Chapter Text
His halls were a place where elves’ souls should be able to calm down, heal and regrow into the right size. Many of them, much more than Namo liked it, were crippled, harmed and covered in scars.
He could find a way to help them all:
To regain the proper image of themselves from before their death; to slowly grow a new will to life and the will to return to the members of the family that waited; to admit what sins or mistakes they did during life that could keep them behind, guilt and usually scared of possible consequences. Or hatred.
Namo was, thanks to long years of experience, really good at caring for the souls.
But, to his sadness, there was a big difference between helping to heal an adult person and a young one. The younger the elf that had died was, the harder and more complicated was the process needed to give them motivation and strength to heal.
For most of them, the good way was to let them be reborn. Usually their mothers were more than willing to be pregnant again just to get their babies back with a chance to experience the life that they were lost, barely learning how it was to be alive…
But not all mothers wanted or were able to go through a pregnancy again. This way, the souls in the worst condition were staying around in the halls, mostly unaware what was even happening to them, mostly not recognizing themselves as more than a breath or little heartbeat disturbing the silence.
Namo felt useless watching them. He hated not being able to help.
The tiniest of the touch brought his attention to the room. By the side of the throne, in the dark shadow, a small soul made itself a nest. It was not a child, but still someone so young that it was really sad comparing his age to how long lived all possible family members connected with him by blood.
Maeglin, known also as Lomion, died long before he was two hundred and fifty years old. He was a young orphan raised in an isolated forest, knowing only a father and mother before they died. His soul, torn into pieces and burned in many places by the cruel magic of Sauron and his lord - Melkor, was way too small to be considered an adult. He also didn’t remember being an adult. Or being a clumsy boy surviving his adolescence. Or even childhood. Mourning, jealousy, loneliness and then also torture destroyed him far above imagination. Namo tried to help him in many ways, including even a chance to meet with his mother and father’s souls, but nothing worked.
Maeglin was a very calm soul, silent, not making any troubles. He probably, as the children, would need to be reborn, not re-embodied.
But Aredhel was not ready to be re-embodied. She also wasn't able to survive the second pregnancy. Her mind and sanity could collapse under such pressure.
There was no one except her who would agree to be a parent of Maeglin. Namo tried to ask a few elves already. Secretly. They didn’t want to risk being involved in the load of trauma and emptiness of Maeglin’s harmed soul. They also didn’t need to have anything to do with someone called a traitor of Gondolin.
It was sad, really.
Maeglin was around for ages already and he seemed to have a great potential to heal and be good. He just needed one chance. He just needed one parent who would want to lead him forward, not looking back at the trail of wounds and despair.
There surely must be at least one elf, just one elf, who would take in a baby without quest-
Namo froze, as realization bloomed in his mind.
There existed an elf who would take a baby in and raise it without questions and without looking at the past. This person would not be able to give birth, though- Namo needed to find another way to plant a baby in their home.
Plant. A. Baby.
It was brilliant!
***
Elrond Peredhel, lord of Rivendell, used to be a calm person, knowing well the territory that he did claim and filled with more protective songs than most elves were able to name. Or recognize.
At least half of his songs were created long before the sun and moon became a thing. Probably he should not expect other elves to know things that existed long before they were even born. He was just one of a few singers ever that were able sing songs of powers and had a chance to learn them from one of the legendary musicians of Arda, Kanafinwe Makalaure (named Maglor in sindarin).
All his carefully weaved protective songs were put together into a sort of invisible net that he was able to control and feel at the spiritual level. He needed long years to learn how to use and manipulate it without accidents like creating a small rain above the heads of his elves or swallowing the bridges by a sudden, magically created wave of the river.
Elrond Peredhel used to be a calm person, because of it he did not run to the gardens when he was disturbed by a strange, unwanted presence of someone bright and harmonious echoing through his valley without his consent. Feeling an echo of an ainu in his very own soul was a strange event that Elrond would most likely want to forget.
He used to welcome some ainur, yes, Gandalf, Radagast and Saruman entered the halls and corridors of his land a few times, but every time they did it, it was through one of the paths or the gates. It did ease an expressive feeling of disturbance much more than anyone would believe. Because he was aware of said guests!
He did not run to the garden nor did he rush the roots or the river water to “welcome” the stranger. He did what was his brightest talent through the ages: he patiently waited.
It was not comfortable, but it was important. The songs creating his valley as a peaceful and protected place were recognizing the bad intentions. No one with dark will could enter.
Someone was in his garden and their intentions were good or at least not negative.
If he would run to the garden or his valley would attack, the whole incident would end with dramatic, possibly political consequences.
He was not interested in such a thing without a true reason.
It took barely ten, maybe twenty minutes.
Elrond took a deep breath, slowly letting the air escape through his mouth and then stood up.
As a lord of the valley, even though his parents would never believe it if they heard about it, he learned to perfectly hide his emotions when it was needed and important. It meant that he was able to leave his office and wander through all the big, fancy corridors looking perfectly normal, not worrying the servants or guards of his house.
At the first glance and for someone unaware of the suspicious level of power, the garden looked exactly the same it looked everyday. Herbs and flowers were growing at their own pace, the sweet scent was filling the air in an alluring, delicate way and all the benches put here and there seemed inviting for a small break.
Elrond was very proud of the garden. His wife planned and planted most of it soon after they married. She was a strong woman, very happy and full of energy. She picked all sorts of the lilies and tulips, and hundreds of the rose bushes. She personally collected many seeds and bought many small seedlings for the mosaic-like, colorful flower beds which were blooming every year in spring.
Everyone loved it.
Humming, Elrond walked next to the big, white rose bush that was climbing on the wall of a gazebo. There, behind the gazebo, was a small, hidden herbal garden, which was planted in a circle between the living walls created of much bigger, colorful flowers.
The herbal part was dedicated to Elrond and him only. He had spent many days kneeling in the dirt among herbs and crying silently after his wife sailed to the West to - hopefully - get help.
Elrond hummed, analyzing the herbs that he knew perfectly, from the way they were growing in the narrow, tight lines to the color of their leaves and size of each plant. He was visiting everyday. He was mourning his wife and gaining strength to face fate in this place. Only an idiot would believe there was a chance to hide something from Elrond in the valley. Only someone determined to make sure Elrond will search and find something would use a small, herbal circle as a hideout.
He walked around the edge made from shiny, oval stones and knelt by the line of the elegant sandy everlastings that grew nicely and big this year. Between the two biggest plants on the left side of the row, something new and unknown was peeking from under the ground. Leaves looked small and fragile, similar to a youth valerian, which was supposed to be growing on the exact opposite side of a circle. In two determined, pink flowered bushes.
His humming loudened as he focused on searching, under the ground was an anomaly which was surely brought to the valley by an Ainur being. Anomaly was connected with the valerian-like leaves.
Power and song doing something that felt like the boiling clearly tried to reply to Elrond’s calling.
To his fear, he recognized the way it reached him.
His heart started to reach in his chest as his breath quickened. The feeling of panic pierced his mind.
It was not a plant.
In his herbal garden was an anomaly which was NOT a plant, even though it seemed to have the leaves and sort of grow the roots around itself.
And it needed immediate help, because the song and power, even if they tried, couldn’t stabilize themselves. The boiling process could literally explode with fatal consequences at any moment.
Elrond reached into himself, calling both of his sons through the familiar bond they were sharing. A well-known melody replied to him, coming from the two sides of the valley, probably from the stables and training field. He had no time to explain. He called them to run to healing halls without any moment of waiting. And, even though he knew it sounded strange and silly for them, to collect a big pot and soil.
He would need the twins’ assistance and the pot soon.
With an echo of his dearest sons still singing in his soul, Elrond forced his heart to slow down and mind to put all the unwanted panic away… he carefully slipped hands into the ground, trying to embrace the unsteady shape hidden underneath.
He changed the humming into a full song of power, but not having anything proper to the function it needed to have, he decided to use the words of the lullaby he did sing for all of his children one after another. Familiarity and emotional load of the used songs were always important while filling them with energy and making them have a true job to do.
This time the function was to connect with an anomaly, to balance the fighting and boiling fractions of power and song and make them work together. They needed to change from chaos into a real, harmonious form.
As peredhel, someone who was once both, a mortal man and an elf, at the same time, he knew some tricks about creating peace in spiritual conflicts. He used his own soul and body as a filter, taking and taking, and taking the boiling mess, so it could flow through him, calming down and weaving a true melody out of dissonance. Through his hands the melody was returning down, stabilizing the suspicious anomaly.
It took him almost thirty minutes to make sure nothing would explode or die. He started to get tired and probably only the support from the ring on his finger was able to help him survive the extra effort that he made.
Thirty five minutes later he was breathing, his body felt sore and soul very tired from a sensory and power overload, but the boiling anomaly was not an anomaly anymore.
Not in a way it was.
He didn’t waste any moment longer, cupping the melody with his hands and pulling it up, along with the dirt. He used the thick, long sleeves of his elegant, brown robe to secure a small bundle from falling apart or worse. Small, valerian-like leaves looked delicate with the dark fabric under it.
His sons waited in the healing hall, both pale from stress, walking circles to do something with all the nervous energy.
“DAD!” Elladan looked immediately at him as soon as the servant opened the door for Elrond.
“What happened? We collected a flower pot and some good, forest soil as you asked, but why-”
“Yes, a pot!” Elrohir reminded his twin. “Let dad reach it!”
Elrond carefully put the bundle he was carrying into the pot, continuing the lullaby from before, even if he wasn’t putting the power into it anymore. His sons watched him in a deep, concerned silence as he used the soil to make sure only the leaves would be visible.
“What is it?” Elrohir whispered when Elrond sat down on the chair next to his desk. He couldn’t make himself take his hand away from the elegant, ceramic pot. A fragile bond that formed when he first contacted an anomaly, was present in his soul and he was aware of it as much as he was aware of all three his children, his wife and all various relatives or friends. “Dad, what is it? We are not using the healing halls to plant seedlings usualy-”
“It’s… It’s an elfling,” he whispered.
Elrohir made a small, panicked sound.
“I thought you were just joking when you told Arwen about babies growing in the garden when she was a child?”
“I was joking,” Elrond promised. “Elflings never were and never should be growing in the ground. An ainu put it there. It almost died from lack of balance and form-”
Elladan shivered, his face looked way too pale, almost golden instead of its usual, warm brown color. His twin was no better. They both slowly walked forward and looked down at the pot.
“Can we-?”
Elrond nodded wordlessly. Elrohir was the first who did touch the pot, carefully brushing it with the fingertips. He took a few deep breaths before he dared to reach an elfling with his soul. Elladan followed.
An elfling in the pot, although the only physical form of it was for now only the leaves connected with melody harmonized with Elrond’s help, replied immediately. It was a feathery-like, delicate brush meeting the spiritual touch of the three of them.
It was the most amazing and terrifying feeling in the world.
They needed to find a way to make sure an elfling would not die. One day, in the future, Elrond would find an ainu that did put the baby in the ground and poison this person to watch their suffering.
***
An elfling in the pot was growing in a way which an elfling in the womb of an elven maid would grow. The process seemed to be mostly natural. Mostly. If left unsupervised for too long, the melody would start to fall apart into a chaos of power and music again. Every day, twice (just in case), Elrond was singing a lullaby strengthened into a song of power, letting the little soul transfer the energy through him to keep the melody stabilized and growing. It was a slow process, which needed much attention from him. He didn’t want to be too intense or pushy as a person apparently performing a parental role of an elfling, but at the same time he needed to be vivid and easy to read enough for the baby to follow the way his soul and body was formed. An elfling had no mother’s body and soul around to learn from it. It had only him and his sons for now.
Elladan and Elrohir were so worried and stressed that they were visiting multiple times every day in the office of Elrond, just to reach an elfling and make sure if it was safe.
The mere concept of a baby’s soul that was planted in the valley’s garden and left alone was way too intense and terrifying for them to talk about it again after the first day. But thankfully they were very determined to make sure Elrond’s mission to make an elfling to stay alive and grow a physical body would succeed.
He had good sons.
He also had a very good daughter, of course, but the three of them were really worried and not sure if they should tell her anything. She was as feral and powerful as her grandmother and mother. Elrond can be patient enough to wait for a proper time to sail West and find the person who risked a baby’ life. His daughter? She totally would be able to steal a fucking ship just like their ancestors and sail immediately to became a new symbol of terror in the Blessed Land.
Elrond loved her with his whole heart… and it was dangerous, because if she would decide to steal a fucking ship and go into a war mode, he not only would never stop her, he would sail with her.
His fathers would be disappointed. Probably. He sadly couldn’t ask them. But there was one thing he could be sure of was that Galadriel would change the rest of his life into a nightmare if her granddaughter would behave like a proper Noldorin princess that she was. And terrorize the Valar, maiar or whoever exactly was stupid enough to plant a soul in the ground of the valley without anything like consulting it with a lord of the valley, a healer and someone with a staff heavy enough to help this whole idea die before bringing it to life.
“Dad?” Elladan carefully put hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” he yawned and opened his eyes. He fell asleep after the lullaby for an elfling.
“Do you want us to keep an eye on the pot while you go to rest?”
He thought about it for a while. He didn’t want to go to rest, but he was a healer and surely not an idiot. With a sigh he slowly took his hands away from the blue pot that was standing on the desk in front of him. If his singing and senses were correct, their potted elfling managed to shape itself into a proper, physical fetus instead of a baby shaped ball of melody.
“Please, be careful,” he murmured.
“We will be more careful than with Arwen,” Elrohir promised. “At least as long as this little one can’t bite, scratch or kick us.”
Elrond smiled slowly and nodded.
***
After the presence of an elfling in the pot became stronger when it really did start to grow into a proper newborn shape, Elrond needed to give up on the silly explanations and lies and let Arwen learn about the whole situation.
His daughter silently sat down in Elrond’s very own chair and carefully put her hand on the pot.
An elfling was keeping its melody properly balanced now so there was no need to make everyday transfers anymore. But they were checking it anyway, almost obsessively. Just in case.
“So… Is it all an ainu’ fault?” Arwen asked.
“They did appear and as soon as they vanished, I found this poor little thing,” Elrond looked at the leaves pointing out from the soil. They looked way bigger and much healthier.
“I will hunt them-”
“No one will hunt an ainu now,” Elladan, who was always the most stable and safe among them, protested in a voice slightly stronger than usual. “We have no time or energy for it now.”
“One day,” Elrond murmured.
“One day,” Elrohir agreed.
***
Elrond had no idea how it was supposed to look, the “birth” - he couldn’t just risk and take an elfling out, hoping for the best!
He decided to watch and wait for anything that would look like a signal that a baby, his very own, fourth child, was ready to meet with the world by itself.
He shouldn’t really be surprised that everything had its end with a flower pot falling down from the desk when the baby tried to crawl up. Loud, hysterical crying alarmed the half of the house and the next thing Elrond knew was that he was kneeling on the ground, carefully lifting up a naked, dirt-covered shape of a baby to hug it to his chest. Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen hardly managed to enter the room because of all the confused servants standing on the threshold with their eyes wide open from the shock.
“Dad, how is the baby?” Elladan asked, carefully helping him to slowly stand up and sit down in the chair.
“Safe,” he whispered, brushing the dirt from the dark, soft cheeks with the edge of the pastel blue tunic that he was wearing. “He is safe.”
Elrohir sighed deeply, calming down and Arwen brushed her eyes, trying to pretend that the crying didn’t scare her a moment before.
“The name,” Arwen managed to remind. “Dad, name him!”
…Elrond was never good with giving proper names to anyone without a pretty long time of searching and checking the meaning in his library. He was so busy worrying if an elfling would survive, that he didn’t think before about a possible moment of- Well-
“Doldrin,” he said without much thinking.
Elladan and Elrohir made two very similar sighs of disbelief. Arwen shook her head, looking up as if she tried to communicate with Eru, asking for patience.
“Doldrin,” Elrond carefully brushed away a few dark strands of hairs and valerian-like leaves from the small, dark eyes. He was almost sure that their newborn elfling was watching him with curiosity. “A valley has a third Elrondion,” he announced to the servants at the doors, because he felt stressed and embarrassed by their stares. “Go and announce to everyone that we will celebrate the blessing from the Valar, the existence of Doldrin Elrondion tonight!”
A promise of a party, so of course the food and wine, thankfully worked like a charm and everyone ran away in less than a minute.
“I am the only woman here,” Arwen announced, walking forward and opening her arms, signaling to Elrond that she wanted to hold a baby. “Let me give my brother a name in the place of a mother.”
When she looked down at Doldrin, she saw two very dark eyes that seemed to have a red reflection as she slowly moved around the desk to sit down. His small, dark face was surrounded by a few ebony locks. Her skin was honey gold as her father’s, skin of Elladan and Elrohir usually had a warm, brown shade inherited after their mother. Doldrin was much darker than any of them, but he had two light, almost white stains on the left cheek. It made him look very cute.
Arwen brushed the soft, warm cheek with her fingertips, thinking fast for a name that would be much more representative than the sweet name that her father picked.
“From now on, you are Carnil, my new brother,” she announced. “And we will protect you.”
***
The elves of Rivendell did accept the fourth baby of Elrond with the same ease that they were accepting all the strange behaviour of the weather or the river that were happening because of his songs and kinship with the maiar.
Elrond might be a little touched by the fact that his strangeness was for everyone around so ordinary that they basically just decided to accept the existence of everything that didn’t fit to the natural order of the world.
Unfortunately, his beloved friend and advisor, Erestor, looked at him from above the cup of the wine in a way suggesting that he didn’t believe in anything except the pathetic child’s name.
They exchange one look and it was enough to escape the Fire Hall and hide in Elrond’s office as soon as most of the elves started to joyfully eat and drink, singing praises and good wishes for the youngest Elrondion.
“A blessing?” Erestor asked, looking at Elrond who carefully sat down in his chair.
Doldrin was healthy, but clearly weaker than many other children that Elrond had by himself or helped to bring to the world as a healer. After he got baby food made by the twins along with the recipe from the healing halls, he fell asleep. It was almost three hours as he slept and didn’t look for now as if he was interested in waking up and screaming soon.
“If I wouldn’t need to make sure the village will remain calm, I would call it an unsuccessful murder attempt,” he grimaced. “I found his soul in the ground, barely connected with the world physically by a few leaves. He tried to form himself, but his music and the power didn’t want to harmonize by themselves. Now I think that his soul probably was ruined before, not big enough to endure growing by itself.”
“The Ainur are now trying to remake the harmed souls in Middle Earth? Bastards!” Erestor, who had endured much Ainur bullshit simply by being the son of Caranthir, grimaced in anger. His cheeks blushed red.
“I don’t know what they tried to do,” Elrond sighed. “But one day I will find the ones who did it. And they will drink my poison, no matter if they want it or not.”
“Good. We are not letting anyone go away with almost killing an elfling.”
“Or any child.”
“Yes, of course,” Erestor agreed, nodding with his head. He looked at a baby. “Are you sure you can be a parent again… without-”
“My children are delighted with their new sibling,” he smiled softly. “And I have you, right? You’ll never let me be alone dealing with anything.”
“We are cousins, Elrond. If you are certain that you are ready to be a single parent, I am here with you. I will make sure that no one ever will dare to whisper even a word about this situation negatively. Do you need all the books in our library to be *fixed*? I’ll do it.”
“I don’t think you need to add a false family story about my fourth child just to make others shut up. A blessing is a lie I picked up. No one will dare to say even one bad word about the child with which the Valar blessed me.”
“But if they try-”
“I know. Do you- do you want to hold your nephew?”
Erestor, even though he was lying always and everywhere how much he hated the children, carefully took the small body into his arms. With the experience of someone who was an uncle many times already, he made sure that baby was safe and comfortable in his embrace. He was, objectively and honestly, a very cautious, grumpy elf. He didn’t like most of the other elves, he felt uncomfortable among the most of the mortal men and he knew more about dwarven languages than anyone from the residents of Middle Earth (not counting only the true dwarves). But for Elrond and his children Erestor was always only good, caring, even loving. And when he loved someone, he was doing it with his whole passion that was similar in intensity to a hot fire. Life without him would be much harder and much more sad. Elrond didn’t want to even imagine it.
***
“Erestor,” Glorfindel’s voice shook a little as he spoke, looking at his lover as if he was seeing him for the very first time ever.
“Yes?” Erestor didn’t even lift his stare from a pile of documents, mostly ignoring the older elf. Glorfindel was supposed to return home from a patrol two weeks before, but he didn’t do it and he also didn’t even send a messenger bird with a warning. He was now at Erestor’s black list and he would be stuck there for as long as it would be needed to teach him how to behave mature and responsible.
“What the hell is this- the Valar, is that a child?!”
“Hush-!” Erestor hissed warningly. “He just ate and fell asleep.”
Glorfindel, not risking being hissed at again, slowly walked forward to lean down above his lover and see the angelic little face of a mortal newborn or maybe an elfling that he did expect to see.
The dark skin stained with two white spots welcomed his eyes.
Glorfindel did make a shocked scream, walking back so fast that he almost fell down onto his ass. “Maeglin?!”
“You idio-” Erestor cut his own scolding immediately as he felt a stressed wiggle in his arms just before little Doldrin started to make nervous mewls. Mewling grew to a cry in less than a minute.
Glrofindel would be a fucking dead after Erestor will end with him-
“Hush, hush, Doldrin,” Erestor focused on carefully massaging the boy’s back, while talking to him in a soft, calming tone. “Your dad will be here soon. Calm down for uncle.”
Doldrin, who was a really sweet boy as he learned through the last few weeks, did calm down with a head hugged to Erestor’s chest. Big, dark eyes looked up, at Erestor’s face, with trust.
“Glorfindel, I don’t know what is wrong with you,” he said as soon as the boy became comfortable again. “But it's really not nice to scream above a baby's head. Now I am very mad at you.”
“It’s not a baby,” he protested, trying to force himself to not scream. The aura of the power that he got from the Valar years ago, before they did send him to Middle-Earth, shone on his skin. He felt stressed, nervous, in danger- “It’s not a baby, Erestor,” he repeated, looking at his lover pleadingly. “It’s Maeglin. A fucking traitor. Stop just, whatever you are doing, we should send him away as soon as possible, I don’t know- straight through the sea-!”
The more he was speaking, the darker the face of Erestor became. His eyes squinted, his cheeks blushed angry red, his lips slightly opened, letting Glorfindel see the sharpen shape of his teeth.
“Glorfindel-” his lover started, but it was not his voice that filled the office.
“Better rethink your words, Lord of the Golden Flower.”
When he looked back, Elrond was already standing on the threshold.
He was tall, taller than most residents of the valley and optically bigger, wider because he was clothed in the voluminous, official robes in the deep, crimson red that day. His honey-gold skin looked darker because of the blush that colored his cheeks. The eyes, filled with starlight, were looking straight at Glorfindel. It was like watching the evening, starry sky. It was not very good. Lord Elrond Peredhel, heir of Melian, had not more than a few droplets of the maiarin blood, but sometimes, when his emotions were growing fast, he was shining like a true maia and the weather outside was adjusting to his moods then. The birth of Arwen filled the valley with a nice, perfectly warm spring for two weeks. The death of Elros’ heirs was usually guaranteeing weeks of the rain or autumn coming faster. And this day-
Glorfindel shivered as he heard the loud crack of the thunder echoing from somewhere away, but - if he had to guess - upcoming to Rivendell right now.
“You don’t understand. I spent years with Maeglin in the same city, in the same palace. I know who he is. I know his look, I will never forget- No one ever would forget-” his voice started to break, but Elrond’s face remained horrifyingly calm and cold.
“Lord of the Golden Flower,” Elrond repeated his title without even a blink of an eye. “I understand you might think that I want to hurt you or I am unreasonable, but this baby, however it looks like, is not Maeglin. It could be him once, I will not deny it. But you need to understand one thing, after an ainu left this tiny soul to die in my garden, I dug him out and nurtured myself for long weeks until he became an elf. He is mine. His names are Doldrin and Carnil, and he is Elrondion. I will protect him even if you will become my enemy.”
Glorfindel looked down, feeling devastated. The friendship with young Elrond, son of Earendil, was dear for him. It was one of a few bonds he had in Middle Earth now, when only a few elven kingdoms still existed. If he would lose it and of course lose Erestor too, because Erestor was himself, and he would never pick a lover above his relative-
But Maeglin-
This child-
Elrond walked through the room and carefully picked up his so-called son from Erestor. A baby made a little, trusting mewl, kicking his small feet as it hugged itself to the soft, voluminous robe. If it were Turgon, he would go into a panic for a mere thought of a baby dirtying such an expensive, beautiful fabric. Elrond didn’t care about possible stains as he didn’t care also in the past, hugging and carrying around the twins, Arwen and also many orphans that stuck to him as if he was the most beautiful thing they ever saw.
“How can I just-”
“You should rest, Lord of the Golden Flower. As your healer, I am aware of the deep trauma you are suffering. But I can’t let you crash out or impose a danger towards a baby, even if it wouldn’t be mine. Take a few weeks of break from your responsibilities and rest well after the patrol you finished today. It should give you some time to calm down and rethink the new situation.”