"I can prepare some painkillers that you can drink." Arkyn tried to help, although he wasn’t really doing anything. He felt silly, because you were there taking walks around the house with labor pains and he didn’t even know what to do. "Or call Gorm."

Gorm was the master of Arkyn when he was just a young witcher who still did not defend himself in battles. Gorm was now a very old man.

"He attends mares very well..." Arkyn added.

"No." Your jaw clenched as you leaned on the table with both hands. The contractions had begun a few hours ago, you were still dilating and you lacked more hours of suffering. You pointed to Arkyn’s with severity. "If you bring him, I’ll close my legs and this baby’s not born."

Arkyn raised both hands in innocence. He nodded briefly. He approached you to help you walk around the cabin, trying to get you to dilate faster.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Witchers are infertile, but here you are: pregnant with Arkyn’s baby, and going into labor. When he found out you were pregnant, you were four months pregnant. He chose to disappear a few months to meditate, and get used to the idea that he was going to be a father.

And honestly, he liked the idea that you, his former lover and the only woman he’s ever been able to love in his long witcher years, bring his baby into this world. That technically made you a family, right?

"Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?" You’d spent an hour and a half circling the cabin. Arkyn had taken off his armor even, to make himself comfortable. "I think a boy. Gorm and Helga think so too."

"Arkyn." You were clearly frustrated by the pain. He kept talking, and you here trying to dilate.

"Fine." He apologized with his characteristic frown. "I’m beginning to suspect that you use childbirth pain as an excuse to yell at me."