My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Yeah," Lana gulped, her eyes burning from the salt that kept streaking down her cheeks. "No matter how badly I fail, he..."

  "Hey, hey," Mia drew her hand down Lana's arm, trying to soothe her. "You're doing great here. None of it's easy, but it can be good. Fun sometimes."

  She turned over to her sister-in-law and tried to smile. While her heart sang with joy, especially as her son's belly filled with her milk, a cloud kept creeping over her thoughts.

  Happy. She was supposed to be happy. She was happy. Her son lived, she lived. It was a good turn of events, even if...

  "That one's quite the gorger, huh?" Mia smiled, her eyes upon the child suckling like no tomorrow. His tiny fist wrapped safely inside a pair of pajama mittens landed upon Lana's breast as if he wished to pump even more into his growing belly.

  With a finger curling down his warm cheek, she sighed, "He has a lot to make up for."

  "How are you doing?" Mia turned the tables on her.

  Cullen's sister was close enough like him that they'd often find themselves at odds, but different enough they didn't fall into all out war. She was the leader of the family, stern but kind, with an unbendable will. He'd joke that if Mia and Lana ever came to different sides of a cause all of thedas would sunder in half. Funny enough, it hadn't happened yet.

  "Tired," Lana admitted, "but happy."

  "Feel like an ogre ripped you in half?" Mia laughed, a shine glinting off her smile. She had a rare streak of orneriness in her soul that seemed to pass by most other Rutherfords.

  "Maker, yes. Sitting is...cumbersome. And I fear in those first few days I changed my diaper as often as his," Lana groaned, grateful that the blood and chunks dripping out of her had slowed. Her little boy released off her nipple and he smacked his lips as if to give gratitude to the chef for a fine meal. For a brief window he opened his eyes, a flare of thick black eyelashes highlighting a burst of amber.

  "Good morning to you, too," Lana cooed, her son falling quickly to sleep with a warm meal inside him. He only managed to stare a few times at nothing before fading back down.

  "Maker's breath," Mia shifted closer, "he's adorable. And, fair warning, but I fear he's going to be the spitting image of his father."

  "Oh?" Lana lifted an eyebrow as if she was surprised, but in truth, she began to suspect.

  "Every Rutherford baby I've seen starts out like that. Tiny and thin, but those fat rolls will come in in a few months along with the curls. Then out pops the nose and no doubt he'll be lecturing you with his chubby little arms crossed."

  Lana laughed at the vision, "I was more or less prepared for that eventuality." She circled her hands under her son's warm back and bent over to brush her lips to his forehead. Smooth and soft, she barely touched it while whispering, "I was hoping for it."

  A little copy of Cullen, duskier mind you. Her blood always had some say in those matters. But with that serious turn, and those blazing eyes, and sense of doing what was right even if it cost him, was there any reason to hope for something else?

  Blinking away her motherly haze, she glanced over at Mia. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

  "I hoped you'd ask," she smiled wide, greedy to swoop an infant into her arms. "Maker, I forgot how this felt. Hits ya right in the...well, everywhere. You never want to leave them." Her fingers shifted away the blanket covered in rounded mabari to stare down at the boy's face. Exhausted, his little bow lips whiffled a breath in sleep, the eyelashes so long they skirted over the tops of his cheeks.

  "Figured out what you're going to call him?" Mia asked.

  "There's tradition," Lana shifted on her haunches. While she'd not cared much for it, given the circumstances of his birth and the fact Cullen didn't seem to want to actively discuss it, she fell back to that.

  "Oh, tradition. Sure," Mia nodded. People scared of growing attached to a child not bound long for the world turned that into a game, a special day. No one named the child until it'd been a few weeks, or a month, or they were certain it would survive. Not everyone followed it, though name-days were still celebrated across Ferelden because traditions had to be honored and cake needed no real reason.

  "But," Mia continued, the boy easily cradled in her arms. "I always had a secret name I called mine before it was the big day. You can't not. Callin' 'em baby and boy all the time's weird. Especially if you have a much bigger baby stomping around."

  Lana caught on that she was referring to her husband and by proxy Lana's husband as well. "Cullen's not acting up, he's...very busy. We hadn't planned on this coming so soon and there were a lot of matters in the abbey left to attend to."

  "Alright," Mia nodded her head to the exhausted mother, "but if he steps out of line for a moment."

  "I'm certain his big sister will knock him back into place," Lana smiled. Leaning back, she felt the allure of sleep calling to her. Would it be so bad to close her eyes for a moment?

  As if reading her thoughts, Mia's voice dropped to a whisper, "Go on ahead and rest up. I can keep track of this little one for you. They don't move very far at this age."

  "Thank you. And thank you for coming out here to help."

  Before closing her eyes for a nap, Lana watched Mia cup her nephew's cheek and smile in return. "You're family, family looks out for family. And, don't worry, Lana. You're a good mother."

  Maker, how she wished that were true.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Whole World

  Ten days old...

  Cullen was glad to have Mia out to help Lana as she adjusted to this new life of being a mother. He was, however, less than thrilled to have his eldest sister poking her nose into matters that didn't concern her. She was a professional in such things, the family busybody who knew everyone's business whether they wished her to or not. Even his leaving for templar training didn't stop Mia from learning secrets about Cullen's rather secluded life he didn't want a soul to know. In retrospect, it was rather amazing how long he kept his love of Lana out of Mia's all seeing eye.

  For the past few days she'd been at Lana's side, often helping to change the baby and assist in feedings. The pair of them seemed to have a good handle on things, leaving Cullen even more uncertain of what to do. He made it a priority to check on his wife and son during the day, always getting a smile from Lana. The boy's reaction tended to depend upon if he'd eaten recently or not. And all the while there was this glare from Mia. He doubted Lana caught it, she was far too busy and hadn't grown up with the woman.

  Whatever was eating up his sister, he knew he'd hear about it sooner or later. If Cullen had it his way, she'd shout it while on the horse ride back to her home near South Reach. Shaking off the thoughts, he dug the shovel deeper into the ground. They'd been putting off digging a new latrine hole for far too long. It felt good to be outside doing something even as the winter winds chilled his skin. The exercise warmed his bones back up while he took a crack at breaking into somewhat frozen earth.

  Honor huffed from beside him. The old girl did not approve of this newest mewling thing in her home. Luckily, she knew how to bat her eyes and find comfort in the other warm beds around the abbey. Last he heard she was sharing a room with one of the old templars from Nevarra who adored dogs. "You know you should be over here helping," Cullen said to his dog. She didn't rise from her position upon a blanket she swiped off a bed, but the stub of a tail wagged at the attention. "Aren't dogs supposed to be excellent diggers?"

  "Cullen!" A voice shattered the frost bitten air and he turned over his shoulder to catch what he'd feared was coming. Mia looked as if she could spit fire, her face knotted into true Rutherford rage.

  "Here it comes," he groaned, turning back to the hole as he plunged the shovel head deeper in.

  "Will you blighted look at me...?!" Her fury was cut short by the sound of a tiny voice yawning in chirps from her arms.

  At that he spun on his heels and glared down at the peek of brown flesh hidden between piles of furs. "For the Maker's sake, what are you doing with
him out here?! It's freezing!"

  "What are you doing out here?" she turned on him.

  Cullen gripped tighter to the shovel, more aware of the cold than he had been for the past two hours. "Working," he grumbled, a mix of shame burning up his gut.

  "Working? That's your excuse. The middle of winter and you suddenly have to dig a hole. By Andraste's grace, this is your son. Your baby boy," she jostled the child as if he suddenly forgot that fact.

  "I'm well aware," he said, both hands wringing tight around the shovel's staff.

  "Three days and I haven't seen you pick him up once. Carry him. Hold him. Not even talk to him!" She all but batted the shovel out of Cullen's hands and then dropped the baby into them.

  Maker's sake! He scrambled quickly, trying to tuck the pile of blankets and somewhere in there his infant son tight into his arms. "Are you mad?" he gasped, terror clinging to his tongue.

  "Yes, white-hot spitting mad. What in the void is wrong with you?" She reached over and flicked a finger against his head. "This is your child. Yours! You made him, but you walk around as if he just got dropped off on your doorstep by a kindly old mama wolf."

  "I..." He heard a little squeal not of pain but not exactly happy either from deep within the blankets. Like carrying a load of towels, Cullen locked his hands tight under the baby and stood at attention. He had no idea what he was doing, but prayed he didn't do any damage.

  "Your wife needs you, your son needs you." Mia was a good head shorter than him, but in her rage she browbeat Cullen down until he was staring up at her. "But no, all you do is smile at her, then vanish off for the day to dig holes into frozen dirt."

  "Mi, you don't understand," he struggled around the words lodged in his throat. The ones he knew he should never speak aloud but couldn't escape.

  "Understand what? That all of a sudden my baby brother's become a lazy arsehole? Cause that ain't what Mom raised you to be, I know that much. Dad would skin you alive for the shit you're pulling right now."

  A sliver of tears bounded in his eyes at the memory of their long gone parents while he held his own progeny in his hands. "It's not that. I can't take care of him, okay."

  "Why? Why in all of thedas can't the father take care of the son he created?"

  "Because I don't love him," Cullen whispered, his breath spurting out in puffs of smoke on the wind. Each one shook, revealing his failures as a father, as a husband, and as a man.

  Mia's mouth dropped open in shock, but then she rolled her eyes and shouted, "So the fuck what? This isn't about love, it's responsibilities! It's duty to your kin, and that's your kin right there in your arms."

  The baby began to coo and Cullen tugged back the flap of a blanket to reveal a bit more of his cheek. For the first time, he dared to let his finger slide against the tiny nub. It was so warm and soft. A blast of winter air erupted through the stones, causing the baby to switch to wailing from the cold.

  Maker's breath. See! He wasn't meant for this. He failed at every turn. All he could do was reap misery.

  He began to hand the baby back to Mia to soothe, but she folded her arms tight and shook her head, "No. You figure it out."

  "I...fine!" He had no idea what to do beyond a few memories of the other recent mothers who'd paced around the abbey. It wasn't as if templars had a lot of children running around in the Circle. The baby was cold so cover him. He slipped the blanket back over but that only increased the wailing. Blighted hell, what did this kid want? Feeling another chill dancing up his hand, Cullen had an idea. Perhaps it was stupid, most likely it was, but he wiggled his hand in between the blanket and pressed it against his son's chilled face.

  It took a few more wailing cries but as his warmth passed to his son, they slowed until the baby began to coo once again. "That tiny they don't need love right now. They need to be kept warm, they need food, and they need safety," Mia said. "You can do that. It's pretty much what you do for everyone else around here."

  "I'm sorry," he breathed to the boy he wished was in his heart. Was Cullen so truly broken he couldn't let another in? "Why," he tried to shake away the shame on his head. "Why don't I...?"

  His sister sighed and shook her head, "I don't know why right now. But it'll happen. Most likely you will come to love your son. It might take a few days, or could be years. You might not like him until he's talking or swinging a sword. Things ain't...it doesn't always go in a straight line. For the love of the Maker, what am I doing comforting you? You're a right pain in the ass sometimes, you know that."

  "I'm far from the only one in the family," Cullen chuckled.

  Mia ignored the barb, his sister clearly having more on her mind. "Take over, before Lana gets any worse."

  "Worse?" Panic gripped tight to Cullen's negligent throat, "What do you mean? I thought she was healing well. The draughts and spells..."

  "Her body maybe, but her soul... Do you ever look at her smile? Her eyes? How much she's crying when no one's looking?"

  Oh no. Cullen drew the baby tighter to his arms as he dashed across the yard and up the stairs. The darkness. He'd not considered its return a possibility. While he'd been laboring under the strain of feigning love for the baby it was obvious that Lana was deliriously enraptured with their son. She cared beyond words for him, but... Maker's sake, man, you know love doesn't cure that.

  Rather than politely knock, he barreled through their bedroom door. Lana sat in the darkness of the drawn curtains perched upon the bed. Her head was hanging down as she clung white knuckled to the rumpled blanket. The first sob struck Cullen harder than any shield to the nose could.

  "Lana," he whispered her name, easing slowly into the room.

  She tried to mop the tears away, all the ones he chose to not see, then turned back with the fake smile. "There you are," her voice wandered until nearly ending in a question mark. "Both of you, I see," the smile lifted a bit at the sight of her son trying to peer out from the blankets, but it wasn't enough.

  Cullen scooted onto the bed, one hand clinging tight to the baby while the other drew back her hair. His palm skidded across salt crusted to her cheeks. How many tears had she been shedding in private?

  "How bad?" he asked.

  "No, it..." she instantly tried to shake him away, her lips knocking about like waves on the sea while she tried to pin a smile on. It wasn't going to take. "I'm fine."

  "Lana, please. You have to tell me. I...I should know." He cursed at himself for missing so many obvious signs, "Is it as bad as the night at my sisters?"

  "No," she shook her head and clung tighter to her arms. He noticed the welts rising off the skin where she'd been digging in deeper and deeper as a distraction. "Worse."

  Softly he cupped his hand against her cheek and she pressed into it much the same as their boy had. "Is it worse than when you twisted your ankle?"

  His beautiful wife struggled to speak, but the tears returned. All she could do was nod. Worse than her being laid up in bed for two weeks? The physical pain always made the darkness more pronounced, but this...

  A fear squeezed against his throat and Cullen's lips breathlessly moved. He had to ask it, had to know, but Maker did he not want to. "Lana..." He scooted closer to her and her fingers reached over as if to take their baby, but Cullen didn't let go, he was focused fully on her. "Is this as bad as when you," he swallowed and began again, "as when you took the Calling?"

  Her head tried to shake it away like a buzzing in her ear, but after a few rounds she gasped and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'm so sorry. I don't..."

  "Shh," he guided his arm around her head and tugged it tight to his shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

  "I do, I'm wrong. Terrible. It shouldn't be," tears dripped through her words, her fingers clinging tight to his collar while the other hand rolled across her son.

  "No, you're not," Cullen insisted in a whisper. He turned his head and bellowed out, "Mia! Come here."

  It didn't take long for his sister to appear, her face white as she spotted
Lana's crumbling. "Take the baby," he instructed. She pursed her lips and folded her arms, until he groaned, "I have to sit with Lana, okay. I'll come and take him back from you after she's better."

  Mia stared over at the woman burying her soaking face into Cullen's shoulder. "Alright," the stern lecturer faded into gooey aunt as she scooped the baby into her arms. "I'll be waiting in that done up sitting room you have."

  He nodded his thanks and, as the door closed behind, turned to wrap both arms around his wife. After a few more cascades of sobs dripped down his chest, he asked softly, "Did you hurt yourself?"

  "No," she said. There was a chance she was lying from the pain but he couldn't see any evidence and it seemed as if the facade was peeled off. Lana was a pro at hiding her turns from the others in their refuge, but he begged her to always let him see everything.

  "Come here," Cullen scooped her into his arms and slowly pulled her down to lay together side by side upon the bed. It felt like ages since he'd had her in his arms like this. For her sake and the baby's he'd been dozing in open beds when necessary, letting the two of them get their sleep uninterrupted. Andraste, he was an ass.

  "I'm...I should be happy. That's what good mothers are. Happy. Why am I not? I want him. So bad it hurts. But..."

  He stared into her red rimmed eyes running over with more tears. It was a soul crushing sight, and all of his doing. He should have been there for her. Really looked at her and known. For the love of the Maker, he was her husband. It was his duty to keep her safe. "Lana, we can beat this back. It's not your fault you're not happy right now."

  "I want to be," she gasped. "Why can't I be happy?"

  Cullen pulled her to his chest hoping it would soothe her as he ran his hands back through her piles of hair. There were so many snarls and knots it was going to take hours to get them out with their pick. How much did he let rot away from his lagging care? Nestled deep to him, Lana's sobs slowed and her hands tugged tight to his back.