Fen/Hawke, R, for your meme pls? :)



R. A deafening sound.

The first night his daughter is born, Fenris does not sleep. Hawke herself is out like a light, past exhaustion and still pale, and he does not wish to disturb her; and yet every time he glances towards the tiny trundle where his daughter sleeps, wrapped tightly in Merrill’s knitwork, something terrified and tender lodges high in his throat. He cannot sleep, and he—

Somewhere near the second hour of the morning, the baby stirs restlessly, small movement and small sound like thunder in the silence. Fenris pushes from the bed, realizing too late he has not been careful, but—Hawke sleeps still, her mouth parted, and does not wake as he lifts the child from the trundle and carefully carries her back to the bed.

Such a little thing, he thinks, half-aghast, as his daughter opens her eyes and closes them again, apparently appeased for the moment with her relocation to the rumpled blankets between her mother and father. Six hours old, and so terrifyingly small. He has never cared for something so fragile before.

With as much care as he can manage, Fenris touches one finger to the top of his daughter’s head, to her forehead, to the end of her nose. Everything about her is soft, from her chin to her tufted dark hair, and when he tucks the blanket more snugly around her shoulders she lets out a short, gusting sigh that brings an unwilling smile to his face even through the fear.

All at once, Fenris realizes Hawke’s eyes have opened. Only barely, blue slits still heavy with exhaustion and lingering aches, but she’s watching him watch the baby, and he can’t find the words to answer the question she hasn’t asked.

“You’ll do fine,” she says eventually, her voice croaking and tired, but there’s a smile to it that even he can’t ignore. “Stop worrying.”

He swallows, hard, and says, “I wish I could believe you.”

She smiles again, a bewildering certainty in her face. “Do you want her?”

No doubt. “Yes.”

“Will you protect her?”


“Will you love her?”

Fenris lifts his eyes, meets her gaze across the pillow. “Yes.”

“That’s enough,” Hawke says, and leans forward enough to kiss his cheek, and then her daughter’s, before closing her eyes again. “Go back to sleep.”

He does, eventually, but he waits first, listening for a long time to the beat of his daughter’s heart into the dark.

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Click the button for reports from the 2010 Spring Blogger Gathering, hosted by Linett of Nimrodel!

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