So here it is, the last chapter of Part 3. Only two more parts to go, and they are short in comparison.
Enjoy!
Edit: New fanart for this chapter is up on my profile now.
Chapter Seven
As the final month of Breonna's pregnancy approached, it brought with it an atmosphere filled with anticipation and curiosity. Alistair was aware of friendly wagers on not only what their heir would be, but also when he or she would arrive and what possible names might be. It made him smile. He knew why so much attention was being paid, but it struck him as funny that so many should be placing so much on his child.
Fergus, Oriana and Oren had gone back to Highever after the Landsmeet, leaving only Eleanor and Bryce in Denerim. It served several purposes. Fergus would be able to manage Highever for a few months without his father's interference, Eleanor and Bryce would be there when their grandchild arrived to provide support for Breonna and him, and it took a little stress off of Breonna to have less people clustered around, waiting anxiously.
When the Couslands had come down for the Landsmeet, they brought with them several pieces of furniture—a cradle, a crib, a rocking chair and chest of drawers. They'd been in the Cousland family for generations and carried with them a great sense of both age and love. If his own family had ever had anything like these, they'd been lost to the occupation. He ran a hand over the dark wood, feeling places worn down by countless hands nurturing dozens of babies. What better way for his own child to begin their life?
Breonna had been delighted at the gift, promising that they'd be safely returned to Highever long before Oren would need them. For now, she'd placed the cradle and rocking chair in their own bedroom, putting the rest in a set of rooms next to theirs that she was turning into a nursery for the baby once he or she got a little older.
While everyone else experienced a heightening of nerves, Breonna seemed to grow calmer, more tranquil. Her earlier moods swings smoothed out, even as the baby grew and made her more ungainly and awkward, often forcing her from their bed in the middle of the night to use a chamber pot. She suffered it all with good-humor.
Today, she was in the atrium adjoining the garden, sitting on a well padded settee, drenched in the bright sunlight of early summer. A basket was next to her, colorful skeins of yarn spilling from it, and Breonna hummed softly, knitting.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The queen of Ferelden knitting booties. It might be amusing if she wasn't so obviously completely content.
"I know you're there, Alistair. If you're going to watch me, you might as well have a seat. I'm not going anywhere."
He grinned, moving into the room to sit on a bench across from her, leaning back and extending his legs, crossed at the ankles. Breonna resumed her knitting, humming softly. Alistair watched her for awhile, the warm sun and the rhythmic sound of the knitting needles making him drowsy.
A soft chuckle startled him from sleep. His wife had set her knitting back into her basket and was watching him. Sitting up, he yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "Have I been asleep long?"
"No, not too long. I didn't mean to wake you, sorry. Now I know why you do it. It's rather nice just to watch someone."
"Hmmm," he agreed sleepily. "It is. Though you're a lot nicer to look at than I am."
"I wouldn't be so sure. You have your charms, my king."
"Why, thank you." Alistair grinned at her, and the corners of her lips twitched in an answering grin. He stretched, giving another yawn. "Did you want to stay out here or…?"
The words died on his lips. The corners of her mouth still twitched, but there was something incredibly wrong about it. There was no amusement in her face, and something about her expression immediately banished the last of his lethargy.
"Bre?" he asked. "Bre, are you all right?" Even as he asked, he saw her stiffen, every line of her body going rigid. He was moving then, exploding out of his seat to cross the handful of paces to get to her. She was still rigid when he got to her.
"Guards!" he yelled as he grabbed her. Almost as soon as it began, the stiffness left her and he started to let out a relieved sigh and lay her down when she began to convulse, her body bucking beneath his hands as her muscles jerked and twitched. Her eyes rolled back in her head and foam appeared at her mouth.
"Guards!" he bellowed again, trying to hold Breonna and keep her still, and fight the incredible, mind-numbing panic sweeping through him. Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl and he was acutely aware of every twitch and jerk of the body he held. Where were the guards?
In horror, he realized Breonna's skin was taking on a bluish cast and that she wasn't breathing.
Guards burst into the atrium, drawing weapons as they searched for the source of trouble. Their eyes focused on the king and queen and they froze, faces pale.
"Get the mages!" Alistair screamed at them, hearing the panic in his voice, and the men at the back immediately turned, racing into the halls of the palace to find Anders and Rhayne. The others stood ineffectually, useless in this situation. A younger guard shook himself and came to kneel beside Alistair, shoving Breonna's basket of knitting on the floor and grabbing her legs. Alistair couldn't even nod his thanks, all of his attention focused on his wife. He was aware—dimly—of the sounds of shouts and running feet in the palace.
And then almost as suddenly as it began, Breonna stilled, her body going limp under their hands.
Alistair let her go, fingers frantically seeking the pulse in her throat. It was there, too fast and racing, but it was there. She drew first one breath and then another and he almost sobbed in relief. But she was so still, unconscious. He wanted to shake her, make her wake up, but was terrified doing so might make whatever was wrong with her worse.
The faint trace of magic made his senses tingle, growing stronger as it came near. Anders and Rhayne came slamming into the room, the haste spell one of them had cast causing they to come in at incredible speed.
The guard stumbled to his feet, backing away as both mages came to kneel by Breonna's side. Anders pushed Alistair over slightly, magic already flaring at his finger tips. On his other side, he could feel Rhayne doing the same.
Tense minutes passed and Alistair felt his heart sink and cold sweat break out over his body as Anders frowned deeply. As the mage stopped casting, Alistair grabbed his arm. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Anders shook his head. "I'm not sure. I want to get her somewhere we can examine her more thoroughly. Can you carry her?"
The words were barely out of his mouth before Alistair was sliding his arms underneath Breonna's knees and shoulders, lifting her and heading for the door in one motion. He cradled his wife to his chest as the group moved swiftly to the royal suite, and he tried not to think about how heavy she felt as he carried her. Heavy because she was simply a dead weight in his arms.
A dead weight….
Oh, Maker, please, he begged silently. Please don't take her!
By the time they got to their rooms, Eleanor and Bryce had already arrived. They were in the sitting room, pale and worried as Alistair carried their daughter past them to lay her on the bed. Eleanor followed them in, looking at Anders. The mage frowned and then nodded. "You can stay," he said shortly. "You might be able to help. Wait outside, Alistair. We'll let you know as soon as we figure out what's going on."
"What? No! I am not leaving, Anders! I'm not—"
"Alistair." Bryce's voice was as firm as the hand that gripped his arm. "We need to let them work. They'll tell you as soon as they learn anything."
"We will, Alistair," Rhayne said gently, touching his other arm and helping Bryce to guide him from the room even as Anders's magic flared again, seeking what was wrong with Breonna. "I swear it, as soon as we know anything, we'll tell you."
Alistair swallowed hard, nodding jerkily. There was nothing he could do now but wait and pray and let the mages do their jobs. The door shut quietly behind them and he stopped, drawing a ragged breath. Bryce let go of his arm, but didn't move away, his silent presence a much needed support against the crushing fear.
There was a commotion at the door, voices raised briefly and then three of the templars stationed in the palace strode in. They looked around quickly and made for the closed bedroom door. He and Bryce both stiffened, moving to place themselves between the templars and the door.
The templars halted before them. "Move," the leader said curtly.
"No," Alistair grated right back at the man.
"We have a sacred duty to uphold and if you don't let us pass—"
"What? If I don't let you pass, what will you do?" he breathed harshly.
The man seemed taken aback, unused to such challenge to his authority.
"Get out!" Alistair snarled. "You will not interrupt those mages, even if I have to cut you down myself!"
"The grand cleric will hear of this!"
"Let her! In fact, you can go tell her right now! Guards!" he called past them and the men outside in the corridor filed in. "I want these gentlemen and their other three colleagues rounded up and escorted out of the palace."
"Yes, ser!"
The templars' fists clenched in impotent fury as the guards surrounded them. Alistair stood still, glaring at them until they were gone. Then he slumped, staggering a few steps to the closet chair and dropping it heavily. The rage bled away, leaving him drained, and his hands shook as he buried his face in them. He sensed Bryce taking a seat across from him as he also sat to wait.
He could still feel magic being used in the bedroom, and no longer knew if that was a good thing or not. Please, he repeated in his mind. Please….
For the rest of the afternoon, Anders and Rhayne stayed in the bedchamber, trying to figure out what was wrong with Breonna and how to fix it. Alistair was not reassured by the fact that they sent for two experienced midwives to consult with. If the mages didn't know what was wrong, then Breonna was in serious trouble.
Word filtered through the palace and it fell deathly silent, everyone within waiting anxiously for news.
Eventually, several hours after they had gone in, Anders and Rhayne, along with Eleanor and the midwives came out. Alistair shot to his feet. With a look from Anders, Rhayne gently guided Eleanor and Bryce from the room, speaking quietly. The bottom dropped out of Alistair's stomach. They weren't panicking or wildly upset, but they looked extremely worried.
"Anders, what—"
"Have a seat, Alistair," Anders said quietly, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish his question.
"I want to know what's going on!"
"And I'll tell you, but please, sit!"
There was just enough force in Anders's tone, something in the concern it carried, that Alistair dropped back down into his seat almost automatically. Anders sat opposite him, in the same chair Bryce had been in. The mage rubbed his face wearily, his skin pale, tension grooving lines in his brow and beside his mouth.
"Is she dead?" The question came out surprisingly steady, though he dreaded the answer.
Shocked, Anders jerked his head up to look at him. "No! Maker's breath, no, Alistair, I wouldn't keep that from you. Right now, she's comatose. We can't wake her."
The answer brought only scant relief, and Alistair forced himself to ask the next question. "Do you know what's wrong?"
Anders shook his head with a sigh. "No. It's not something I've ever encountered before, nor has Rhayne. It's why we called for the midwives, hoping they've seen this before. That, at least, was hopeful. They've seen it maybe a handful of times between them.
"They don't know what it is, only that it happens rarely. It…." Anders hesitated, obviously choosing his words with care. "It's very serious, Alistair, and before we do anything else, I need your permission to proceed."
"Is she going to die?"
Opening his mouth to respond, Anders stopped and then shook his head. "I don't know. It's possible, which is why we need to make a decision quickly. From what the midwives said, we need to deliver the baby as soon as possible."
"Deliver…? But it's not time, it's too early!"
"I know," Anders nodded. "I'd like to say that Breonna's far enough along that the baby has a good chance, but we don't know how this has affected it." He reached out and grasped Alistair's forearm. "But if we wait, Alistair, we are going to lose both of them. The midwives were very clear about that. Until the baby is born, neither of them have any chance."
Alistair pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The last time they had encountered a problem this severe…. "What about the Ashes?"
Anders shook his head. "I'm sure they would work, but we don't have time, Alistair. Ideally, I'd like to begin within the hour, but I need you to give me permission."
"How? Will it hurt them?"
"No, it won't hurt them. There are certain herbs that can be used to induce or speed up labor—the midwives are quite familiar with them. Rhayne and I can use our magic to help as well. They're not in any danger from that."
Dropping his hands from his face, Alistair tilted his head back, studying the heavy beams of the ceiling. "Do it. But I want to see her first."
"Of course. I'll need some time to gather what I need. You have until then." Anders strode for the door, all business again, his task set before him and responding to the urgency of it. At the door, though, he hesitated, turning back as Alistair headed toward the bedchamber. "For what it's worth, Alistair, I'm sorry this happened."
Alistair just nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. After Anders left, he opened the door quietly, slipping into the quiet room. The curtains were drawn back, allowing sunlight and fresh air to stream in through the open windows. There were chairs around the bed that held the too-still figure upon it, but Alistair ignored these, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed.
Breonna lay there, looking for all the world as if she were just sleeping. She was pale, but the awful blue tinge to her skin had faded, and her breathing was even. Beneath his hand, her skin was cool, not flushed with fever or any other sign of illness.
Fingertips skimmed gently over her cheeks, her lips. Someone had removed her gown, putting her in a simple shift, leaving her arms bare. He ran his fingers down them, touching lightly, finally taking her hands in his.
"Come on, Bre, wake up," he whispered. "Please wake up. I need you here, for me, for our baby." He laid one of her hands flat on the swell of her stomach, pressing his hand over it. "Our baby is going to be born very soon and he or she is going need their mother. You have to be there for us, Bre. Wake up!"
Nothing. No sound, no movement—not even a twitch—to indicate she was even the slightest bit aware of what was going one. Alistair swallowed hard.
"You can't…you can't leave me," he said thickly. "Not yet. You're not supposed to go first."
Over and over he repeated his entreaties to her, begging her, ordering her to stay with him. Telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. The sound of quiet voices in the next room told him the others were back and he fell silent.
"Alistair," Anders's quiet voice called to him. "It's time."
He nodded, not turning around. Leaning down, he brushed Breonna's lips with his and whispered, "I love you, Bre. Come back to me."
And then Bryce was there, taking his arm and leading him from the room as the mages, Eleanor and midwives came back in. They carried lyrium potions, pouches of herbs, pitchers and buckets of clean water, and clean towels and linens. The door closed behind them and Alistair sat to await the birth of his heir, and to learn whether or not his child and his wife would live.
Anders stopped him just before he left. "We'll do everything we can to save them both, you know that," he said in a low voice. "But if we can't, Alistair, if we can only save one…."
He looked past his fellow Warden, staring into the sitting room, his throat working to find an answer. Breonna would hate him for this, he knew that without a doubt, but hate he could live with. Losing her…. He met Anders's clear brown eyes. "Save her, Anders. Do whatever you have to, but save her!"
The wait was the most agonizing thing Alistair had ever experienced in his life. Night fell as the hours dragged on and no word came from the room. He would occasionally feel the use of magic or hear murmured talking from within, but other than that everything was quiet.
It was clear the near silence unnerved Bryce as much as it did Alistair. His father-in-law had been through the births of both his children and his grandchild. He knew what to expect and what was happening didn't fit. He and Alistair paced by turns, walking the floor in endless circles, almost no conversation passing between them.
At some point, Erlina brought them supper, but neither touched it and it grew cold on the tray. Some time past midnight, Bryce suggested Alistair get some sleep, but he rejected the suggestion adamantly. He'd gone without sleep for longer periods of time before. And even if he had been able to sleep, he wasn't about to risk doing so while his family fought for life.
A sudden surge of magic came from within the room, voices rising with urgency to carry through the door. Alistair stopped in his tracks, focused on the door, every sense alert to the sounds and sensations coming from within. The waiting was too much! He couldn't bear being out here another moment longer. He took a step toward the door, determined to go in and find out what was going on, when a clear, high cry pierced the air.
There was a moment of silence and then the cry repeated, turning into a lusty wail. His legs failed him, dropping him to his knees on the hard stone floor. His hands shook and his breathing turned ragged. Bryce came to his side, gripping his shoulder in silent support while Alistair gathered himself.
When Alistair stopped shaking, Bryce offered him a hand up, guiding him into a chair. "Good, strong lungs," he offered quietly. "The babe sounds as healthy as any I've ever heard."
"You think it'll live?" The hope in his voice was painfully obvious, even to him.
"No one but the Maker knows for certain, son, but I think what we're hearing is a very, very good sign."
The crying quieted and Alistair tensed, but Bryce just squeezed his shoulder. "It's all right, Alistair. It's normal. Now we wait and see."
Maybe fifteen minutes later, the door to the bedroom swung upon and Eleanor came through, holding a small bundle in her arms. Her face was tired, and the fear and worry for her daughter was evident on it, but she smiled as she came towards them. She held out the bundle, placing it gently into Alistair's arms as she said, "Congratulations, Alistair, you have a daughter."
Alistair looked down at the baby in his arms. She was absolutely tiny. Fine, pale, downy hair covered her scalp and her face was red and scrunched up. She turned restlessly within the blankets, one tiny fist coming up to flail around her face. Without thinking, he caught it in his to prevent her from striking herself. Instinctively, her hand grasped his middle finger and he was staggered by the strength in the grip of miniature fingers that weren't even big enough to close around one of his.
She was perfect.
The breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding rushed out in a startled gasp. He looked up at Eleanor, aware that both she and Bryce were crying. "Breonna?" he asked.
Eleanor shook her head gently. "Still sleeping, but she's strong. A little weak from the birth, but the mages and midwives don't think it's anything unusual. Anders is hoping now that the baby's been born, that whatever is wrong might resolve itself and she'll wake in a few days."
Alistair nodded and was about to respond when his daughter began fussing, scrunching her cheeks up even more and beginning to cry.
"What do I do?" he asked helplessly.
"Here, like this…" Eleanor said, bending down and showing him how to soothe her, how to rock and shush her so that she settled back down.
They let him hold his daughter for a long time, leaving him in peace to bond with her before Eleanor finally took the baby back, saying she needed to eat. In the meantime, the midwives left and servants took the soiled linens and water from the bedroom. Rhayne left, too, leaving Anders to come speak with Alistair.
"It went all right," he said. "It was a little difficult, but there was no excessive bleeding or injury, and she's healing well. Now we wait and see. In the morning, I'll send a message to Anora, to ask her to look into getting some of the Ashes. The Chantry's finally decided to back Genitivi's work, and from what I understand, they've got the temple locked down tight. They might not grant permission for anyone, even you, to take some of the Ashes. But if anyone can get in to get another pinch, it's Anora."
"Thank you, Anders. I…. Thank you."
"I wish I could do more, Alistair. Your daughter is healthy, too. She's small, but that's to be expected with children who come early. Her heartbeat is strong and her lungs are clear. She might be small for her age for the first few years, but she's completely normal.
"Now, we all need some sleep, and that includes you. I sent Rhayne to get a few hours while I stay up in your sitting room and then we'll trade off. One of us will be nearby at all times until Breonna wakes up. Eleanor said to send you in when we were done, so let's not keep her waiting."
Anders clasped his arm once more and then left to settle himself on a couch.
In his bedroom, Eleanor sat in the rocking chair, humming softly as she held her granddaughter. She nodded at Alistair as he entered. "Make yourself comfortable and then you can hold your daughter for a little while. She's asleep and you should be."
He did, pulling off his boots and changing his clothes into a looser set. Eleanor kept her gaze focused on the baby, but there was no need. Self-consciousness was forgotten after a day and night like they'd been through.
Alistair stretched out in a chair and his mother-in-law placed his sleeping daughter back into his arms. The wrinkles in her cheeks had mostly smoothed out, leaving them round and pink and he stroked them gently, mindful of the rough callus on his fingers.
Everything they'd been through in the last day hit him and he was suddenly drained—physically, mentally and emotionally. He wanted nothing more than to hold and gaze upon his daughter, memorizing her features, but he was fighting to keep his eyes open.
Eleanor gently took the baby from him, placing her in the cradle set right near the bed. Then she helped Alistair up and walked him to the bed.
"Are you sure I should sleep here?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Yes, Alistair. Sleeping next to Breonna won't hurt her. And who knows? Maybe the normalcy will help."
She turned down the last of the lamps as he slid under the sheet. Dawn wasn't far off and there would be enough light should any of them need it soon enough.
As he lay there, he turned on his side to face his wife. After becoming so used to seeing her pregnant, it was almost jarring how much she looked like her old self. He reached out to take her hand in his.
"You will wake up," he mumbled as sleep stole his awareness. "You have to."
Breonna was so tired.
Opening her eyes was an immense effort of will, managing only to slit them open a fraction of an inch before the bright light in the room burned them and she was forced to close them again.
She waited a few moments before trying again, taking her time so that she was able to actually look around. She was laying in bed in her bedchamber, and she frowned. How did she get here? Alistair was off to the side, sitting at a table reading something. A smile ghosted across her lips. He was so sweet to be taking over all the work while she was pregnant.
At the thought, she brought a hand up to her belly and was shocked when it fell onto her mostly flat abdomen.
She wasn't pregnant!
All tiredness flew away instantly as she bolted upright, panic and terror sweeping through her, both hands clutching her stomach. Alistair's head snapped up at the movement, eyes wide with shock, and then he was out of his seat, practically running to her side.
"Rhayne!" he yelled.
Breonna grabbed him as he got to the bed. "Where's my baby? Alistair, where's my baby?"
She was dimly aware of Rhayne coming into the room, leaving quickly for a moment and then reentering, a rising din from the doorway following her. Alistair pulled her against his chest and she clutched at him, practically babbling in her panic.
"Alistair, where—"
"She's fine, Bre, calm down! It's okay!" He was speaking loudly, attempting to override her hysterics.
Cool fingers touched her brow and a gentle wash of magic followed. Rhayne had slid onto the other side of the bed and was casting. Breonna's head whipped back and forth between the two, confused and unable to comprehend what was going on. Alistair was watching the mage intently.
Finally, Rhayne stopped, removing her hands and smiled at Alistair brilliantly. "She's fine."
With a low cry, Alistair pulled her against him, burying his face against her neck. He was shaking, she realized, sobbing like a child. Her own arms came up to hold him, to soothe him, even as she remained completely confused about what was going on.
Eventually, he stilled and pulled back far enough that he could wipe the moisture from his face. She took the opportunity to bring a hand up to cup his jaw. "Alistair, what's going on?" she asked desperately.
"You don't remember?" he replied hoarsely. "Nothing?" At her head shake, he nodded, and appeared to gather his thoughts.
"About a week ago, you fell ill. You had convulsions and stopped breathing and then fell into a coma. We couldn't wake you. Anders said you and the baby would've both died if she wasn't born soon, so they had to deliver you. We've been waiting for you to wake up ever since."
It was too much and her head swam with the influx of new information. She should have questions, lots of them, but only one thing stuck out and she latched onto it.
"She? It was a girl?"
Alistair smiled, sniffed, and laughed quietly. "Yes, we have a daughter. And she's fine! She's beautiful and whole and perfect, just like her mother."
"I want to see her! Right now! I want—"
"Ah, I see our patient is awake." Anders strolled into the room, grinning, and Rhayne scooted off the bed to let him take her place. He repeated the same actions Rhayne had taken and nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Excellent! Very, very good. I want to conduct a full exam later, and we'll keep watching, of course, but I think I can safely say that the danger has passed."
"Thank you, Anders," Alistair said. "You've no idea…. Thank you. Could you have Eleanor bring—"
"We're right here, Alistair," her mother said from the doorway.
Breonna looked past her husband to see her mother enter carrying something small and wrapped in blankets in her arms. She reached out, imploring, and Alistair shifted to let Eleanor in so she could hand their child to Breonna.
The moment her mother placed the baby in her arms, and as Breonna got her first look at her daughter, she was consumed by an indescribable wave of love and tenderness. Everything she had felt for her child while she was pregnant was nothing compared to the emotions she felt now. She wanted nothing more than hold this tiny girl forever, love her and protect her and give her everything.
With wondering fingers, she touched her daughter, brushing over the fine hair and chubby cheeks, the button nose and tiny bow of her mouth. The girl squirmed slightly, opening her eyes to blink at her mother. Her eyes were a muddy color, having yet to settle into what they would be as she got older.
Alistair was right. She was perfect.
"We'll have to name her," she said softly, her tone awestruck.
Her husband cleared his throat and she looked up. "I…." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I already did." His voice was quiet, apologetic, and he looked away before meeting her eyes. "We didn't know if you were ever going to wake up. Or if you did, how long it might take. I couldn't…I couldn't just leave her without a name. I wanted to wait, but….
"We can change it, if you like. I don't think anyone could fault you for doing that."
She smiled. "I think I might like to hear her name before doing that."
"Rhoswen. Our daughter's name is Rhoswen."
She turned the name over in her mind, considering it. But when she looked back down at their daughter, it didn't matter. As soon as she heard it, the name stuck and there was no other possible choice.
Leaning down, she nuzzled her daughter's nose with her own and kissed her forehead. "Hello, Rhoswen."
Then she laughed softly as the meaning of the name came to her, and she looked back up at Alistair. "It seems you've given me yet another 'white rose.'"
He smiled crookedly, and she could see that the strain and worry of the last week hadn't entirely left him yet. It would probably be awhile before they did.
"I'd like to think," he said huskily, "that this time you gave one to me."
Breonna laughed quietly, snuggling her daughter close and pulling Alistair down to kiss him.
Over the next few weeks, Breonna recovered, regaining her strength from her illness and her body healing after childbirth. Fergus, Oriana and Oren arrived shortly after she woke up, relieved to find that she was well again and would survive. While Breonna had chafed at her family's earlier insistence on always being around, she reveled in it now, profoundly thankful her mother was there to help her.
Others came to visit as well, friends close to both Alistair and her. Anora, in particular seemed delighted, though Breonna that might have more to do with not having to go get some more of the Ashes.
She and Alistair learned how to care for their daughter. It took some time, but they were beginning to sort out Rhoswen's moods and what her different cries meant. It was amazing and exhausting, all at the same time.
Alistair took to fatherhood like a duck to water. He was willing to do anything and everything Rhoswen needed, never complaining when she needed a change or when she woke them in the middle of the night to nurse. He would be the one to fetch her from the cradle on those occasions, bring her to Breonna and then return her when she was full.
Breonna smiled to herself as she walked with Rhoswen held to her shoulder. The baby was sleepy and would need to be put down for a nap shortly, but she wasn't going to let her daughter go just yet. She loved these quiet moments, when it seemed that nothing else in the world existed except her and this precious miracle.
"Hey, there." She turned as Alistair entered their room, shutting the door behind him soundlessly. "Is she out yet?"
"Almost. A few more minutes, I think."
He smiled, and her breath caught at the absolute love and adoration in his face. Then he bent, brushing a light kiss across the back of Rhoswen's head. "My beautiful girls," he murmured, sliding his arms around her gently and pulling them close.
Then he looked at her, pulling her a little bit closer and she tipped her face up to meet his. They kissed, slow and gentle and with their daughter held oh-so-carefully between them.
And in that moment, there was nothing else Breonna could ever ask for.
