"Childbirth is more admirable than conquest,
more amazing than self-defence,
and as courageous as either one."
There was never a time in her life where Vi had indulged herself in the words of a mother. Motherhood was otherworldly and alien, something that she had always regarded as one experience that she would never have in her life. It just wasn't part of who she was. She was an ex-criminal, a woman raised in the slums, a runaway presumed dead, and an officer tasked with upholding the laws of Piltover until the end of days. The pleasure of bringing another life unto the earth was one she thought she would never have.
But here she was, several years after that fated day she was taken off the streets by the woman sitting not even two feet away from her bedside--like the other attendees to her delivery, not that she noticed them, not really--cradling in her arms what looked to be a a swaddling bunch of blankets. And really, if she was not so exhausted and could manage to laugh, Vi knew she would've because hell, it really did look like the bundle laying atop her was just a bunch of cloth. It was more than that, however; he was more than that. There was no way a bunch of warm blankets could coo and have a head of such surprisingly dark and thick hair. He was her baby, her little nugget.
It was as if the galaxy had gathered up some of the stars and injected them inside the little creature that was sleeping in her arms now for he felt so impossibly bright and brilliant. He was like a heavenly body brought down to earth, at least to Vi, and she was not one to praise others so highly. No, this child in her arms, this creation that resulted from the love she shared with the Prince of Demacia, was worth all her praises and more. He was beautiful and shining and he was hers.
The fluffy tufts of dark hair that covered his head--which had surprised even the nurses for babies' hair was never really that grown in, at least normally--tickled her chin each time her head moved, but she didn't laugh. Instead, she kept a silly, tired smile on her face, simply basking in the physical attributes that made up the one she had been saying hello and good night to for the past nine months. To think that she had spent all those months carrying the little one now sleeping on top of her and was now able to touch and hold him... it amazed her, rendering her speechless (not that she was talking much anyway, she was sure she'd wrecked her vocal chords for at least a week).
The pain was worth it, Vi decided. The delivery, the shots, the constant screaming and breaking of her husband's hand... it was all worth it, because he was here. Her baby, her son, Jarvan the Fifth, was here.
Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was matted to the pillows and her skin and sweat covered her in a light film, but despite her current condition Vi felt as if she were on top of the world. The little heartbeat of her baby, her little prince, beat steadily against her chest and it made her cry tears of raw and utter exhilaration.
Now, the princess wondered, her hand stroking the bundle in a slow, steady motion. Where's your father?
