I awaken from an abyss of darkness, my eyes easing into the mellow shadows of a dark room. I am no longer in the palace infirmary where I once was. I recognize the painting that always sat opposite the wall facing our bed; the pegasus is in its traditional Gebi form - the winged horse - riding up into the heavens, rays of divine golden light gracing the fur of its back, an iridescent mane falling in grace, like golden Kassiopei hair except pearly and white, much like the akhal-teke breed of EarthTurkmen horses.

And then I register the lightness of my lower body and the missing weight of the swollen bump that sat on my stomach for the last few months. It had remained a steady presence that I had gotten so used to, excited for motherhood and everything that came with it. A stab of panic hits me, so much so, that I blindly reach out, my breathing becoming elevated as the great, suffocating pressure of grief swells in my throat.

"Gwen - calm down -" familiar lapis-lazuli eyes stare into mine, easing the turmoil. So warm and familiar and loving in every way that I know. Surely, if our daughter was gone, somehow I know Aeson would be grieving too. His calm helps to quiet me. His hands are holding my face as if I was something precious, strong capable fingers smoothing back tumbled strands of hair on my forehead so that the burning electricity of his touch scalds me with pleasure and reassurance. "Shh, im amrevu, it's alright. Everything is alright now."

"The baby-"

"She is sleeping at the moment."

A wave of relief washes over me.

Aeson eases me into our bed, wrapping me in his muscular arms and pressing me to his chest so that the steady strum of his powerful heart is beating against my ear, his familiar scent of masculine musk wafting over every sense of mine.

"Is there any water? Mt throat is parched–" My husband reaches over to the nightstand where there is a tall carafe waiting. He gently tilts the vessel against my lips and I gulp the cool liquid that flows down my throat. It doesn't taste like water, but something different. It has a cooling aftertaste that cleanses the sticky sense of sleep from my mouth and washes my palette with mild sweetness, leaving behind a metallic tinge, which I suspect is iron. "Oh, it's sweet! What is it?"

He smiles at me in amusement. "The midwife left it there instead of the water – some kind of tonic, rich with minerals to rejuvenate you after the ordeal–" Here, he grows silent as the expression on his elegant face darkens.

I recall the events that followed after I gave birth to Margot. Or maybe I don't. I recall laying there as they took her away, to clean her up, ensure her health, and then something happened. That, I have yet to know. And so I ask Aeson.

"After the birth, there was a complication. You had heavy internal bleeding – a postpartum haemorrhage, I believe the Earth medical term is. You lost too much blood too fast and your body went into shock."

"But I'm fine now?"

He looks down, a curtain of his gold silky hair falling into his face. I use my fingertips to gently push it back, and at the contact of my skin, he takes a shaky breath, his eyes staring into mine. "Yes. You are fine now," and then he blinks. "Gwen, I don't know what I would have done if you weren't. I. . . I was petrified that I was going to lose you forever. It happened so fast and so suddenly. And when your eyes closed. . . I lost it completely."

"It's okay, amrevu. As you tell me, I am okay. And Margot?"

My heart melts at the adorable little smile that crosses his lips when he thinks of her. "We have a fat, healthy little baby. Our daughter has a good pair of lungs on her; when she cries, the entire palace knows."

I giggle as the pressure begins, this time without the bitterness of grief, but a triumphant burst of joy in my chest. "You say she is asleep right now? When can I hold her?"

"She has a peculiar sleeping schedule. That is to say, she sleeps all day, just in short intervals. I last put her down about–" he checks his wrist-comm unit "–an hour and a half ago. So she'll be up in about another half-hour. I can bring her here for you then."

"Why can't I get up to see her now?"

"Because you are too weak right now. Besides, you might wake her and that is a whole other dilemma." His lips quiver has he talks, holding back laughter.

"How much time has passed since the birth?"

"Two days."

I feel a stab of rising trepidation and then bite my lip as it occurs to me. "Will she even remember me? I only held her once and that was right after she was born."

"I don't know. You're her mother, she must know your touch."

Processing his words, the familiar pressure returns but I swallow it down thickly so that I don't break down into a complete mush-ball. And then I pout because I must wait. I look up at him. "Tell me about her. I must hear everything there is to know."

"Well," he begins, settling against the pillow. "Margot is, in your Earth metric, seven pounds, ten ounces when she was last measured. As I've said, she cries with much raucous, and will only settle down when her necessities are met: her diapers changed, sufficiently fed, and sometimes, just a mere snuggle."

I put a hand to my mouth, giggling. "A snuggle?"

"Oh yes. She loves snuggles. And she will make these tiny noises of comfort when you are holding her, it is quite cute."

Oh, Aeson.

"Have you been with her these two days?"

"Yes, mostly," he says. "I had an IEC meeting at some point and my mother was all too happy and eager to look after Margot in my absence. Of course, she has been helping me."

"I can only imagine." I say.

Devora Kassiopei, my mother-in-law, has always reminded me of my own mother. Even in my acquaintance with Aeson's parents in those first initial moments when I first arrived on Atlantis, I found her to be such a gentle, soothing contrast to her mercurial husband, even her mere presence. During my first trimester, the idea of having my first pregnancy without my own mother there terrified me to the point of tears, but somehow the knowledge that I'd at least have Devora there consoled me enough.

I ask Aeson about my father.

"Yes. Your father has also very generously offered his help. I think he has. . . what do call it?"

"Baby fever? Oh yeah, Dad is fond of babies and kids." I say. "I also think that he would have wanted to be part of her life. We did name her after my mother."

Aeson is looking at me with intense eyes, likely trying to see if I am going to get emotional.

"We did," he says softly.

I rest my head down on his chest, and we lay there in quiet intimacy, simply relishing in each other's presence. I inhale Aeson's musky scent and think of Margot and how much she looks like him. How her childhood might turn out. Will we send her to the fleet like Aeson? Or will she be inevitably sheltered like Manala? I wonder if my siblings have met Margot as yet. What about the daimon and our extended family like Tutanamat and Irumala Argosaen, Aeson's grandparents? As I am fond of all of them, our friends and family, I want them all to be part of our daughter's life. . . eventually.

The sound of something high-pitched rings loudly into our room. I know immediately what it is and I feel my nerves jitter like molecules in heat. It's loud and echoing, bouncing off our walls and leaving a ringing impact, like the wail of a siren, and I begin to wonder if the effect of Margot's scream is the Logos Voice manifesting already. The bed creaks as Aeson gets up, kissing my head as he must recognise the worry in my eyes.

"Wait here."

I hear movement rattle around our quarters. And then I hear footsteps getting louder as they approach the entrance. My heart starts to pound and the pressure returns with the force of an ocean, drowning me with salt. Aeson comes walking in with a cooing infant in his arms – it is such a delicate sight, the first time I am seeing him holding a baby. I notice that she is not crying anymore, but she hicups with her face pressed against his shoulder, and Aeson was right – she is making these soft sounds that sound like adorable whines. She pauses, observing that she is in an unfamiliar room, grasping onto her Father's shirt with tiny and tight fists.

And then her large burning gaze falls on me, this strange female sitting quietly and observing her as well. There is that moment again, and I know it is unique. She has that innocently awed curiosity in her wide gaze. From here, I cannot recognise the colour of them, but I know from memory, I always will. It's an in-between shade, lighter than lapis-lazuli, but darker than pale baby blue. Perhaps, a little like Devora's cobalt eyes that are lighter than Aeson's.

Im amrevu comes to sit next me, still holding our infant, and I find that I cannot look away. She is beautiful, just like her father, born with a full head of thick golden hair that stays in a kind of angelic halo around her large head. Her eyes are unusually wide and her face and cheeks are chubby and pink. I am reminded of how tiny she truly is as she looks at me over the contrast of Aeson's thick bicep.

"Now, Gwen. It is her feeding time. The doctors informed me that your body will produce breast-milk on it's own," he looks up at me with an intent expression. "Do you think you might want to breastfeed her now?"

Even now, I realize that he is speaking in a soothing voice, quiet and steady and I know that it is all for Margot's benefit. She seems to enjoy the sound of it as much as I do. To answer his question, I look deep into his eyes so he can see the determination there.

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"Alright." He leans towards me after I've taken off the bra, carefully transferring Margot's body from his arms to mine. I notice when she is taken that she makes a small whimper as she looks up at my face. I feel disappointment at myself begin to simmer. Maybe she doesn't remember me?

"Hold her close and gentle, give her your warmth. She likes that."

I do as Aeson instructs. He is, after all, the more experienced between the two of us. When I hold her to my chest, her little body radiating warmth of it's own, she begins to make the whining sounds again. And then, she begins to squirm in my arms, so much so, that I hold her closer for fear that I might drop her. Aeson makes a move to take her back. But she pauses at my chest.

I think it's instinctual – she reaches out with chubby hands and holds one of my breasts close to her face. Her skin is soft, but inexperienced, like the concept of grasping something is still new, which it is.I manoeuvre a nipple close to her lips and she latches on. It is such an strange feeling in that moment – to have someone suck on your body, your breasts, in such an intimate act.

The sensation is a sacred thing of bonds to my family. The first time I've had my nipples stimulated like this with the mouth was by Aeson, done for pleasure. Now, Margot is doing it out of necessity, sucking with force to stimulate the flow of milk. She is looking up at me when she does it, staring at me with her burning eyes and drinking from my body. I glance up.

Aeson is transfixed on the sight of us. The sight of Margot feeding off me gives him satisfaction. Or something else. Something delicate and so very tender. His large hand comes around mine, cupping her head while his thumb softly strokes the small tufts of golden hair. Her large eyes shift from him to me. Nothing is more precious. She is looking at her parents, Aeson and I. And there is something like wonder there. It is perfect.