Epilogue #2
A thin wail pierced the air and Eiselle burst into happy, exhausted tears, as did her husband. He was holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, but Eiselle could feel Bric behind her, weeping into her back. She patted the arms that were locked around her.
“He is well,” she assured Bric, as if he was the one needing comfort. “Do you hear him? He is well.”
Bric lifted his head from where it had been pressed between Eiselle’s shoulder blades.
His cheeks were damp but there was a huge smile on his face as he kissed Eiselle’s cheek over and over.
Meanwhile, Keeva took the baby from Weetley as the man tended to the afterbirth and held the child up for the exhausted and elated parents.
“Look at him,” she said joyfully. “Look how big he is!”
Eiselle and Bric got their first glimpse of the fat, lusty baby, now screaming loudly in the warmth of the room. It was, indeed, a boy, as they could see, and Eiselle held out her arms for him.
“Give him to me,” she begged. “Oh, please give him to me.”
Keeva complied, handing the child over to his eager mother, standing back as Eiselle carefully cradled the squirming infant against her breast. Overwhelmed with the first touch of her son, Eiselle started weeping again.
“Look,” she sobbed, holding up his little fist. “He is so perfect. Look at his hands, Bric.”
Bric was hovering over the pair, his eyes alight with wonder. “I cannot believe he is finally here,” he said. Gently, he put his enormous hand on the baby’s head, dwarfing it. “Eiselle, he is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
He kissed his wife again as she cradled the baby, both of them watching their newborn son with wonderment.
For all of the anticipation they had felt towards this moment, nothing could do it justice.
Bric felt as if he’d been born anew the moment his son had made his way into the world, because every hope and dream he’d ever had for his child somehow became a reality.
A strong son to follow in his footsteps and a wife who had come through the birth unscathed.
He had so very much to be grateful for.
“He already looks like you,” Eiselle said. “Look at his ears – they have a little point on them like yours do.”
Bric smiled at the sight. “Blame my father,” he said. “He has those ears, too.”
“I think they are beautiful ears.”
He laughed softly, putting timid fingers on those tiny baby ears. “He is perfect,” he said, kissing Eiselle on the cheek. “Like you. Thank you, mo chroí. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Eiselle tore her gaze away from the baby, looking up at Bric and accepting his tender kisses of gratitude and adoration. But Keeva was lingering just behind them, interrupting their tender moment, although she was loathed to do it.
“Let me take the baby,” she said. “He must be cleaned up and swaddled, and mother must be returned to her bed. Let me take care of them, Bric. You have done your duty.”
Bric looked crestfallen. “But I want to stay.”
Keeva shook her head, pulling him away from Eiselle and the baby.
“You may return in time,” she said. “But we must clean Eiselle up and put her to bed. She needs to rest now. You must go and tell the men that you now have a fine, strong son. You have received the greatest gift this night, Bric, and I am happy for you. So very happy.”
Even in the midst of his own delight, Bric took time for Keeva, realizing this was a moment she had always wanted to experience but never would.
He kissed her on the cheek to thank her for everything she had done, leaving her with a smile as he headed down to the great hall to inform his friends that, indeed, his son had been born this night.
Conor Dashiell Bentley Sean Rhys de Gael MacRohan had finally made his grand entrance. And, no… he’d never considered shortening the name, not once.
There was much joy at Narborough that night as the birth of the High Warrior’s son spread among the men, and Bric brought out eight barrels of fine ale he’d purchased just for the occasion.
As the night went on, men toasted the newest MacRohan son, offering their congratulations to the new father who prowled the grounds of Narborough that night as his wife slept, spending time with his men and drinking to Conor’s good health.
Towards the early morning, he finally returned to his chamber, fairly drunk, to find Eiselle awake, breastfeeding their son as Keeva stood by to lend a hand.
But Keeva departed once Bric entered, leaving the new family alone, and Bric lay down on the bed beside his wife, his head on her shoulder as he watched her feed their son for the first time.
If there was a heaven, he knew he’d found it.
It was the best moment of his life.
The little boy with the name longer than he was would go on to do great and heroic things, mentored by a father who had become a legend in his own time.
The High Warrior was, indeed, immortal.
* THE END *