Chapter Text
9:08 Dragon
Her name is Marian, and she is four hours old.
She was brought kicking and screaming into this world, her cries mingling with that of her mother’s as she makes that final push. The midwife, Arla, is preoccupied with wiping the blood and slime off the newborn baby, giving Malcolm the chance to reach over and surreptitiously bathe Leandra with a burst of healing magic. Then, he strides to Arla’s side and gently pries the baby from her arms.
She is warm and wriggling feebly (good, good, motor skills are good), and a quick glance downwards confirms her gender. Any question of her health is dispelled, however, by the wailing. Her mighty cries are so hearty that Malcolm is sure that Magisters in Tevinter can hear her. Leandra is breathing heavily, but the healing magic helped, and now she’s propping herself up to get a better look. Malcolm gently moves back to his wife’s side and carefully places the baby in Leandra’s arms, and she just holds her, and, Maker, they’re all so relieved. The first is hard, so hard, and it would have been crushing if…
But thank the Maker, they don’t need to concern themselves with that. And Arla’s coming over with blankets for swaddling, and she comments that it’s usually an ill omen for a baby to be bawling so loudly, comments that the Chasind believe a baby crying at birth is a sign of a hard life ahead, but Malcolm has no time for superstitions and prophecies. He has a daughter, and he has his wife, and they are both hale and hearty, and the world has never looked brighter.
Her name is Marian, and she has just been born.