"See those men out there?"
He cradles her head as he points her towards the window. He doesn't think she can see anything past the tip of her nose yet, but he'll show her the view just in case.
"Grey Wardens, they are," he says proudly. "Your mother commands them. I like to think I help, although mostly I eat all the cheese. I think she just keeps me around because I'm pretty."
He can't stop staring at the miracle in his arms. He could hold her in the palm of one hand, not that he would because she's less than a day old and already he is scared to death to think of her ever being hurt. She screws up her face, looking pink and uncomfortable. What was it he was supposed to do? Oh yes. He lifts her up to his shoulder, and gives her a tentative pat on the back.
"A little harder, love. She won't break." His wife is smiling weakly at him. He was hoping she would sleep a little longer; he hadn't seen her looking so utterly exhausted since they slew the archdemon. He perches on the bed next to her, and pats Moira's back more firmly. She gurgles and spits up down his shirt. He's never seen anyone vomit so adorably, and he grins stupidly back at her.
"She's got you wrapped around her little finger already, I see."
"Not at all." He sticks his little finger out, and marvels for the hundredth time as Moira grips it with her own tiny fingers. "See? She's got a grip like an ogre trying to bite my face off. She'll make a fine warrior."
"Or a rogue," she teases, remembering their old rivalry. "So mehow I can't see any child of mine being famed for their stealth." He frees his finger and hands the wriggling bundle to his love. "She can be anything she likes, can't she?" He puts an arm around her waist to pull his family in close, remembering a child sent to the chantry and an amulet shattered on the floor, and makes a silent promise not to repeat the past.
