A/N: Oh, dear… men and their sons. And it's particularly difficult with a proud father who wants his first son to be just as Portuguese as he is ;-)
-oOo-
-oOo-
"Ah, meu primeiro filho," Martinho says proudly, drawing a finger along the baby's forehead and grinning at the single curl of auburn hair atop his head. "So handsome."
Melyor shifts amongst her pillows, holding tight to the warm little bundle in her arms before she lowers the top of her shift and presents her breast to the baby to give him suck. "He looks like you, my love."
"But he has your eyes."
Indeed, he does. Many babies have blue eyes, but not like this; not the fathomless blue of the sea that lies beyond Porthpyra's harbor. "He'll be a sailor, wi' such eyes," says Melyor.
Martinho laughs. "He'll be a captain, and nothing less." He pauses, then, "I been thinking about what to call him."
"Oh, really?" The baby loses Melyor's nipple, cries, then settles down again once he finds it and the warm milk begins to flow. "Peran, he'll be: a good Cornish boy."
"Heitor, he'll be: a fine warrior."
It's not a name Melyor's ever heard before, although she can tell it's in her husband's native tongue. "What be that in English?"
"Hector."
"Hector," Melyor repeats. "Hector. I like that." She taps the baby's soft cheek with her fingertip. "An' you, little boy? Shall ye like t' be called Hector?"
"Heitor," Martinho corrects her.
Melyor doesn't listen, for she's found the name she likes; a name that will become that of a renowned outlaw captain: hated by some, feared by all, respected by most, and loved by a faraway woman who will live her life for him and spend all of it trying her best to make him happy. "Hector," she says tenderly, looking down at her blue-eyed boy, thinking not of his adult future, but of how tiny and frail he is right now, and how she wants him to grow healthy and have a fine, active childhood. "'Tis a good name, that, an' 'tis th' one ye shall have: Hector Peran Barbossa."
-oOo- FIN -oOo-