A few days had gone by since the birth, and Trafalgar had spent nearly all of them in this room. Mayla had monopolised him, and neither of the other two had said a word about it, because there was nothing to say. She'd earned it. Each of them would have her turn eventually, and this one was hers.
Aaron had come out with black hair, which was his father's, and brown eyes, which were his mother's, and he was still far smaller than he had any business being. He fit in the crook of one arm with room to spare.
Right now he was asleep, Mayla was propped up in the bed, and Trafalgar stood at the window with his son against his chest, watching the snow come down over the gardens. It was a quiet day, at least for the moment.
