B is for Baby

He's seen it done often enough. He has even assisted on a few of them.

This is the first time he has ever been the healer. The first time that he has ever ushered a life into the world. The first time that two lives split from one another and it falls on him to make sure that they both survive it.

This one isn't just any baby. The mother isn't just any woman.

He flits around the room, nervously, sending people to collect this and that, to bring him things, even things that he doesn't think he'll really need. Things he hopes he won't need.

He rests Vera against the wall in the corner and washes his hands for what must be the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. They aren't even there yet. She isn't ready.

It's good that she is early, though. She is so small. The babe, for all he can tell when he passes his hands over her swollen abdomen, glowing with blue power, is small, tiny, but strong.

It is different than any of the births he's assisted in the Tower. She is strong, a warrior. She is used to pain, and she grunts through it, refusing any help save his and his alone. They have become friends over the last months, and she trusts him - this means a lot.

But oh Maker it is a lot of blood. The sight of it makes him a bit woozy, and he sways slightly on his feet as he rests one hand on her thigh and threads a bit of healing magic through her, and then a flash of rejuvenation for himself. He mends what he is able, laces pain-relieving magic where he can, and Maker preserve them both, stops the excessive bleeding so many times that he worries when her tan skin takes on a slightly ashen hue.

Shaking and exhausted, he gasps in utter amazement when the tiny girl slides into his hands finally. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't move, and for a moment he is afraid that he's killed the King's mistress, and the woman assisting him helps him tie off the cord and snip it.

Breathe, Andraste's mercy, breathe, he pleads silently, turning her over gently in his hands - she barely fills both of them - and he runs a blue, glowing hand over her tiny back.

Finally, after what feels like time itself stopping to wait, the babe cries out, weak at first and then strong and with force. He breathes a huge sigh of relief, tears almost welling up in his eyes.

"It's a girl, Kahrin. A beautiful little-"

"Take her away," she rolls onto her side away from them, pulling her knees up as far as she can draw them with her middle still a mound. "I can't look at her. Just ... please, Finn," she says, softly breaking into heart wrenching sobs.

Finn nods once, not questioning her. He never questions her. He folds the girl in a towel that the Dryden woman has brought him and cradles the tiny girl gently in the crook of his arm. "Come along, little Princess," he says quietly as he does what Kahrin has asked.