Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Reiss couldn't say anything. She was laying in shock at this perfect little body stretched upon her. Soft, and warm, and so fragile; she felt a rising urge to shield her baby girl with everything in her body. Unable to help himself, Alistair drew up her curled fists, letting each one fall back onto Reiss while he laughed at the simplicity of it all. A baby. Their own baby.

  "I'm your Daddy. I will also accept Dad, Da, and Waa, my pants are wet," he babbled, both parents fingers unable to stop touching their baby. For a brief second his eyes broke from the miracle resting upon Reiss' chest to stare at her, "And this is your Mom. Though you probably already knew that one."

  "Hi," Reiss felt silly introducing herself to the baby that rested inside of her for ten months. But as she spoke, those fine little eyelids rose to beam a pair of beautiful, bright green eyes on her.

  "Just like her mother," Alistair smiled at the sight before burrowing his nose into Reiss' neck as he tried to hug his family tight.

  With a close view, Reiss spotted within the field of green a few dribbles of brown. There was some of her father in there, no doubt. Certainly more would begin to show itself with time. Slowly, she drew her fingers around the baby's head, smoothing down the 'wheat' hair before coming to rest upon her tiny ears. She couldn't deny the small frown at feeling round nubs where her heart told her points should be.

  "Reiss?"

  "Even with...I thought maybe given your, uh," she glanced around at the people surrounding them who didn't need to know about Alistair's dubious parentage, "I'd hoped for pointy ears."

  "Oh," he brushed his face closer to their baby, pecking his lips to her warm head and smiling. "You know, I think I see a little bump here. It's not much, but..."

  She drew her fingers around the shell of her baby's ear, careful to gently tease it around and felt what could have been nothing more than a pimple. It was silly. It didn't matter what her ears looked like, or if she had green or brown eyes. She was healthy, she was here. She was theirs.

  "I love you, Reiss," Alistair whispered first to her, and then to their baby, "And I love you too, little one."

  "Myra," she said, gently smoothing down her little girl's hair. Alistair blinked in confusion at her. "Her name is Myra."

  "So we're not doing the naming tradition then?" he asked.

  Reiss chuckled, remembering back to how they met, "I'd rather skip the assassins if it's all the same."

  That caused him to laugh. Alistair moved to scoop Myra off her chest, then paused and looked to the mother. Reiss nodded that of course he could. With the practiced hand of a now thrice-over father, Alistair cuddled the baby close in his arms and whispered to her, "Myra Sayer Theirin."

  At that Reiss sat up, "Theirin? Is that wise."

  "She's my daughter. Might as well get stuck with the family name."

  People would hate it. They'd rail against it. A bastard was a child with two names, a motherless bastard with one. To give her three would be considered legitimizing her and to have the King do it would draw her into the line of secession. Reiss sighed, exhaustion quickly overtaking the burst of energy from joy. She could talk him out of it later. For now, let him love his daughter.

  "She's so warm. Maker I forgot how warm they are. And the smell," Alistair smiled. He'd unbuttoned the first few on his shirt in order to tuck his baby girl tight to his skin. Flesh of my flesh. Reiss reached over to caress down Myra's back. "My little Wheaty," he chuckled again.

  Myra's bright greens opened a moment at her father's words and then the crying commenced.

  * * *

  The new family took a few hours to get cleaned up, as rested as one can with a newborn, and for Reiss to get some milk into Myra's belly before Alistair went to tell everyone the good news. He was sitting in the chair holding Myra while Reiss lay in bed when the Queen appeared with her children in tow. Cailan was in her arms, his exhausted head laying upon her chest as he must have been roused from a nap or perhaps sleep itself.

  Reiss wasn't certain what time it was, or even what day.

  "Congratulations," Beatrice tipped her head to the mistress while acting as civil as possible. "Satinalia is an auspicious day to be born. There are no doubt great things in this child's life."

  "No," Reiss groaned, "she did not come out on..."

  "Yup, biggest holiday of the year. Bet she's gonna love you for choosing it," Alistair leaned over to Reiss and pecked a kiss on her cheek.

  "As if I had any say in the matter," Reiss groaned to herself.

  The princess clutched tight to her mother's skirt, her rarely pacified thumb suckered into her mouth. She peered first over at Reiss in bed, then at her father holding onto the baby. Slowly, the girl risked inching nearer to Alistair. When nothing deadly shot out of the blankets in his hand, she removed her thumb and gripped onto his knee.

  "See Spuddy," Alistair tipped Myra towards her, "a new little sister." The girl eyed up the baby with cautious disinterest before popping her thumb back in her mouth. "Oh, come here," Alistair slid Myra over to one arm then scooped the other around his first daughter. She fully abandoned her mother's skirt in order to hug around her father's neck, the princess laughing at the kisses he peppered her in.

  "You know I love you, Spud. All three of you. Even you, sleeping beauty," he chuckled and jerked his chin to Cailan who seemed to be slowly rousing from his nap.

  The boy took a few more blinks before he caught sight of his sister in his father's arms then began to slide out of Beatrice's. As Cailan rushed over for a hug, the princess slipped away, her little emerald eyes rolling wide. When Cailan received his requisite kiss to the forehead, he gripped onto the edge of Alistair's arm under the blanket and peered in at Myra's bright pink face.

  "Baby?"

  "Yep, another sister for you too."

  "I wanna hold!" Cailan insisted extending his hands out as if the newborn was about to be plopped into them.

  "Cailan, that's..." Beatrice reached over, but Alistair waved it off.

  "I got this." He smoothly lifted Myra up into the air, the baby gurgling from the move but not crying, then he patted his lap. Cailan was quick to scurry up into it. "Okay, hold your hands out like this," Alistair commanded and he slowly settled Myra into the boy's arms while still maintaining his steady grip below.

  "Baby!" Cailan squealed, entertained with the tiny child he stared down at.

  "This is Myra," Alistair said, his nose bonking into the back of his son's head after.

  "Then you..." Beatrice glanced over at Reiss, "have forgone the tradition."

  "There didn't seem to be much point," Reiss admitted. "Not as if the chantry wants to get involved."

  The Queen flinched at her laying out the facts so succinctly, then nodded, "I suppose that is true." Reiss wasn't delusional enough to think her child would be welcomed by everyone just because Alistair wished it to be. Besides, she wasn't about to call her child 'baby' for a good month in order to appease some old rule to keep her from getting attached.

  Cailan began to kick his legs in excitement, one plowing into Alistair's shin as he cried, "I want a baby!"

  "A baby? You're a little young for that," he laughed to hide the pain. "How about a doll instead?"

  "If Caywen gets a doll, then I get a sword! A real one too!" the princess spun fast towards her father, quick to cut in on this deal.

  "Spud, we've been over this. You can't have a real sword until you're how old?"

  She gripped onto the bedspread below Reiss and groaned, "Ten."

  "And how old are you now?" Alistair continued questioning her.

  "Six," she shot out through clenched teeth.

  "Which means there are how many more years remaining until you can hit people with a metal sword?"

  The girl grumbled into her hands, not wanting to relent. It was Cailan who spoke up in his happy, singsong voice, "Four."

  That caused all the adults to whip their heads over at the boy who was still enthralled with the idea of his own baby. "You're right," A
listair breathed against him, "and scare me sometimes. We know you didn't get your smarts from me," he chuckled to the kid meaning it as a compliment to the boy's mother, but a deafening silence fell. Every adult in that room knew the truth, that Cailan got nothing from his father. The only child who did wasn't even a day old.

  Reiss tried to not look over at Beatrice, but she felt the glare increasing tenfold. Maker's sake, was this how it was always going to be? Reiss didn't want her daughter anywhere near the throne. Alistair didn't want Myra on it either. The Queen had nothing to fear and yet...

  "Where'd the baby come from?" The princess' voice shattered the rising tension to replace it with a new awkward one.

  "Wh...?" Alistair coughed and sputtered, his face turning as pink as their baby daughter's. "What do you mean?"

  "First it was in there," she pointed at Reiss deflated stomach, then turned to her father, "now it's there. How?"

  "Oh sweet merciful Maker," Alistair gasped as the other two women sighed in relief at not having to explain reproduction to the six year old at that moment. The girl, however, wanted an explanation for this parlor trick. She folded her arms tight to her chest and glowered at her father.

  Alistair began, "Well, you know when your tummy hurts really bad, Spud?" He couldn't be serious. Reiss shook her head, catching Beatrice's eye a moment. He was serious. The girl nodded in agreement as the man continued, "And then you go to the bathroom and you feel better. That's kinda how it works."

  She fell silent, digesting her father's words with a seriousness only a young child was capable of. It seemed to work to satiate her curiosity when the girl suddenly spat out in an accusatory fashion at Reiss, "You pooed a baby out?"

  "That, uh... Bloody hell, Alistair," Reiss spat at the man who was shrugging his shoulders and trying to bury the embarrassment into the baby and the back of his son's head. The Queen politely palmed her face at the idiocy then beckoned her daughter to her. Sliding over, Reiss whispered in Alistair's ear, "I know who's not having the birds and bees talk with our daughter now."

  He chuckled at that, his come-what-may shrug lapping across those gorgeous eyes. Unable to take it, Reiss cupped her fingers against his jaw for a sweet kiss. Even feeling like someone jammed a flaming hot sword up her Abyssal Reach she couldn't stop loving this giant goof.

  "Come along, son," Beatrice suddenly spoke up, breaking the two lovebirds apart. "We should let them alone to rest."

  Cailan stuck out his lip, not wanting to give up on his baby, but at his mother's look he sighed and began to wiggle out. Would Reiss get that same skill? She could barely get her cat to stay off the counter. Maker's breath, how was she going to control a toddler?

  The Queen scooped her hands around her son and moved to tug her daughter away when Reiss suddenly sat up with a thought, "Beatrice?" She flinched at using the woman's given name and not title, but the Queen didn't react. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

  "I..." she glanced down at her pair of children, then her eyes began to water as Alistair slid up to his legs. "I would, please." As the father left his daughter in the Queen's arms Beatrice snuggled Myra tighter to her breast. Alistair sat down on the bed beside Reiss, the pair of them locking hands together.

  For awhile Beatrice stood in silence staring down at the tiny creature asleep in her arms. She seemed as much in awe of her as the ones who created Myra. Reiss often wondered if the woman didn't wish she could have had more children, but the Maker was cruel and cut her off as soon as she got going.

  "You know," Alistair spoke up, "she's gonna need some help and hands to hold her. If you want to take the baby for a bit, show her how to be as lady-like as our daughter who's sticking her finger into the placenta we need to burn..." At the sudden attention of her parents the princess snaked her fingers away and began to stare at the ceiling.

  "I," Beatrice tipped her head in gratitude, "it would be my pleasure." She shuffled forward, Cailan clinging tight to her skirt as she moved to deposit Myra back in Reiss' arms. "You are very blessed. She is a beautiful baby."

  "Thank you," Reiss said.

  "Let's go children. I believe we can have one quick slice of cake before bed," Beatrice smiled.

  "Weally?" the princess gasped, her lisp snapping back as joy overflowed off her face. Cailan tugged up and down on Beatrice's gown to register his own excitement.

  "Yes," she smiled, wrapping both kids with her arms, "We have reason to celebrate your new sister." All joys and laughter, the three of them left the room to go ransack the larder.

  Alistair snuggled against Reiss in the bed, both of them watching Myra stretched out upon her chest. There were so many what ifs ahead for the little girl. What would the court think? How would she be accepted not only here but within the streets of Denerim? Would she begin to look more elven with each year or always pass as human?

  "I love you," Alistair breathed beside her. "If I was any happier rainbows would burst out of my belly button."

  With one hand wrapped around her daughter, who would become whatever she wanted to be and whom Reiss would protect her regardless, she cupped her sort-of husband's cheek. "I love you too."

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Penance

  5 weeks old...

  Her voice hummed softly above the crackle of the fire, her boy's head twisting around to try and follow the sound while those amber eyes honed in on his mother. He got so into it, he kicked his little feet and twisted an arm, causing the blanket to slip off his stomach. Lana tried to pick back up the song as she tucked her wiggly son up into the warm wool. As winter loomed colder than they thought possible, Lana would often sit in the kitchen by the great hearth to keep both herself and her son warm.

  Cullen noticed her trekking down there, sometimes in the middle of the night thanks to their boy deciding play time was best by moonlight, and moved the comfier chair into the kitchen. A few of the servants drifted in and out, nodding at the mother and trying to catch a glimpse of the bright eyed baby before sadly having to get back to work. Even as she was enraptured with the bundle in her arms, she'd on occasion stir a pot or yank a potentially burning pan out of the fire.

  A little gurgle broke from the boy and she glanced down to catch a very tiny lift of his lips. "Are you smiling?" she asked, her own stretching wide from the possibility. At the attention of his mother, he smacked his lips together and then blew a giant bubble. Lana laughed at the antics and tried to wipe his messy face off.

  "Well, you'll get it next time," she said, lifting her boy up to her lips to kiss him on the cheek.

  The kitchen door blew open and a giant's silhouette nearly crammed the entryway shut. Lana's breath caught, her fingers almost dipping into the veil, when a very familiar and very loud voice shouted, "Where's the baby?!"

  Hawke stepped into the light, looking far more wild than she had in recent years. Her hair had returned to a few random jagged cuts, then knotted back to try and tame it, and she wore tight but padded armor. The last time Lana saw her she was in a Maker given dress of all things.

  The Champion stared around the room in a tizzy, then honed in on the baby in Lana's arms. "Is that...?" she gasped.

  "There aren't any other babies around so I certainly hope so," Lana smiled at her cousin.

  Falling to her knees, Hawke bunched her face up closer to the infant that was carefully eyeing up this stranger. Her finger slowly drifted out towards the baby as if she thought he might try to bite it off, when another pair of silhouettes appeared in the door -- both male. Lana caught the pinched face of her husband as he was no doubt trying to catch his breath after failing to catch a runaway Hawke. After wiping the sweat of a winter sprint from his forehead, Cullen smiled at his wife, then his eyes drifted over to the other person that joined their little party. In the line of people her husband would let live but only because his wife asked, this man probably sat at the top.

  Anders looked like shit. She probably shouldn't think it and certainly wouldn't say it, but it was the truth. Time
, or perhaps his lifestyle choice, had worn down what had once been a lithe, debonair attitude to gaunt leeriness. His head pivoted around, searching for anyone or anything about to clap him back in irons. While the eyes seemed to have faded to a duller brown, and he'd abandoned his feathery coat for something with fur, he still kept that same small blonde ponytail.

  "Look, it's a baby!" Hawke shouted in pure ecstasy.

  "Gavin," Lana said, her face full of soft smiles at the joy in her cousin. Cullen slid closer to his wife, his hands trying to wring out the knots in her shoulders as he stared down at their named son. The ceremony was simple but beautiful, performed in the small village chantry that could at most seat ten people. Mia stood there on the last day before she returned home, grinning wide and proud of her nephew and brother, along with all the people who worked in the abbey that could manage to get away. She'd never thought much of the tradition, but Cullen cared, and standing before Andraste declaring to the world that this was their child was a moment she'd treasure forever.

  Hawke scuttled nearer, her single finger reaching over to boop the baby on the nose. Gavin giggled at that, his hands swiping over to try and get her to do it again. Of course, the mighty Champion and slayer of Qunari giggled in response. She stared wide eyed at this tiny thing in complete awe.

  "He's got his momma's smile," she observed.

  "Does he?" Lana tried to tip her boy around to face her, but he was having too much fun with this new plaything.

  "Course, look at that. It's all teeth, would be teeth if there were any. Thank the Maker too. No offense and all Curly," she snickered, easily throwing around Varric's nickname for Cullen. "But you are Captain Dour when it comes to smiling."

  He tipped his head, his fingers curling around their son's cheek. The attention of his father drew those amber eyes right up to Cullen who gave his beautiful, hard-fought smile in response, "None taken. I'd much rather he grin like his mother. Laugh like her."