Snowflakes lazily fell from the sky above Beauclair, fluttering about the frosty air like the freshly shed down of a baby bird. Children giggled as they tried to catch the droplets of ice with their tongues. The adults strolling down the streets watched the little ones with fond eyes, no doubt remembering how they had done the same, not so long ago. Truly, the capital of Toussaint was wondrous at this time of the year.
Still, in a luxurious villa not far away from the ducal palace, a young woman was breaking the quaint beauty of this winter morning by screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs.
"You're doing great, Milva!" Dandelion told his friend as he squeezed her hand. "Keep at it! I'm sure it's almost over!"
The archer replied with a look that would have sent the most battle-hardened of Nilfgaardian soldiers scrambling away in fear. "Shut up, Dandelion. Just shup up the fu—arghhh! Son of a bitch, that hurt!"
On the other side of the bed, a pale looking Angoulême was rocking back and forth on her seat. "That's it," she whined. "I'm never popping out one of these things. Remind me if I ever get maternal in a coupla years, will ya?"
From between Milva's legs came Regis' soft voice. "Dandelion is right, actually." The barber-surgeon lifted his head to offer a soothing smile to Milva—the fact that his face was splattered with blood broke the effect a bit, however. "It won't be long before your little one is here. Stay strong, my friend! I can see the baby's head!"
"Finally!" Milva said in a growl. She then scrunched up her face, a groan of pain filtering from her closed mouth, as she was struck by another contraction.
"You know," Angoulême began, "if someone had told me when I met you lot that this would be where I'd find myself today, I would have called 'em crazy."
A muscle twitched above Milva's right eye. "Well, nine months ago I wouldn't have believed that I'd be giving birth halfway across the world with a goddamn vampire looking up my bloody cu—"
"Speaking of vampire," Dandelion interrupted, "how are you holding up, Regis?"
Again, Regis' face appeared from between Milva's legs. His bushy grey eyebrows were knotted together in a peeved frown. "What are you implying, my dear poet? First, I must remind you that I have vowed to never drink again, and second—well, if you think for one minute that I would be depraved enough to be tempted by the blood currently pouring out of—"
"Shut it!" cried out Milva. "Not another word! That's not something I needed to hear!"
Dandelion pouted, looking quite like a little boy instead of a man nearing his forties. "That's not what I meant and you know it. The four of us took turn keeping Milva company through all of her ordeal, so I was worried for you specifically, Regis. After all, you've been working for twelve hours straight without a moment of rest."
"Where are Geralt and Cahir anyway?" asked Angoulême.
"They've come back, both of them," answered Regis. "They're waiting behind the door. I can smell them."
"You can smell them?"
"Cahir smells like armour polish and blade oil. And Geralt has a distinctive… musk, I might say."
Angoulême let out a bit of hysterical laughter. "A musk? Geralt has a distinctive musk? What's that s'pose to mean?"
"Enough about Geralt's manly stench!" Milva said through grit teeth. Her reprimand was quickly followed by another screamed invective.
"Keep pushing, Milva!" said the barber-surgeon. "You're almost there!"
Milva's back arced in the bed, and her face twisted in pain. She was clutching Dandelion's hand so hard the poor bard's eyes seemed about to pop out of their sockets.
"The baby's here! Push, Milva, push!"
"What do you think I'm doi—arghhh! Dammit!" Milva's blue eyes were full of tears. "It hurts, it hurts, please, I don't… I don't want to die…"
"You're not going to die," Regis said firmly. "I won't allow it."
"You heard the old bloodsucker!" said Angoulême. "Keep going, Auntie!"
With another long scream, Milva threw back her head. Soon, however, another sound filled the whole of the room.
A baby's cries.
Milva's body trembled with long, deep shudders as she heard her child's voice for the first time. Through blurry eyes, she saw Regis standing up, his arms bundled protectively around something she could not discern.
"A boy! A healthy, beautiful baby boy!" Regis announced after he had cleaned up the newborn. He handed the wailing infant over to Milva; a genuine, almost childlike expression of wonder dawned on the vampire's face as he contemplated the first meeting between mother and child.
Milva could not say a word as she gazed at her son's face for the first time. She found herself committing to memory all of his features, all of his little quirks—the small birthmark above his left eye, that tiny button nose, the tuft of pale hair on his head... She was aware that both Dandelion and Angoulême were offering their congratulations, but it was as if she could not hear them. She was solely focused on the little being currently nestled in the crook of her arm.
"We need to cut the umbilical cord," said Regis. "Who would like to do the honour?"
Dandelion's face went from bone-white to green in very short succession. Angoulême, for her part, drew back in horror as if she'd been asked to down a gobletful of toad slime in one go.
The door swung open, and Cahir and Geralt entered the room. The young Nilfgaardian's face broke into a surprisingly tender grin at the sight of Milva holding her newborn son. In contrast, Geralt's expression remained still as stone.
"I'll do it, Maria," said the witcher. He inclined his head toward the archer. "That is, unless you object."
Milva replied by slightly shaking her head. As Geralt proceeded with his task, the others scooted closer to the new mother, save for Regis, who instead remained near the end of the bed, ready to act in case of an emergency.
"Ugh!" said Angoulême. "Why is he covered in that disgusting white stuff? And why is his head so lumpy?"
Cahir rolled his eyes. "Is that the first time you've seen a newborn, Angoulême?"
"Well, I didn't know newborns looked like this!" Dandelion said genially. "I guess you're never too old to learn to learn, eh?"
Milva narrowed her eyes as the now quiet baby clamped his mouth around one of her nipples. "Are you saying my kid is ugly?" she growled playfully.
"What? No, not at all!" protested Angoulême. "He's just… so tiny!"
"It's true," Cahir said. "My nieces and nephews were all bigger at birth."
"Elven bone structure is often very delicate," explained Regis. "Why, it is easy to distinguish a human skeleton from an elf's since—"
Geralt glared at the vampire. The latter coughed and promptly fell silent.
"Oh!" said Angoulême. "Look, his ears are all pointy too!"
"I guess that's all he's ever going to get from his father, eh?" Milva said, a weariness as old as the world weighing down her words. Whoever the young Scoia'tael had been, he was probably dead by now. He had died without ever knowing that he had fathered a little halfbreed on the human woman with whom he had shared one last night of warmth and love.
"That's alright!" Angoulême gave the baby a friendly little poke on the belly. "Who needs a dad, anyway? I didn't have a dad and I turned out fine, did I?"
Milva's face lit up in a fond, but slightly exasperated look. Around the bed, Dandelion, Cahir, Regis and Geralt all returned her mushy expression in their own unique way; the bard was openly crying and sniffing, the knight was misty-eyed, the vampire was beaming proudly, and the witcher was crinkling his eyes in a subtle smile.
"Besides," Angoulême said after a while, "I don't it's true that your lil' bundle of joy will grow up without a dad." She jutted her chin at the four men standing nearby. "I think he's gonna have four of 'em."
A/N: ...Let's just pretend that Vilgefortz slips down some stairs and breaks his neck before the battle at Stygga Castle, and that a random bolt of lightning strikes Leo Bonhart before he could get his hands on Ciri, hmm?