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Jon was exhausted.
It had been hours of this agony now. Nearly a full day and night and still, there was nothing to show for it.
However, that was all about to change in a matter of minutes. He could feel it now. It was almost over. Another push, maybe two, and he’d be holding his child.
“Bring some more water!” He could hear one of his gaggle of midwives yelling to the others.
“Ohh the babe’s got lots ‘a hair!” Another squealed with delight.
“Aye an’ kissed by fire just loike his Daddy!” A third chimed in.
Jon opened his eyes to look up at Tormund, who was still holding him tightly, his large, bear like hands grasping Jon’s smaller one’s as the younger man squeezed his own for dear life.
“I can’t...” Jon strained to speak as he felt a hard contraction coming to pull him under once more. “I ca..I can’t...”
“You can, little crow.” Tormund assured him.
“No! I can’t! I CAN’T!” Jon began to scream then in pain, clamping down on Tormund’s hands even tighter. It fucking hurt! He just wanted this baby out!
“Push, Jon!” The elder midwife told her struggling patient.
She needn’t have asked for him to. Jon didn’t even have to think about it. His body was doing a majority of the work now, forcing him to bear down and bring his child out into the world.
“Tormund!” Jon cried to his husband, his ears ringing as he put all his effort into pushing their baby out.
“I’m here.” Tormund spoke gently to him, and at long last, Jon felt relief as the child was delivered.
He gasped and let his head fall back against Tormund’s chest, taking in sharp heavy breaths to recover himself from the horrible ordeal.
“You’ve done it.” Tormund smiled, pressing a long kiss to Jon’s swear caked face.
Jon heard it then. The sweet sound of his newborn’s first cries.
“A girl.” The elder midwife told him as she wrapped the screaming infant up in a warm blanket. “A fine set ‘a lungs she’s got. Almost as loud as her mother.” She chuckled softly before laying the little warm bundle against Jon’s heaving chest.
He opened his eyes then to the most beautiful sight, and straight away, he began to weep. His daughter was perfect.
“Look at her...” He sobbed, holding the fussy baby close to his heart. “Oh Tormund, look at her...”
“Beautiful little thing.” Tormund agreed. “Red hair, brown eyes, your nose, my chin...What should we call her?”
Jon didn’t even have to think.
“Ygritte.” He told his husband, kissing his tiny newborn baby on her little ginger head.
“Aye,” Tormund agreed. “Ygritte. She’ll be a fighter.”