Monsters of The North || Rhaenyra Targaryen

Chapter 12

Torrhen could not help but wince, another scream tearing through the thin wood of the door to their chambers. It was a harsh contrast to the clear skies, and shining sun. Such a beautiful day, that Torrhen was spending pacing within the confined space of the hallway.

Daemon leant against the wall, watching Torrhen go back and forth with a blank face. 

"You planning to tear a hole into that floor, Stark?"

Torrhen did not deign to answer him, his boots scuffing along the stone. The frantic fidgeting of his hands, trailing along his dagger to cracking his knuckles - finding peace in the small semblance of control.

Frost sat back, intelligent eyes watching Torrhen go back and forth - a small whine emitting from his chest at each scream and cry coming from the room. 

"She will be fine."

Neither man comments on how it sounds more like Daemon was trying to reassure himself rather than Torrhen. The two had shared grief in this type of situation - both had lost people they loved to the child bed. 

Torrhen's fingers trail along the thing scar stretching across his palm - from the bottom of his pointer finger down to the fleshy bit at the bottom of his palm. If he pushes hard enough, he can almost feel the phantom pain from the valyrian steel. 

The next scream grated in his ears, so powerful and impossibly loud Torrhen thought it would burst his ears. His frantic gaze darted to the door, fists clenching as if he wanted to break the bastard thing down with only his bare hands. 

He doesn't know how long he paced the length of that hall before it fell silent behind the door - Torrhen's entire body frozen, gaze locked with the wood, waiting, and waiting, and waiting....

A small, almost indistinguishable, cry penetrated the wood. Torrhen was moving before he had the chance to think - shouldering through the door and past the servants within the room, almost knocking over one of his wife's ladies in his rush.

Frost was hot on his heels, big body moving with a speed like no other.

Torrhen skidded to a halt - gaze raking over the sight before him.

Rhaenyra, sweat riddled and exhausted, smiled still - a bundle of fabric in her arms that kicked and screamed to its heart's desires.

She looked up as Torrhen entered, smile brightening, eyes crinkled. "My love." She breathed, breathless, "Come. Meet your son."

Torrhen forced his feet to move, until he came to Rhaenyra's side. He felt in a daze - as he did every time Rhaenyra has brought forth their children. Time has not changed the way Torrhen feels each time a child of theirs is born - filled to the bone with love, pride, adoration.

The little thing before him was red- faced, scrunched with displeasure and crying, fat tears rolling down plump cheeks. Chubby arms and legs kicked, blind to the world around. Silver - white wisps of hair painted his head, a contrast to his last three sons. This one took entirely after his mother. 

Rhaenyra shushed and rocked the babe, soothing voice and gentle touch calming him until he stopped his crying - lilac eyes peeking from behind eyelids to stare up at his parents.

Torrhen smiled, wide and joyful. He laughed, happily, moving to sit beside Rhaenyra on the bed. His giant palm came to cradle the babe's head - feeling and playing with the short hairs. Rhaenyra shared his smile, exhausted and leaning her head against his shoulder as they both gazed at their son.

"He looks like you." Torrhen whispered, wary to set the babe off again.

Rhaenyra breathed a laugh, tired smile stretching across her lips. "Yes. I think the gods took pity on me - deigned I had enough sons that looked like you."