where our broken hearts were born; birthing

[leliana]

I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you

This pregnancy is different.

Before, with both Adna and Sabbath, she had been overjoyed because, even when Vulgaris had driven them away, they had been children created in love—children rooted in that feeling. And, for both children, when it had come time for them to be born, Vulgaris had been there. The first time, when Adna had been brought into the world in a moment so soft and sweet. Sabbath had been more difficult. Leliana had been sick and weak and it had been too early, too cold—but he had still been there. He had pressed kisses into her neck and whispered reassurances and eventually their daughters had arrived and they had been whole.

But this is different.

Because this had not begun with love. This had begun with violence and an empty kind of passion that had left Leliana hollowed out completely. This had begun with touches that had bruised and teeth that had sunk into flesh, leaving marks that still mar her wing but left significantly larger scars on her heart.

Leliana has been alone much of her pregnancy, unable to face others, unable to do anything but try to keep herself alive for her daughter, for this beautiful life nestled in her belly. She loves her. Of course she does. Despite the roots of her life, despite the shadow that taints it, Leliana feels nothing but a heartwrenching adoration for what she is sure is another daughter. It is the last of him, she thinks. It is her final piece of Vulgaris and even if he left it to her with violence, she can’t bring herself to do anything but love it.

When the time comes, when the familiar pains hit, she slips away to the river. She doesn’t know where else to go—where else feels safe. So she finds a spot by the roaring rapids and sinks to her knees, lets her body find the familiar rhythms. It is not as serene as Adna’s birth. Not as exhausting as Sabbath’s.

But this is the first time tears touch her cheeks.

The first time that she is alone.

Thankfully, her healing has been restored with her strength, and although she has barely been eating, she is strong enough to ease the birthing process. She heals herself as it happens, heals her daughter, and when Malca finally slips onto the ground, Leliana can only exhale slowly. When she turns to take in the tiny bundle of black fur, love grips her heart. This is the first daughter to look truly like her. Her coat not covered in scales and the tiny wings perched on her shoulders. There is nothing serpentine in her.

But when she opens her eyes, when Leliana sees the milk in one, she fights back a gasp.

Fights back the immediate guilt.

This was her fault.

If only she had taken better care of herself. If only she had been enough and Vulgaris was here. If only she had been a better mother—if only. She smothers the feelings, quickly locks it away with shame, and begins to clean her daughter off. When she realizes that this is the first time Vulgaris has not been here to ask her what she’d like to name the child, she bites back the tears. Instead, she presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, trembling slightly as she urges her to her feet. “Malca,” she says softly, her voice calm despite the storms that rage inside of her breast. “My beautiful and darling Malca.”