Summary: Some weird idea I got a few nights ago, spawned in the depths of my twisted little mind. A woman from the Baldur's Gate games, one of my own characters, has to enlist Dante and Vergil to help her stop her own great-granddaughter from releasing the sealed power and essences of her father, the god of murder Bhaal, with the aid of the demons of their world.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dante and Vergil. Capcom does. I know the twins, but I can't claim ownership. Nor do I own the Forgotten Realms; that belongs to Wizards of the Coast, and the Baldur's Gate games are their joint property with TSR. Natasha and Laraedina, however, are totally mine. A lot of the other characters mentioned herein are also mine. No taking, or Ebony and Ivory will do the talking. You have been warned.
Chapter Rating: High T/ low M
Life out of Death
The candles guttered in the wind from an open window, heralding the chilly intrusion of the night air into the quiet temple. Ari'allayla, the High Songstress of the Song of the Morning Temple, hurried over to close the glass panes before returning to the bed in the center of the room, where she and two of her nereid sisters, as well as two female clerics and a matronly woman from Beregost, bustled around the female gasping in the bed.
Ari'allayla wiped a cool cloth across Natasha's sweating brow, gripped her hand tightly as another contraction washed over her. The elf-woman had been in labor for several hours now, longer than a woman with so many children should have taken. However, it was not a breech-birth, as they had feared. The midwife had thoroughly examined her patient, and declared that this baby was simply taking its sweet time leaving the warmth of its mother's womb.
"Who is the father, Natasha, my friend?" the pink-skinned siren implored of her. "Tell us, that we may contact him!"
Natasha shook her head furiously, then cried out as another pain radiated out from her overextended womb. The contractions were getting closer together now. The birth would occur very soon.
"Tell us! Please!"
"No! Ahhh, gods!"
"Natasha, he must know!"
"Can't tell – owwwww! – you! He's gone! Ahhh!"
"Get her legs up. Fileese, Luir'rill, pull her knees back. Nara'mira, grab that towel. Isadore, ready the herbal tea. She'll need it for the blood to coagulate once this is over." The midwife spoke with firm tones; she knew what had to be done, and she expected the females under her command to obey, for the good of the elf-woman and her soon-to-be-born child.
"Ahhhh-owww! Gods, I'd like to – yaaahhhh! – cut off his balls and stuff them down his – ahhh…ugh! – throat!"
"Get ready, Lady Nightsinger. I can see the head." The midwife bent between Natasha's wide-spread legs, ready to turn and catch the emerging infant. "Now, push!"
Natasha ground Ari'allayla's bones together in her hand, nearly cracked the wooden rail of the bed in the other as her muscles strained, bearing down on the entity stuck in her birth canal.
"Push!"
"Gods!" The elf-woman's head went back for a moment, briefly resting, before snapping back up as she redoubled her efforts.
"Almost done, Lady Nightsinger! Just a little more…"
This can't go on, Natasha's fevered brain whispered. That big thing stuck down there, it must come out… It must…
"Gonna…kill…him…AAAAHHHHH!!!!!" Natasha pushed harder than she ever had in her life, her torso pulling itself up into a sitting position while she strained, bearing down with every ounce of her strength…
And then it was over. The enraged wail of a newborn filled the quiet corridors of the inner temple as Natasha collapsed back against the pillows, nearly boneless with exhaustion. Through tired, proud eyes she watched the clerics and nereids clean and fuss over her child while the midwife helped her deliver the afterbirth, a duty that required little effort on Natasha's part. As soon as the baby was rubbed dry, the elf-woman held out her arms entreatingly.
"Give me my child, before you wrap it."
The clerics and youngest siren exchanged glances, but Ari'allayla and her younger sister, Luir'rill, bade them bring the child. Natasha, like all elven mothers, needed to have a flesh-to-flesh bond forged with her infant child before the baby was swaddled. The bond was stronger than anything most other mothers would share with their children, a link that was as old as life itself. The two nereids understood this, for Natasha was not the first elf-woman they had seen in childbirth.
Ari'allayla helped Natasha to slip her sleeveless shift to her waist and sit up against the carved headboard while Luir'rill retrieved the baby and carried it to the bed. Natasha took the baby – it was a boy, she noted – and laid it against her chest and shoulder, nuzzling the feather-soft hair lovingly.
He was perfect. Everything was in its proper place and nothing was missing. His hair was the same pristine white as his father's, and she had little doubt that his eyes would be the same shade of blue too. There was no physical evidence of the demon blood in his veins, but that would probably manifest later, when he had grown to adolescence. For now, he was just like any of the other half-elven babies she had borne.
The midwife, experienced in the ways of elven mother-child bonding, shooed the sirens and her assistants out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. She would return later, to make sure that Natasha and her son were still comfortable and that there were no complications. No words of instruction were needed; this was the thirteenth time the elf-woman had given birth. She knew how to breastfeed, how to wrap and diaper an infant. She knew to drink the herbal tea sitting by her bed.
The fire crackled in the hearth, and the baby fussed a bit, searching for sustenance. Natasha lowered him to the crook of her arm and gently traced her finger over his flushed features, petting his snowy hair as he greedily began to suckle. The netherspirits had spoken true in their prophecy. New life, that of her son, had come out of the death of Laraedina. Nobody else in the Realms remembered Dante or Vergil, but here was physical evidence that they had been here. Not even the gods could take this life away from her, from him.
He needed a name. She already had one picked out.
A combination of three bloods, in one body.
'Child of Mixed Bloods.'
"Lei'a'zria, sin caras tehs'tha."
Little one, child of my womb.
"Si sireka ma'aleth Anjelo Larin'isthensil, ca'emel sin Natasha Larin'isthensil yill Vergil, ca'emel sin Sparda."
Your name shall be Anjelo Nightsinger, son of Natasha Nightsinger and Vergil, Son of Sparda.
"Aera'mill cra'an maraesuul sin si lameira yill an camar'ose sin si lameir."
Grow strong with the love of your mother and the pride of your father.
Finished with the naming ritual, she pressed a soft kiss to his tiny head and relaxed back against the pillows to think. Anjelo was her thirteenth child, and the fifth to be carried and borne without his father's knowledge. Vergil would never know that Natasha had borne him a son, if he even remembered her.
It was a painful knowledge, that he would remain oblivious to the continuation of his blood on her world, but she had dealt with secret love-children before, when she had given birth to first Vorion, then Vashti, by Solaufein and then the twins Darthoridan and Ralanthis after her night with Narameth. Raising a child alone was nothing new to her.
But she had never raised a child with human, elven, and demonic heritage before.
The fear that she would fail to keep him safe until he reached maturity was a very real one, but she held Anjelo to her breast, closed her eyes and reached for the tea with her free hand.
No one, not even the gods themselves, would take Anjelo from her before he was prepared and ready to take care of himself. She had the strength to raise him alone, to keep him from the gazes of those who would do him harm.
"I'll keep you safe," she murmured. "I swear it."
For the love she had shared with Vergil, for the love and promise of this child, she would do everything in her power to protect Anjelo's life.
I know you will. I did, after all, for my sons.
The voice was quiet, obviously that of a human female. But there was no one else in the room, or even close to the door; Natasha's keen sense of hearing would have told her if there was. Who was the woman who had spoken inside her head just now?
'Sons,' she had said.
Could it be…
The thought gave her comfort, and Natasha settled herself more comfortably against the pillows, slipping into the trancelike dream-sleep of her people, the Reverie.
She had a feeling she would need all the strength she could muster to deal with the very different bloodlines that mingled within her son's tiny body.
Gorion had managed to deal with her Bhaalspawn heritage, Dante and Vergil's mother with their conflicting blood. Both of them had managed to protect their charges until they were strong enough to control their darker sides, to protect themselves.
She would do the same for Anjelo.
As a mother, that was all she could do.
The rest would be up to him.
DMCBGDMCBGDMCBGDMCBG
Queen: And so "Sins of the Father" comes to an end! Didja like it? I honestly didn't think it would turn out so well. But once I put down the first chapter, the story basically wrote itself. Perhaps there will be a sequel later, where Anjelo tries to track down his father and revive the memories of his mother in Vergil's mind, but if there is then I will take a while to write it. And don't worry, if there is a sequel, Tlaneskiar and Ssalinisthiira will make a reappearance. Their memories were wiped clean as well, but they are demons, after all.
Dante: I thought it was pretty good, but I wish I could have caught some action with Natasha. She was a babe!
Vergil: It wasn't as bad as I originally believed it would be. The idea that I got the girl, for once, is actually a highly intriguing one…(gives Queen the once-over thoughtfully)
Dante (getting up to place a possessive hand on her shoulder): No way, bro. Find your own woman. Lady might be willing to accommodate you.
Queen (smiling wickedly): Be serious, Dante. You know she'd be far more likely to try and blow him up rather than get with him.
Vergil: Besides, I prefer my women to have hair longer than that. Gives me something to grab onto.
Dante (giving Queen's long hair a frown): Leave her hair alone. For that matter, leave Queen alone. Go out for once! You know that there are plenty of girls out there who would love to spend some time you.
Vergil (snorts): Yeah, a ton of fan-girls. They'd be all over me in an instant.
Dante: And the problem with this is…
Vergil: I don't just get with any girl right off the street or with my fans, as you have been known to do.
Queen (stopping Dante from killing his brother): Ahem, guys? I tell you what: you don't try and kill each other for today, and I'll give you something. Dante, I'll give Ebony and Ivory back to you. Vergil, you can have some peace and quiet for tonight. Dante and I will go to a hotel.
Dante: Agreed. Just gimme my guns, already.
Vergil: No sleeping pills for once. A truly welcome thought.
Queen: Very well. See ya in the next fic, people! Review, please! And if I'm feeling generous, I'll be playing more transmissions for you in my next new fic! This story does tie in with "My Angel" and "Innocence Lamented, Innocence Lost," believe it or not! All of my fics tie together in a single timeline! Now, if you'll excuse us…
(transmission ended)