Hands stroking her, large and warm, his palms slightly rough against her sweating brow. Her vision was blurry, but those hands she would know anywhere, they had guided her to this moment and through the long stretch of months before it, had inticed her into giving him her love. She nuzzled into them, seeking them with her own trembling fingers, found them and brought them to her cheek where she could feel his hands open to cup her jaw. His lips fleeting over hers, gentle and warm, his smooth forehead pressing against her her own. His hand moving to lay across her belly. Was it over..? Was it done now..? Her body felt strangely empty, aching, devoid of the life she had grown accustom to feeling stir within her, had come to love as much as she loved him. Her brow furrowed, and she clung to him, fingers digging into his flesh. Pain, so much of it, running along her abdomen in ripping waves, blinding her, her delicate body wracked with it. Trembling. She was cold. She wanted fire, wanted light, more light. She moaned something, and the scent of the hearth grew stronger, its warm glow filling the room, the torches that sat in their brackets along the walls flaring briefly. He muttered something against her brow, she could feel his lips moving against her temple, warm breath brushing across her skin, his deep voice a murmur of reassurance. Her hands reached up, clutched at his hair, his broad shoulders, needing to know he was there. She could feel by the stiffening of his jaw that she was hurting him, but knew by the same token that he would do nothing to remove her grip. Her eyes opened, green and hazel meeting amber and emerald, her question silent because she could not speak, only try to breath, her fingers shifting their grip as she braced herself.

But he understood. In a moment like this, when the walls between them were so thin that their souls nearly touched, it was almost as though they were as one. No barriers, no masks. Only the ties that held them bound to eachother, the love that would remain unbroken. “Your pain is mine.” He whispered, so softly that she could barely hear him, like the words of a spell. Something in her eased, and he leaned forwards against her shoulder, heavily, his own hands clenching, tangling in her hair. Someone, distant, spoke his name, and he made no response. A pale, tall figure. Soft eyes. Alun? There for them if anything went wrong. His strong but slender hand reached out, settled gently on her husband's shoulder, and drew back abruptly when a growl rumbled lowly in his throat. She could feel the reverberation in his chest, in his throat. Posessive despite the pain.

“Trejah, you fool...” Alun muttered, eyes widening, shaking his head. He knew what he'd done as well as she did. But she had no words for her husband now. She loved him far too much for it.

Fingers tensing, she closed her eyes once more, her body warm now, sweating with the effort, fingers digging into Trejah's skin, clutching at him desprately. She knew she barely had control over what was happening now, and it frightened her. But here and now, control did not exist. There was only Trejah and she needed his strength, his love to keep her from slipping into the unknown. Was it over...? Could she rest now...? She was so tired. She wanted to sink into her husband's warmth, let his musky, deep scent lull her into the sleep that would help her body to heal. But no, more pain, wracking her thin form for a last time. She couldn't hear herself cry out, even when she did so, but instead sank into relief when the pain finally faded for good. Instinct told her it was done now, she could rest. Her hands on her husband relaxed, but he was moving, moving away from her, leaving her feeling naked, alone. Exposed to a room that suddenly seemed colder that it had been even before she'd caused the fires in the hearth to waken to her need. She wanted to panic again, her eyes were blurry with wearieness and tears, she couldn't see him. Abruptly, she felt that something had been severed from her, some bond cut, more a emotional than physical reaction, and then she really did feel empty. Her hand went to her belly out of instinct, in the way it had done so many times in the past few months, when suddenly she felt him at her side again. His hands, laying their child across her breast, guiding her trembling arms to where they needed to be to hold it. And it seemed that she had found her strength again despite the weariness that weighed at her eyelids. She looked to him, tears coming again, the fierce joy filling her as it had with each child she had given him, pleasure at the powerful love and pride radiating from him. It was one of the rare times she could look into his face and see a true smile there, the shadows gone from his mismatched eyes, the memories of his past faded and forgotten. In these moments, she knew that his heart was hers. She looked down at the warm, fragile life in her arms, the slight glint of red-gold gracing its tiny head, and felt her husband settle beside her, his weight on the bed a welcome reassurance. Felt his arm wrap around her protectively, and sank gratefully against that broad, strong chest, let him nuzzle against her hair.

“A son, Daena.” He whispered. She could feel his smile, hear the pride in his voice, and turned her head slightly to let his lips meet hers in a kiss. She let it linger, nuzzling him, feeling the warm tears on his cheeks, resting her head against his collar bone as his hand reached out to his son. Watched through slightly hooded eyes as that hand lay across her babies back, impossibly gentle, so large in comparison to that tiny body. The child stirred in response, as it had from the womb when Trejah would lay his hand across her belly as he sleeped, knowing his father by instinct. A finger ran along the silken, red-gold hair, a tiny pointed ear, encouraging as it sought its mother, knowing what it needed from her body to survive. She remebered what it had been like with her first children, their twin son's, how shocking it had been at first, slightly disconcerting to a new mother, but now, with their fourth child, it only seemed right that her son should seek her an nurse.

“Name him for me.” She muttered softly, looking wearily up at her husbands face, achingly beautiful in the happiness that had taken him. He smiled, and she felt her heart warm as her eyers hooded shut, holding that vision of him in her mind as her weary body gave in, and she drifted into slumber, content with his protection, with their child resting against her breast.