In Which Ietrin Ponders the Future of His Masterpiece

November 9, 1172

Until two days prior, Ietrin had never understood all the fuss about babies. They were cute--fine. When they weren't wallowing in their own filth, they smelt rather pleasant--fair enough. But what else? Yes, they might grow into heirs some day, but in their infant state they were altogether useless and a burden. They bawled and screeched at every opportunity, and if they ever fell silent, it was only because they sleeping. They wreaked havoc on the female form and produced much more waste than could have been expected from such small creatures. They cost time and money and energy, and never made any effort to repay that investment--not even by shutting up for five minutes in order to let one recover from the inevitable headaches.

But somehow, little Kaldar was different.

Maybe it was because he wasn't a particularly cranky baby, or maybe it was because he actually seemed to have some idea that the universe did not revolve around him and his constant needs. Or perhaps it was just those wide violet eyes--Ietrin's own eyes, taking in the world, staring back at him from beneath wispy hints of Ellona's dark brows.

He'd made this baby. They had made this baby. This was their masterpiece, their magnum opus; he was the product of their love and living proof of such. He'd be a handsome man, this son of theirs--a smart man, a worthy man. Kaldar had been birthed quickly and with relative ease, large and healthy, among the strongest Goodwife Diarn had ever delivered. Surely such a thing was a sign of greatness to come.

And to think--come March, Ietrin would have two sons! He'd never envied men with two sons--sure, it was nice to have a spare lying around, but what to do with him if he wasn't needed?--but now he was beginning to see the appeal. Although, perhaps the fact that they would have different mothers had something to do with that. Jeda's son would be king after Ietrin, and Kaldar would have Ellona's lands--it was as simple as that. Now, what to do with a third son...

"I take it you want to hold him?"

Jerked back to earth, Ietrin's gaze darted up to Ellona's face; her narrowed eyes and curling mouth gave her a look of half-amusement. "Here, take him; my arm is a little sore."

He felt his smile widen as she placed their son in his arms. Ietrin didn't have much experience holding babies; he had young siblings, as well as a four-month-old nephew, but he'd never really bothered with them, choosing instead to wait until they became interesting. Kaldar, however, was already interesting, already worthy of his time. It was incredible just how natural holding him came. "Hello, baby. Did you miss me?"

A bit of drool dripped from Kaldar's mouth as Ietrin raised him to his shoulder. He almost didn't notice. "Soft silk, isn't it? Almost as nice as Mama's pretty velvet."

Ellona snorted. "Christ, Ietrin, he's two days old; he doesn't give a damn about fabrics."

"No, but he will some day. He's going to have to know and care about what every great man knows and cares about." A great man--that was what he was holding. Kaldar wasn't just some snivelling baby; Kaldar was a son of kings. "We have a lot to teach him. We might as well start now."

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