In Which Dalston Meets His Heir

September 2, 1155

"Well," began Father Quintus after a few minutes of tense silence, "at least she's stopped screaming now."

Octavius chuckled softly, but Dalston could not bring himself to smile. "With all due respect, Father, that's not reassuring; without her screaming, I don't know whether or not she's still... still..."

Knowing that he could not finish the sentence without bursting into tears, he trailed off. Damn him, killing his sweet little wife with his toxic seed and poisonous lust! Celina had never done a terrible thing in her entire life, and this was how she was rewarded--doomed to die painfully during the process of giving a child to her unworthy husband. She was closing in on a full day of this now... and to think that only yesterday, he, the dog that he was, had been sitting awkwardly in Roderick's study, trying desperately to curb his desire for another man's wife...

Geneva. He did not love Geneva, and he never would; he never had, he realized now. As a child, when he had first laid eyes on his charismatic young cousin... as a youth, when he had noticed how her beauty had blossomed... even as a young man, on that fateful night when he had found her naked in his room... no. He had never loved Geneva--only the idea of Geneva. In that moment, there existed only two people in Dalston's world: shy, plain, yet beautiful Lina, and her unborn child.

"I think Celina's tougher than she looks, Dalston," Octavius attempted to reassure him. "If she's stopped screaming, then chances are, all it means is that my little godchild is finally here."

"My little brother speaks the truth," agreed the priest. "Women do not often scream after childbirth--only during."

Dalston stared at him. "If there is a baby, why is there no crying?"

"Uh, well..." started Octavius awkwardly, clearly desperate for an answer Dalston could accept. "Maybe he's... quiet?"

Speaking of quiet, Severin sure had been, Dalston noticed now--in fact, he didn't think the man had said a word since he'd returned from checking on Alina. Of course, it wasn't too difficult to figure out why; Alina's own due date was vast approaching. Clearly, Severin was worried that this would be just as difficult for her as it was proving to be for Celina. The fact that Celina was his own cousin also didn't help much.

For the first time in his life, Dalston found himself wishing for Roderick. Roderick was already a father; he knew what to expect, what was truly a concern and what was just a scare. Unfortunately, Roderick had left only a few short hours into the labor, and was probably in the middle of some unorthodox sex with a largely pregnant Geneva just then.

Geneva again! This wouldn't do; he couldn't keep thinking about her. Somehow, he would have to shake her from his mind. Between Geneva and Celina, what he needed was a distraction...

The bedroom door opened, and suddenly, Dalston knew for a fact that there was a God.

It was a barely-showing Goodwife Diarn, a seemingly healthy baby in her arms.

With an unexpected reverence, Dalston stood. "My Lina... is she...?"

"She's perfectly fine, your grace," Arydath assured him. "I've never seen a woman come out of such a long labor in such excellent health. Oh, but she can speak for herself; your grace, I'd like you to meet your son."

How a tiny woman like Celina had carried such a large baby in her womb for nine months, Dalston would never know. If it were not for the fact that the little boy so resembled her, the duke would have hardly believed him to be her child.

"My God," Dalston breathed. "He looks just like her."

"Only he is so big and she is so small!" laughed Arydath as she lifted the boy so he could see his father's face for the very first time.

Grinning, he waved at his young son. "Hello. You can't talk quite yet, but when you can, you can call me Papa. Unfortunately, I have no idea what I shall call you. My father's name was Abrich, but you don't look much like an Abrich at all. I suppose I'll let Mama name you--she did give birth to you, after all."

Arydath smiled. "I don't think he understands your babbling, your grace. Would you like to hold him?"

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed as she placed the baby in his arms. "You're a heavy little thing, aren't you? How on earth did Mama manage to lug you around for the better part of a year? Octavius, get your lazy behind off of that bench and come see your new godson."

Sheepishly, the baron made his way to the new father and son and held one of his large hands up to the baby. "Hello there. I suppose with my wife the way she is, you'll be the closest thing I ever have to a son." Those words were bittersweet; if Dalston had not been so happy for himself, he would have felt terribly sorry for his friend at that moment.

Octavius stepped aside and allowed Severin to approach Dalston and his newborn heir. "It's a relief to see that they're both well," he muttered in a grave voice that seemed as if it belonged to an entirely different man. "Your son is beautiful. You're right in saying he is the very likeness of his mother."

"Thank you, Severin," Dalston acknowledged him. "Don't worry about Alina--she's always been strong. She'll bear you twenty babies without so much as a gasp."

He nodded, but said nothing.

"Ah, the first baby I will christen and baptize here in Naroni," Father Quintus sighed fondly, leaning in toward the baby. "I will never forget that it was you."

The boy gave the priest a small smile; Dalston beamed at him. "Goodwife Diarn, you shall have the finest dress in all of Naroni made for you. Now, may I see my wife?"

"Feel free, but if she's too tired, maybe let her sleep," she answered as she pulled herself up off of the bench. "Good lord, if they're this tiring in the womb, then I can't imagine what they're like once they're out."

"I suppose I'll find out shortly enough," he told her as he opened the door to the bedroom and stepped inside. "Lina? How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you," she muttered from the bed. "Could you put him in the crib, please? I'm sure he's quite tired."

Dalston carefully began to lower his son into the crib. "You heard Mama. It's time for you to get some sleep."

"Dalston?" Celina addressed him softly.

"Yes, Lina?" he replied, not breaking eye contact with the baby.

"Would you mind if we name him Lornian? That was my father's name."

He nodded, then smiled at the infant. "Hello, Lornian."

Sending one last grin the child's way, Dalston left the crib-side and settled on the bed beside his wife. "Are you sure you're all right, Lina? You seem rather sad."

"Sad?" she repeated. "Oh, no... of course not. I'm sorry, Dalston."

He sighed. "Lina, tell me what's wrong. Are you still hurting? Would you prefer it if I never got into bed with you ever again? Please tell me."

"My mother..." breathed Celina. "She died, Dalston. She died just a few minutes after she had me. And my father's mother also died... I'm just... shocked, I suppose. That I'm still alive, I mean."

"I've seen him, Dalston. I got to see my baby; I was given the chance my mother and grandmother never were."

"Your mother and grandmother would be very proud of you, Lina," Dalston assured her, "as am I."

Gently, he shuffled over to her side of the bed and pulled her close, taking her hand in his. She was no great beauty, this he knew, but in the end, that was what made her beautiful. Were she more obviously attractive, he would never even know whether or not he loved her, or simply loved her body; with Celina, he could always be sure.

Never in a thousand years, he realized, would he trade his Lina for a hundred young, naked Genevas.

"He looks so much like you," he whispered to her.

Celina squinted. "I was hoping he'd look more like you."

The duke shook his head, then exchanged a lingering gaze with the new mother, his blue eyes drowning in those hazel ones that also belonged to his son. "Lina, I love you."

He'd never said that to her before then. Before that day, he had not known for sure, and he would not have fed her such a lie. Now, he knew--and he would tell her every day for the rest of his life.

As if he had spoken an incantation, her features became alight with a soft glow, originating in those smiling hazel eyes; suddenly, she was the most radiant woman in the world. "I love you too, Dalston."

He held her soft, delicate hand to his mouth and kissed it fondly. "We're going to be very happy here. Us, little Lornian, and any other children we have. I couldn't possibly be happier if I were a king."

Lornian wished his parents would either shut up or get a room--couldn't they see that people were trying to sleep in here?

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