The day d'Artagnan was born is not where the story should begin, but it's only fair to her that we should start there.
There were two people present, other than d'Artagnan's mother. Her fiancé, and a midwife. It wasn't exactly the royal treatment, but it was more than Fiona could ask for.
Malcolm was too good to her. Willing to marry her even though the child straining to leave her body wasn't his. With luck, the baby will look like her and not its actual father.
"I need you to push as soon as a pain comes," the midwife instructed. As if on cue, Fiona's body felt like it was on fire. She bore down for several seconds before she couldn't go on. In a haze, Fiona heard the midwife say that the baby's head had crowned. Gods, Fiona thought. There's still so much of this baby left.
"I don't think I can do this, Fiona sobbed. All she wanted was to rest.
"Yes you can, Fiona. You're nearly there." Malcolm gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She hadn't originally wanted him there. It wasn't fair for him to be present for the birth of her bastard. Now, Fiona was grateful beyond words for his support.
She was about to offer a thankful smile when a contraction came and Fiona pushed. This baby better be worth this pain.
"Halfway there!" Fiona looked at the midwife's face for any clues, but the older woman's face was stoically neutral. Damn.
Almost immediately after, the last contraction came, and with it, a baby. A real, living, screaming baby.
"It's a girl," the midwife informed the unlikely couple as she hurriedly cut the umbilical cord and cleaned the infant up. The midwife laid the baby on Fiona's chest and the mother's first impressions were more critical than they should have been.
The baby was tiny. Yet, the screams she had emitted earlier were the screams of a much older child. Fiona found it ironic.
"What are you going to name her, dearie?" Malcolm asked, slowly bringing his eyes from the baby to the mother.
Fiona honestly hadn't thought about what to name the child. She had bitterly hoped the child wouldn't live. But looking at the infant she had pushed into the world, some otherworldly feeling came over her.
"Her name is d'Artagnan," Fiona announced. Artagnan was a faraway town the baby's father had told her about. He promised to take her there one day, but he had left without so much as a proper goodbye. This thing that he had left her represented all that was taken away from her. And Fiona was going to make damn sure that her daughter didn't forget it.