was changing now. Molag wasn’t sure how she’d be able to lead battles with Jemilla to look after, or how she could balance being a parent and leader. But she’d figure it out along the way.

One thing Molag knew for sure, was that she’d do everything in her power to keep Jemilla safe.