Arno's POV
As our days become weeks and those weeks become months, Celestine's belly grew and our Brothers recovered one by one—of course they had their own spans of rest and in no time we already see them running about, it's like they've never been hit by gun and sword at all. This delighted Celestine very much. When they were still recovering, she did most of the medical work wherein I would overhear her muttering—only to find out that she was making amends with our brothers, apologizing and asking for their forgiveness but of course she was not expecting it to be given to her right away.
Well, as for Octavien, Felix, and Siegfried—they're better than ever, still the same old rascals that I need to look after. But the entire household seems more excited about the baby. When the other Assassins have recovered, most of them showed utter eagerness about the baby.
A few have dared to ask of its future—if we would raise it to become an Assassin even during its childhood or have it live a normal life—Celestine and I couldn't have a more proper answer.
Then when Celestine begins to crave for something, the maids begin to theorize on the baby's gender. They said that the shape of a mother's belly predicts the gender—if it was rounded, it's a girl, and if it was pointed then it'd be a boy. Then one went on about the consistency of a mother's mood swing—if she were irritable, her unborn child is a son, if she were kind throughout her pregnancy, it'd be a girl. The theories went on. Poor Celestine couldn't even follow because she doesn't believe those—she says with conviction that she'll only know so once she's delivered it.
"Most of those sayings come from their mothers, those maids." Madame Helena mumbles to Celestine.
"Really? My mother never taught me that." Celestine replies honestly.
"Wise woman that mother of yours. Not everything in the world runs by superstition. Now, is there something you'd like?"
Celestine meekly shakes her head, "No, Madame, but thank you for your concern."
"Let me know if the ladies are bothering you, I'll give them a good talking."
"That won't be necessary, Madame."
Some of the maids willingly tend to Celestine's needs even when she can manage herself. Even whenever Madame Helena reprimands them, stopping them from pestering Celestine, they still come with baskets of fruit and bread, and a jug of milk. Although Celestine cannot help it even if she refuses in her sweetest way.
As she sews on her armchair in her bedroom, I watch her as I sit on the strongbox at the foot-end of her bed. She still retains her youthful glow, her pinkish cheeks, the way her breast falls and rises, her slender fingers pressed on the needle, and how her watchful eyes follow the string into the fabric.
"Seems that you have everyone in your whim."
"More like the baby than I." she chuckles as she pauses to take a drink.
"How are you feeling?" I ask her.
She glances at me, the pool of light shining on her face—illuminating her radiance. "I'm fine, amour."
I stand from the strongbox and then took a stool to sit next to her. I examine her handiwork, it looked like a bonnet and she has made intricate designs using only stitches to form a spiraling paisley pattern.
"Arno," she says as she continues with the sewing.
"Hmm?"
"When we have our baby, I know a perfect place in the countryside of Italy. I know a place in Monteriggioni or in Firenze. We can get there by carriage or simply by horseback, it may take days but the trip's end will be all worth it."
My fingers fidgeted with her hair, my thumb rubs the silky strand of her brown hair, she doesn't seem bothered by it as she continues to sew. I carefully take her hand holding the bonnet and my lips plant on the skin of her hand. I felt her fingers reach softly on my jaw and run down to trace it.
"We will see how things go, amour." I tell her gently.
I watch her handiwork—slender fingers repeat the same routine, gradually moving to a spiraling direction, and then another, until she would complete a whole spiral and proceed to another spot to embroider it again. She would have pauses from the sewing, hold her belly and taking deep breaths.
"If it were a girl, what would be her name?" I ask her.
She looks at me, then her eyes trail down whilst thinking, "Well, I haven't actually thought about it yet. Not even for a boy's name. Maybe it will come to me soon."
"I see. I'm sure you'll come up with something unique."
"I hope so."
As she was about to continue with her sewing, she was shocked and quickly clutched her abdomen. She looks at me again but this time with eyes widened with awe and she spoke to me with heaved breathing.
"Is something wrong?!" I panicked.
"It kicked!" she gasped happily.
She exhales in laughter.
"What?! A-Are you sure?"
"Yes, I felt it! Here,"
She takes my hand and places it on one part of her belly, we wait for a few minutes and I caught the same excitement as hers, I felt a short bump hit my palm and I met eyes with Celestine. We found ourselves laughing with immense joy.
"Are you listening to me and your mama, my darling?" I coo while still touching Celestine's womb.
Celestine laughs softly, "I'm glad I've made a family with you."
I caress her cheek, lean forward to tenderly kiss her, "I'm much gladder to have you as my wife."
Months later, Celestine has approached her later months of pregnancy and she's close to giving birth to their first child. Since she isn't allowed to do anything else, she passes the time by sewing more infant's clothing—with the bonnet she made as the first one—until she's completed a whole outfit for her baby.
As the days of the month pass, the child has been kicking more often—despite the excitement, it has made Celestine less mobile, slowing her down and forcing her to stay in one place. Days for Celestine went by like this.
"My darling, you're being quite a handful," Celestine coos in a motherly tone, something she's developed throughout her pregnancy, "But it's all right, mama's doing everything she can. I can't wait to have you in my arms."
Whenever Celestine would talk to her child, it would kick but not so much in a way that it would hurt her, rather it delighted her.
"How much longer do you think it will come out?" Arno asks.
"I don't know, but I suppose any time soon." Celestine replies.
Whenever they're not busy thinking about the baby, Celestine helps with cleaning up and disposing the bandages they've used up and decided to restock their medicines. The maids did not allow her to move too much—if there's an instance wherein something had to be moved from one room to the other and Celestine's about to do it, the maids would stop her in the tracks, take whatever it is she has in her hands and transport the deliverables themselves for the sake of not wearing out Celestine.
Another week enters. Celestine is beginning to feel different and she feels her abdomen tightening a bit. Today, she stays in the library—in the spot where she used to teach Italian to Arno: the satin armchair. If there is something that she does in her spare time, it's reading, or lounging in the garden. Before, she would spend her leisure in the practice room where she would try different weapons—but since she's quick with child, Andre does not allow her to lift any weapon in the room, especially an axe.
In the third week of the day, it is a rather cold night, Arno and Celestine get some peaceful quality time together in Arno's bedroom—in front of the hearth, they sit in velvet armchairs while enjoying a cup of warm chamomile tea.
"I hope moments like these don't vanish even if we have a child." Celestine mutters.
"It won't. I'll make sure we'll still these kinds of moments—the good old days." Arno reassures her.
A smile curves up in Celestine's docile and calm face, she takes another sip of the tea and realizes that she has drunken the last drop. She shifts her position to stand up and Arno sets aside his cup to help her.
"Grazie. I'll just get some more."
She stands up and makes for the door, until she drops the porcelain cup as she feels an abrupt contraction within her—a pain writhing within her that feels as if something is constricting her and feels warm fluid trickling down her legs—she leans to the door and gasps, panting for air, looking down she saw a thin amount of blood mixing with the water on her legs.
"Arno! Aidez-Moi! The baby…!"
Arno rushes to her side and carries her to his bed, pushing himself to the highest volume of his voice, he cries for help.
"Help! Celestine's giving birth! Madame Helena!"
The person nearest to them was a maid who seems to be just finishing her housekeeping rounds until she heard the painful moaning of Celestine and Arno calling for help. She rushes to the open door and finds Celestine squirming in discomfort and pain while Arno lends his hand for her to grip on.
"You! Please, call the maids! My wife is giving birth!"
"Oui, monsieur! Tout de suite!" the maid says as she rushes downstairs to alert the maids and most importantly Madame Helena.
"Madame! It's mademoiselle Celestine! She's about to give birth!"
Everyone in the work quarters ceased their work, indulging in the excitement and the tension happening altogether, but Madame Helena remains level-headed.
Madame Helena took it upon herself to act as the midwife while she assigns the maids to bring what she needs, "Bring me towels and a large basin of water," she turns to the housekeeper, "Where are they?"
"In monsieur Arno's bedroom."
"I want everything I need in Arno's bedroom in two minutes. Prêt! Quickly now."
The maids holding towels scampered behind Madame Helena, one maid ran ahead to the well to fetch the water for the basin and told her fellow maidens that she will be with them in a minute.
The maids saw Celestine struggling for breath as Arno becomes frantic, though his panic subsided when Madame Helena arrived at the scene. The oldest of the maids remained calm while guiding Celestine through her birthing.
"Celestine, no matter what happens, I need you to listen to me. Understand?"
"Yes…!" she gasps.
"Arno, hold her hand."
Arno immediately obeys and watches how everything works.
Madame Helena counts to three before Celestine could push and after every push, she attempts to catch her breath. One of the maids holding the towel wiped the sweat off of Helena's brow. It was a series of constantly asking for a soaked towel to wipe off the fluid coming out of Celestine as she pushes and pained moaning in the middle of the night where the man holding a rod begins to light the candles of the lampposts out in the streets.
Hours have passed, though it seems that the people in the room have lost the track of time as they were focused on delivering the baby. For Helena, it was relief to her old heart to hear the words "I can see the head" come out of her own mouth, and then for another span of hours, the rest of the infant comes out.
As soon as the baby has been finally pulled out, Helena slaps its flank until it cries, through Celestine's hazed vision from her puffy, teary eyes, she sees the blurred sight of her firstborn.
"It's a boy. He's healthy." Madame Helena announces.
She asks for the maids' help to carefully clean the babe and cut the cord. The room is filled with the cries of an infant boy—Celestine and Arno's firstborn.
Tears roll down her tired face as Madame Helena brings the bathed baby closer to the mother.
"Laurent Victor…" Celestine indistinctly whispers.
"What?" Arno asks.
"His name… I want to name him Laurent Victor…" she repeats and anxiously waits for Arno's approval, she sees the smirk in his face as he looks at her.
"I think it's a wonderful name."
"You think so?"
Arno sincerely nods.
The infant continues to cry but quiets down when Celestine brings her son closer to her breast, she coddles him but lets him cry so that it would strengthen his lungs; she waits it out for a few minutes and then takes the attempt to breastfeed him and he suckles hungrily.
The maids catch a glimpse of the baby and were all swooning and fawning over how beautiful the infant is. But when Madame Helena snaps them back to reality that they still have work to do, Arno and Celestine were left alone with their son.
"I'm glad both of you are all right." Arno.
"Do you want to carry him?"
Arno got startled, and then Celestine guided him on how to properly handle an infant. With her free hand—that was supposedly holding the bottom of the baby—she manually positions his arms and she hands over Laurent to him.
"Mind his head."
"He's so little." Arno begins to fawn over his son.
Arno tenderly looks at a sleeping Laurent, whispers that he'll grow up handsome like his father until Celestine cuts in, "I hope not as mischievous as you."
But then Arno became serious with a promise, "I promise I'll take care of you and your mother. I'll always protect you. One day, when you're big and strong, I'll teach you everything you need to know."
Two months later, Celestine and Arno temporarily lived in Versailles where it was less troublesome as Paris. Arno had someone who knew his late father arrange where they could live in peace even though it's no absolute guarantee that they would live in peace. In the quiet night, they left the mansion using a concealed carriage with a two-month-old Laurent.
FRENCH:
Aidez-Moi! – Help me!
Prêt! – Pronto! (from Italian)
